I'm reading King's book On Writing and he gives one (and only one) prompt. Just so you know what ''fossil'' he's talking about - he compares plot to a fossil, which the writer must uncover piece by piece, while writing. Ok, here's King's prompt: [..] I am going to show you the location of a fossil. Your job is to write five or six pages of unplotted narration concerning this fossil. Put another way, I want you to dig for the bones and see what they look like. I think you may be quite surprised and delighted with the results. Ready? Here we go. Everyone is familiar with the basic details of the following story; with small variations, it seems to pop up in the Police Beat section of metropolitan daily papers every other week or so. A woman—call her Jane—marries a man who is bright, witty, and pulsing with sexual magnetism. We’ll call the guy Dick; it’s the world’s most Freudian name. Unfortunately, Dick has a dark side. He’s short-tempered, a control freak, perhaps even (you’ll find this out as he speaks and acts) a paranoid. Jane tries mightily to overlook Dick’s faults and make the marriage work (why she tries so hard is something you will also find out; she will come onstage and tell you). They have a child, and for awhile things seem better. Then, when the little girl is three or so, the abuse and the jealous tirades begin again. The abuse is verbal at first, then physical. Dick is convinced that Jane is sleeping with someone, perhaps someone from her job. Is it someone specific? I don’t know and don’t care. Eventually Dick may tell you who he suspects. If he does, we’ll both know, won’t we? At last poor Jane can’t take it anymore. She divorces the schmuck and gets custody of their daughter, Little Nell. Dick begins to stalk her. Jane responds by getting a restraining order, a document about as useful as a parasol in a hurricane, as many abused women will tell you. Finally, after an incident which you will write in vivid and scary detail—a public beating, perhaps—Richard the Schmuck is arrested and jailed. All of this is back story. How you work it in—and how much of it you work in—is up to you. In any case, it’s not the situation. What follows is the situation. One day shortly after Dick’s incarceration in the city jail, Jane picks up Little Nell at the daycare center and ferries her to a friend’s house for a birthday party. Jane then takes herself home, looking forward to two or three hours’ unaccustomed peace and quiet. Perhaps, she thinks, I’ll take a nap. It’s a house she’s going to, even though she’s a young working woman—the situation sort of demands it. How she came by this house and why she has the afternoon off are things the story will tell you and which will look neatly plotted if you come up with good reasons (perhaps the house belongs to her parents; perhaps she’s house-sitting; perhaps another thing entirely). Something pings at her, just below the level of consciousness, as she lets herself in, something that makes her uneasy. She can’t isolate it and tells herself it’s just nerves, a little fallout from her five years of hell with Mr. Congeniality. What else could it be? Dick is under lock and key, after all. Before taking her nap, Jane decides to have a cup of herbal tea and watch the news. (Can you use that pot of boiling water on the stove later on? Perhaps, perhaps.) The lead item on Action News at Three is a shocker: that morning, three men escaped from the city jail, killing a guard in the process. Two of the three bad guys were recaptured almost at once, but the third is still at large. None of the prisoners are identified by name (not in this newscast, at least), but Jane, sitting in her empty house (which you will now have plausibly explained), knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that one of them was Dick. She knows because she has finally identified that ping of unease she felt in the foyer. It was the smell, faint and fading, of Vitalis hair-tonic. Dick’s hair-tonic. Jane sits in her chair, her muscles lax with fright, unable to get up. And as she hears Dick’s footfalls begin to descend the stairs, she thinks: Only Dick would make sure he had hair-tonic, even in jail. She must get up, must run, but she can’t move . . . It’s a pretty good story, yes? I think so, but not exactly unique. As I’ve already pointed out, ESTRANGED HUBBY BEATS UP (or MURDERS) EX-WIFE makes the paper every other week, sad but true. What I want you to do in this exercise is change the sexes of the antagonist and protagonist before beginning to work out the situation in your narrative—make the ex-wife the stalker, in other words (perhaps it’s a mental institution she’s escaped from instead of the city jail), the husband the victim. Narrate this without plotting—let the situation and that one unexpected inversion carry you along. I predict you will succeed swimmingly . . . if, that is, you are honest about how your characters speak and behave.
Oh, come now. No replies? None? Okay, I'll bite. After all, On Writing taught me everything I know as a writer. And I do love King. To me, he is the undisputed master of fiction, better than any and every other writer out there. But that's just my opinion, and it's a professional one. I don't know him personally and I missed my chance to meet him when he came to my city on his recent book tour. I must say that I do regret having missed that opportunity, but, whatever. Anyway, this is my first post here and hopefully I’ll be able to stick around for a while and get to know you all. Okay, so, here goes; let's do this. Dick stared at the TV, tendrils of fear creeping down his spine as he watched the blonde reporter who was standing outside the Cliff Falls County Jail. "Officials say that three women escaped from the county jail earlier this afternoon. Two of the three have been apprehended, but one inmate whose identity has not yet been revealed, is still at large," the woman said. Jane, Dick thought, his legs turning to Jell-O as he remembered her last words to him before she'd been led away in handcuffs. "I'll be back for Little Nell." At the time he hadn't put much stock in what she said. After all, she was being arrested for attempted murder of her own husband and by the time she got out of prison, Little Nell would be all grown up, probably with kids of her own. By the time Jane was set free, Little Nell wouldn't even know who she was or who she had been. And Dick intended to keep it that way. But now, remembering her words, his fear was quickly turning to panic. The dead calm in her voice, the way her eyes had bored into him as she'd made that promise--I'll be back--the way she hadn't stopped staring at him until the deputy had pushed her into the police car, all of it came back to him now like a bolt of lightning out of the clear blue sky. The reporter on TV was still talking, but Dick was no longer listening. He'd heard all he needed to hear. His thoughts turned to Little Nell, and suddenly a sickening feeling came over him. He had to go and pick her up now. She would be angry, furious even, that she hadn't been able to stay for the duration of her best friend Milo's birthday party. But Dick had no choice but to cut her visit short. If Jane was on the loose, Little Nell would not be safe. Dick stood from the easy chair and that's when it hit him--the smell of her perfume. At once, it was both intoxicating and sickening and a feeling of deep dread settled like an anchor in the pit of his stomach. "Jane," he whispered, his head turning just in time to see the butt of the gun before it slammed into the side of his head. An explosion of stars interrupted his vision. Then the world went black. When he came to he was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, his wrists and ankles bound by zip ties. Jane was sitting across from him, the gun in her hand as she studied his face. "How did you escape?" He asked, licking his lips and tasting the blood that had run down the side of his face. The pain on the left side of his head was excruciating. It felt as if he'd been hit by a Mack truck. He probably had a concussion, but that was the least of his worries right now. “How isn’t important, Dick. I told you I’d be back for Little Nell and as you know, I’m a woman of my word. Unlike you, I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.” Her brows furrowed and a dark look came over her face as she stared down at the gun in her hand. “I should have known you’d cheat. God, I was so naïve! You were my first, my last, my everything, Dick! You meant the world to me!” Tears came to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “We could have had it all. But you fucked that up.” She tapped the gun against her forehead and laughed as if it were some elaborate joke, the butt of which she’d bared the brunt of.. “Listen, Jane,” “No, you listen. I don’t really care if you don’t love me anymore. What we had, it was great while it lasted. But Little Nell belongs with me now. She’s mine.” “No, she’s ours, Jane. I am her fucking father! And nothing you say or do is ever going to change that.” “Tell me where she is, Dick, or I swear to God I will blow your brains all over this shitty shag carpet.” “Not on your life.” He wasn’t afraid to die, not if it meant protecting Little Nell from her insane mother. His heart raced as Jane slowly raised the gun and took aim at his head. “BANG!” He winced, taking a ragged breath as she laughed some more. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you? Look, I don’t want to kill you. I just want my daughter back. So you listen to me, and you listen good.” Jane got up and slowly made her way to where Dick sat. Holding the cold steel against the side of his face she bent down to whisper in his ear. “You will give me what I want. That’s just the way it is. And the sooner you figure that out, the better.” The doorbell rang, interrupting their lively little conversation, and Jane's eyes darted toward the front door. “Mr. Anderson!” A man’s voice boomed from outside. “This is Detective Wells with the Cliff Falls Police Department! Open the door! We have a warrant to search your home!” Salvation, Dick thought—maybe not for him, but at least now, no matter how this nightmare scenario ended, Jane would not get away, and would not be able to kidnap their daughter. Holding the gun with a steady hand, Jane looked toward the front door, then back at Dick. “Open the door now! We have a warrant!” “I’ve always loved you, Dick. In spite of what you did to me, in spite of all the crazy shit that’s happened since all this started, I’ve always loved you.” Tears were streaming down her face as she held the gun to his temple. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anything the moment she actually pulled the trigger. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard something bang against the front door hard enough to crack the wood holding the doorknob and deadbolt in place. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way, Dick. You weren't supposed to cheat on me. Till death do us part, remember?” More banging, more wood giving way, until finally the door burst open. The cops were inside now, running, their guns drawn. “Police! Drop your weapon!” Jane took the muzzle of the Glock from Dick’s head and put it against her temple. “Till death,” she repeated. “I will always love you.” “Drop your weapon now!” “Jane, don’t do it!” He didn't want to see her end it this way. He’d been mentally prepared to take a bullet to the brain, but this ending was somehow worse. Watching her commit suicide and living with the aftermath of it was not something he was prepared to do. "Please don't." She smiled at him through the tears and pulled the trigger. The explosion of gunfire was deafening, the single self-inflicted shot to her head spraying Dick with blood and bits of her brain. He watched in horror as she fell to the floor in a bloody heap, never knowing that this scene would replay in his mind over and over again for the rest of his life. For all of time her death would haunt him.
P.S. I love the Snow White avatar that's snorting coke, sarkans. She must be high as a kite! Up, up and away!!!!
I can't see how the "inversion" would make the scenario any different or challenging, or worth writing about. I don't mean I couldn't write something based upon it but I cannot see how it would be a learning experience since the situation is so mundane and done to death on TV and in films.
I can see your point of view. And I don't disagree with you. My version of the prompt wasn't very good. I know this. But I'm rusty. And I'm just now getting back to focusing on writing so it's going to take some time to improve my skills. But back to the stalker type stories with female antagonists, I think Glen Close did a great job of stalking Michael Douglas in Fatal Attraction. On the flip side, Fear was definitely worth watching. Personally, I'm looking forward to seeing The Boy Next Door. It's gotten rotten reviews, I guess mainly because, just like you said, it's a story line that has been done to death, but whatever. I love Jennifer Lopez.
Though I intend to read Fabulous Jewels's take, I also don't see any good the reversal of sexes would make. Maybe an interesting exercise for King himself.
I think the inversion could be interesting. If you're writing horror, you need to crawl right inside your characters' heads, right? Figure out what makes them afraid? Would it be the same to be inside the head of an abused man as inside the head of an abused woman? Maybe the male character is physically stronger than the woman, so you could explore the real power of fear, the way it paralyzes him. Or the social stigma he faced for having been an abused man, or the stigma against fighting back against a woman. Maybe you tell the whole story from Jane's POV and make her an unreliable narrator, so we start the story thinking she's been victimized and wrongly convicted (playing on the readers' likely attitudes toward domestic violence) and then only gradually shift to realize that Jane's the true monster in the story, and Dick's the victim. But, honestly, I think the story could be interesting without the inversion, too. It's not the basic plot that makes stories interesting, it's the little details.
Did anybody else go all out with this writing assignment? I've gone off the deep end a bit, I took the story and made it my own, and sort of just ran with it. I'm way past the five or six pages. I'm currently around thirty pages, and the characters and plot are still developing as I go. I did start with the situation in King's book, and then let the story and characters start to develop themselves from there. Am I crazy to be putting this much work into something like this? Or would you consider this good practice for future writing? This will be my first completed work once I've finished. Opinions welcomed.
I certainly think it's worth doing. No one trains for the Boston Marathon during the Boston Marathon. I often create throwaway stories to get to know my characters. I use them in place of character sheets, which I find to be dead and static and of no worth to me. I need to walk a character through some shit before I get to know who he or she is.
Wreybies, thanks for the input, I appreciate the reply. I also dig the line about walking your character through some shit.
(I didn't do the reversal of genders, and I'm sure there are more then a few editing mistakes below, but here's my attempt at the prompt) The cool autumn air whooshed in through the small gap in the driver side window, bringing with it memory of years past. Jacks first steps, Steven's berserk rage, blackness, then strained consciousness, then blackness again, the apology, the sickening feeling of embracing the animal that had maimed her; and the fear, the lingering fear that had griped her tight and had never let go. Haley slammed on the breaks, exiting her waking nightmare at the sight of a school crosswalk guards terrified face, his arms outstretched, the red stop-sign crooked in his grasp, and his mouth agape in what could only be disbelief that he would die on a Tuesday morning. The car came to a screeching halt, leaving a trail of skid marks in its wake. “I-I'm so sorry!” she yelled, raising the mandatory hand from the wheel in apology. The man took a deep breath, shot her the angry look like the one she would give to Jack after a successful prank on mommy, and waddled off shaking his head. Then he was gone behind her and in the past. Another memory to associate with the cool autumn breeze. Fall will forever be my bane. Haley turned on the radio and began switching through the channels. She needed something to keep her here in the present, so AM radio it was. She stopped at the first voice she heard that wasn't an advert. “News 1010 morning news, 404 south still slow moving as we approach 9 am, the DVP south looking slightly better, just be wary of construction as you approach the Douglas off ramp....” Haley started to regret her decision, this was likely to put her to sleep. She reached for the radio dial and set it to scan. “Papa John's! 2 for 1 game da-” “ taken psychedelic drugs in the past year you qualify for a paid stu-” “Local news, a prison break out of Steel view late last night-” A shot of adrenaline filled her, and she felt like she had be doused in cold water. She dialed back to the news as fast as she could, hyper aware from her fight or flight kicking in. “two gaurds now in critical condition. Two of the escapees were detained early this morning, but one still remains on the loose, police are asking citizens to safely secure their homes and to alert police of any suspicious activity....Boy, seems like something out of a movie....Today in sports! What do you have for us Greg?” Haley's eyes were stuck in a wide stare, her body tensed to the point of paralysis, her fingers on the dial. Steven. It couldn't be, Steven wasn't capable of such a thing. Why would he break out of prison, why would he come after her? He knew what he had done was wrong, Steven wasn't an evil man, she was the one who pushed him to far. “ Haley, you're the victim” her therapist would repeat session after session. Had she ever gotten past it? It was a major breakthrough in therapy when she stopped blaming herself for his incarceration, she couldn't remember all the times they had worked through the scenario during her sessions, how many times she had been blind to the truth. She had insisted that it was an overreaction on her part, he wouldn't have done any permanent damage, it was just a bloody nose, or a black eye, a sprained ankle, a broken arm, they would heal quick enough. She hadn't needed to call the police, Jack needed his father, why did she take his father away from him? Jack, Jack go back to bed! Leave him alone! Jack, run! He did a number on her that night, the Lion didn't like it when the sheep barked orders. But she had distracted him, Jack hadn't been hurt, and when she came to, Steven was passed out on the lazy boy, beer and blood splattered on his shirt. Blood? Steven, you're bleeding are you all right? It didn't hit her until her eyes were fully back in this reality that she was the one covered and leaking the red stuff. She hadn't intended on calling for police, but when she groggily called 911 for an ambulance, and let slip that she had been attacked, the two came in partnership. It didn't take long upon their arrival to deduce what had taken place. The cops had given Steven a rude awakening, and she remembered feeling fear, not relief, as they dragged him away. She pulled into the apartments underground parking, her mind still half in the past. This is insane, you just need to calm down, do the breathing exercises Dr. Erik showed you. Talk through it, am I thinking rationally? Are you Haley? Her therapists voice joined in. A few deep breaths later, and she was actually feeling better, still on edge, but not on the point of panic anymore. She had until the afternoon to pick up Jack from school, and maybe what she needed was some well earned rest. She made her way inside, taking the stairs up to the second floor to avoid any chance of awkward elevator talk, and finally snuck her way into her apartment. Setting her keys on the counter where she always left them,she grabbed herself a yogurt from the fridge, turned the kettle on for some tea, and popped herself on the couch to watch some Dr.Phil. Haley needed all the doctor she could get. Five minutes in and her eyes felt like they were weighed down by cement, struggling to keep them open, torn between her interest in the show and her biological need for sleep. “You want people to love you? You gotta show some love” Dr. Phil said sternly, and the audience clapped. “I know Dr.Phil, I know” “I don't think you duu, now are you willing to get help here today?” “I am Dr.Phil, I am” “Ok Haley, first things first. Steven, come on out here” Haley's eyes shot open, and she gasped for air. The credits were rolling, and the doctor and his wife were walking off the set like they always did. She had dozed off, it was an auditory hallucination. She looked around nervously, feeling uneasy about the news of the prison break, and about being home alone. She needed to get out, do some errands, clear her head. Walking over to the counter to grab her keys she huffed in disbelief. “How do I lose the damn keys every damn time” she said aloud. “I put them right here, right fucking here!” As she thought of turning to search for her keys in the recesses of the couch, she heard a floorboard creek behind her. Frozen, a million thoughts raced through her mind, and yet she couldn't focus on a one of them. A single word emerged victorious from the cacophony, and played over and over in frantic tones in her mind. Steven. “I put them on the key rack” a voice said behind her. Haley wanted to run, but instead she turned, and set her welling eyes on him. “How...what are you doing here Steven” He was dressed in his old clothes, clothes she had packed into the large black travel suitcase,and shoved into the forgotten depths of their *her* bedroom closet. He looked clean shaven, and the familiar fruity aroma of her body wash perfumed the air. “It's such a long, boring story. I'm just so glad to be home.” he said, walking over to sit on the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table in the process. “Where's the boy?” he asked. “Jack's at school” “Right, right, school and all that jazz.” He grinned “You don't look so happy to see me, come on over, sit down baby” “I...I was making some tea, do you want a cup?” “ I think that waters gone cold, you've been out for about half an hour, I didn't wanna wake you, hell I didn't even hear you come in, I was taking a nap myself. But that sounds lovely baby, no milk, and some honey. You keep honey still?” “I think there's still some...” she paused, fearful of her next words. Steven interjected, a smug look over his face. “ Some left since when I was still home? That's right, I do remember picking some up, a big container, funny looking bear holding a honeycomb.” Steven laughed. “Funny the things you remember about home while your sitting in a small cell. I've been over this entire place a thousand times in my head. Hell, most of its the exact. Damn. Same.” His stare grew more intense, and Haley couldn't bear to look at his face anymore. She headed for the electric kettle, and flicked the switch. “Took me a bit of time to find my clothes... The bedrooms a little worse for wear, I got a little over zealous in my search, I hope you understand.” Steven went on speaking, but she couldn't hear what he was saying, all she could hear was her heart pumping blood into her head. Her gaze was stuck on the red glow of the kettle switch, she could hear the bubbling of boiling water between her hearts intense beating. What am I going to do? “I'm speaking to you woman!” Steven yelled. “Look at me!” Haley heard his feet slam against the floor as he approached. “I said fucking look at me you stupid wh-” The kettles switch clicked back to its neutral position, the water within still bubbling from its boil. Haley grabbed it tightly in her hands, and as she felt his tight grip encircle her upper arm, she flung its content into his face. Some of it splashed on her arm, the one he had begun to pull towards himself ,but she couldn't feel any pain. His scream was one of anger, turning into a loud growl as he swung his arms wildly around him. Haley stood staring at him, fearful of what he would do to her now. She wanted to beg for his forgiveness, some old instinct surfacing from the past. Haley, run! “You stupid bitch!” he growled behind clenched teeth. “I'll gut you like a fucking pig!” Haley turned to run, but he was on her in an instant. The skin on his face was a red mess, peeling, white, and bunched up together like little ridges on his face; his eyes were red, a demons eyes. His hands encircled her neck, slamming her upright against the fridge with enough force that she had to touch the ground with her toes. Fingers sunk deeper into her skin, until they met with her windpipe, she tried a whimper but nothing came out. All she could do was look into the eyes of the monster strangling her. His disfigured face blurred, the edges of her vision slowly encroached by darkness, and then, in an instant, there was nothing. The white ceramic floor emerged from the nothingness, small specks of blood dotted the tile. What was I doing. Gingerbread, decorating the gingerbread man. Red buttons, one, two, three, vertical down the center. That's good Jack! Oh no, not on his face! “Fucking bitch! ERRGH! I'll fucking kill you, fucking kill you! You stupid cunt!” The brief awakening was cut short but concussive blows that made her ears ring, darkness took over again. Where's Daddy? Daddy had to go away for a little bit Jack, he had to help some people Is he coming back? Not for a little bit. Jack...your Daddy loves you , he.... I don't want him to come back! What if he comes back angry? “Fuck! Look what you made me do! Look!” his voice was panicked, and she could hear him taking deep breaths. Then the soothing sound of a phone dialing on speaker. “John, it's Steven. Ye- Listen! I don't have time to explain, I need to call in that favor....I -I know John, you don't have to tell me, of all fucking people!” Haley spotted the fridge this time around, she was on her back, and it was hard to breath. Jack's school photo has blood on it...She hoisted herself up on her left arm and felt around her mouth with her tongue. Her mouth was a jagged field of chipped teeth, the ones still left to be jagged that is. She spotted one of her front teeth a foot away from her. “You going to do this to me John? Your brother owes me his fucking life! His life John! Shut your fucking mouth! It's done, I'll deal with this myself!” Stevens rage had built up again, and if she didn't pick it up from the tone, the phone he hurled into the cabinets was an equally good tell. “You're....” She looked up at him, now noticing that she couldn't see out of her left eye. They both must have looked like abominations straight out of John Carpenters “The Thing”. She always hated that movie, but her Dad has been a massive Kurt Russell fan, and she had seen the movie a dozen or so times in passing as a result. Are you with me now Daddy? Steven looked relieved, and she realized that he must have thought he had killed her. She must have looked worse then she felt. “It's going to be ok babe, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry....why did you do that, you know how I get...it's fine, we'll be ok” he said soothingly into her ear, pulling her up and placing her arm around his shoulders. “You can stand, cmon now, just need to wash that blood off, then I'll patch us both up..” He helped her to the kitchen sink, and waited to see if she could stand on her own before heading off down the hall. “Where do you keep the first aid kit I made up? Bathroom?” he yelled. “Haley! Answer me!” “Y-yesh....” she mumbled out with extreme difficulty. “Nevermind, I found it...what the...who the fuck messed with this kit!? I told yall not to fucking touch it!” Steven, come on out here....Now Haley, take this knife right here, hold it firm now, and I want you to show Steven how he makes you feel, ok? “Ok Dr.Phil, I'll try” Haley looked at the Betty Crocker kitchen knife in it's wooden casing, grabbed it tightly from its sheath, and hid it by her side. Steven came out of the bathroom, a slight rage brewing once again, she knew she could not survive another storm. “This'll have to fucking do! There's going to be some changes around here now that I'm back, for starters, no one touches my fucking sh-GAH!” Haley thrust the over sized knife as hard as she could into his abdomen, feeling the skin and fabric give way to sharp blade. She twisted as she pulled it out, and stabbed hard again, and again, and again. Each time, his grip on her shoulders grew weaker, until finally there was no grip at all, and he lay motionless before her. Haley's eyelids felt like cement blocks, and she thought she could hear the applause of an audience as she let loose the knife, and it clattered to the floor. The edge of her vision was once again threatened by an encroaching darkness. Stumbling a few feet towards the front door, her legs giving in, collapsing forward and smashing her head against the tip of the counter.
