I’m going to back peddle on my attempted plan today. I was going to extend yesterday’s scene into the argument and outcome. Instead I’ll think it through a bit more. As much as you may think I write too much about what I’m planning on doing, I don’t feel the same. Much of what I do here when I’m writing about my writing is more of a brainstorm exercise. Considering the possibilities of what might happen or what could be the reason. What I’m doing now is to take a scene I know I need and writing out the goals of that scene.
I don’t know how to do that, so if what comes next looks no different from what came before what can I say?
This scene is early in the story. Lots of things need to happen so there is less room for interstitial content. Lean.
This is part one of a three part micro-plot for our victim. The entirety of which occurs in part one of the overall story. Unless I can find a twist for later.
This introduces the victim in a way that makes us sympathetic to how his death adversely effects Charming. Not the victim—we want him dead. But the animosity between the two can’t be so extreme that any sensible reader or character would think Charming had a hand in his death. That shouldn’t be a question.
At some point I’d like Charming to angrily but innocently say something to the effect of “I’d like to kill that guy.” The sort of thing anyone would say in anger.
Keeping in mind that her character is still orphan-like at this stage she needs to lose the argument. Not by explicitly giving Jun-kata money for the shirts, but arranging to meet him later.
Jun-kata’s hidden goal throughout is that he had entered into business with Charming because of all the girls that throw themselves at him on The Song, she never did. He has a crush on her. He’s angry because he screwed up the t-shirt thing, but he’s not willing to admit to her that he did—or that he doesn’t have the money to fix it. Pride is his problem. Love is his motivator.
By asking her for more money for the shirts he feels like he’s inviting her to a business partnership of sorts. By resisting, she’s doubting his competency. Of course that pisses him off.
Karl’s role in this is to act as representative of The Song at large. Which finds the entire public argument quite distasteful.
The Pit however will act as barometer for the two arguing. As their anger increases the energy of The Pit will increase.
Charming needs to leave this scene flustered and angry at herself for caving. She can never she that Jun-kata has a crush on her. Her flustered state leads to her first bout of dermatographia.
Charming’s cause worsens because this public outburst not only runs contrary to her desire for acceptance, but also because it contributes to the prosecution’s case against her in the murder trial. All previous harmony Charming enjoyed with her fellow Bennies fractures. Evidence of that is in Karl’s behavior.
544 words on day 517
Purple clouds wall the Western sky. They beckon terribly. If someone asked you to recall the itch of a scrape healing on your elbow you’d say it was the same. The morning’s sun brightens this purple fortress and skips the ocean swells like a throwed stone. In Spring this near storm would have Bennies clattering down gangways and docks tying down boats and latching shutters. In Fall, now, shopkeepers drink coffee to the show while fisherman arrange their nets ignorant of the event.
Charming catches a few neon sparks strobe from cloud to ocean. Sweat beads on her Red Bull. She swirls the slush of the half-frozen energy drink, takes a crystalline swig, and heads back to The Pit to set up her t-shirt stall.
###
“Ah, poop.”
Charming’s Sunday morning Pit neighbor chuckles while reading his pad. He’s not laughing at the feed.
“Hush-up Karl. We don’t all need to sound like fishermen.” Charming absently tugs the cord from her braid and shakes her hair loose. Karl waggles his head in agreement.
The vector of Charming’s consternation, Jun-kata, threads his way around the stalls and through the few customers in The Pit. He’s tall; girls fall for him. He thinks Charming owes him money; she thinks he owes her shirts. He’s a dick. Rebraiding her hair will keep her hands from throttling him. Maybe.
234 words on day 516
I need to have an extended plotting session with the Benhá storyline, but that’s not going to happen here. That’s not going to happen now.
Not that the unlikely path to today’s topic matters but I fired up The Crow soundtrack thinking it was the musical score—guess I haven’t ripped that after all—and am listening to The Cure sing “Burn”. The word redemption resolves in my mind from no where out of the song or the movie. Neither one holds redemption as a theme. Now I’ve got redemption on the brain. I’m looking for some missing ingredients for Benhá. Maybe I could stir in this theme.
Where? Charming’s going to be about acceptance. Redemption isn’t something she needs since she’s done nothing to require seeking it. Of the available known main characters that leaves Brother Gane and Mr. Roundmartin. This is not Brother Gane’s story. It’s Charming’s. Gane doesn’t need to change. Which leaves me to cast off the idea of redemption or try to write an antagonist whos actions are all driven by a need to redeem himself. Opposing actions like killing and burning don’t immediately strike me as obviously linked to such a theme.
I find the challenge compelling. Redemption rings of extremes. A person seeking forgiveness or validation for some heinous past act might incline himself to do things differently. Maybe. Or worse, if they’d spent a good chunk of their lives in contrition following said heinous act but no one noticed lashing out makes sense. Hello! You’re making this harder to write not easier. Though I’ve nicely stumbled on a parallel between Charming and Mr. Roundmartin: both desire to be accepted. For different reasons.
287 words on day 515
I yell at my kids.
I yell at them because I’ve made myself angry over something they’ve done or not done. Sometimes they’ve known better. Usually I have.
Friday I threw a fit because I couldn’t get a cabinet door closed. Littlest Pet Shop dioramas and chokable paraphernalia peeked through the gap. I got into the cycle your brain does: nudge the door, watch it pop open; close the door, watch it pop open; slam the door, watch it pop open. Curse! Slam the door open and start grabbing and flinging all the plastic crap that offends me. My sensible self cringes in the corner with my children. My thumb runs straight into the frame like hammered concrete. A few more furious grabs and flings empty the storage space. A classy finish foot-shoving the scattered bobble-headed dogs, cyan barbershop chairs, and unprobable treehouses concludes the main event.
One’s holding back tears because she knows that showing those would piqué my guilt which would immediately escalate the embarrassing rage. The other’s pointedly not sucking her fingers. Both are waiting for the tidal wave to attenuate and the waters to recede. They’ve seen this before and know it will.
In a practiced calm tone I say, “I’m going to the other room to say good-night to your sisters. When I come back I won’t yell.”
Surely some psychological professional has labeled what happens next—maybe it’s light temporary but functional multiple personality disorder—I’m a different Father in the next room. My smile, my voice, my words, my peace are genuine. These two are spared my anger, my guilt, and a memory they don’t need.
I return down the hallway to where I left the anger soaked children toweling off. I draw a deep breath before I cross the threshold into their room. They deserve an apology and I deserve a spanking. Air fills my lungs mixing oxygen and contrition with guilt.
The apology belongs to them so I won’t detail that here.
Three days later my thumb still aches.
348 words on day 514
I’ve chosen to spend my free Sunday morning reformatting an old laptop hard drive. I’m thus constrained to writing on the phone unless I’m planning on writing later tonight. Ha ha.
Rod Taylor’s Here, There, or Anywhere is my theme music for the moment.
Read a blog yesterday with several college writing prompts for real life. It wasn’t funny after the first couple. Essentially everything after the first was repeating the punchline. The post got me to thinking about a whole host of writing I don’t do here on 1000 Days. I’m not sure how to define it except to say the results show a clear attention to purpose and a thoughtful effort.
Instructive writing. A conveyance.
I’m about inventive writing here. My writing presumes that I’ve digested much of the world around me and that I’ve developed the skills to concoct from that meal a new thing for you to enjoy.
I wonder if I’d have more success writing more towards a purpose than creatively?
165 words on day 513
“You say, ‘Jun-kata’s body surfaced near the Silver Dock.’ I would say—we would say—’Jun-kata surfaced near the Silver Dock.’”
“So you don’t believe in a soul?”
“You asked that before I think. I…I don’t understand this word ‘believe’.”
“Feel…or think…or, you know, believe. You don’t think Jun-kata has a soul?”
“Have a soul? Jun-kata is a soul. I don’t have to think or to feel that he has one. He is one. He doesn’t have one somewhere else. It’s right there. Him. Jun-kata.”
92 words on day 512