El Aguila Negra está muerta
Special skills: Strong analytical skills, excellent communication skills, approximately four times as strong as an average man, able to shoot balls of electricity from my hands.
Dan looks down at the paper and scribbles out the last line. He has been revising his resume, yet again. If only he could get a job in a large city, he could show the masses his power, and rid that metropolis of crime. He is, after all…Captain Electro!
Dan sets his resume aside, and finishes his Cap’n Crunch. Starting time in the mail room is at 8am. It is tough to make a living on eight dollars an hour. The days drag on, as he is stuck in the beige, windowless room. It makes him realize why prison walls are painted the color they are. It has the ability to crush the will of even the strongest man.
After a few tries, his 1996 burgundy Corsica finally sputters to life – expelling noxious fumes from the tailpipe. Today is like almost every other day. The office still uses an out-dated punch card system to keep track of time. He punches his card, and begins sorting mail. There are few visitors throughout his day, and most rarely engage in any small-talk with him. Even the other two mail room workers hardly speak to him. He has heard whispers between them. They consider him a freak. One once said that Dan is probably a serial killer or pedophile. Dan has no time for them. He can’t make friends with anyone. It might be too easy for them to realize his secret identity - a risk he can not afford to take. Every hero must make sacrifices. Dan’s cross to bear is solitude. His parents died in an accident early in his life, and since the age of eighteen, Dan has been on his own. This is the struggle of a true hero. The comic books make being a superhero sound easy. Batman was a billionaire. Superman went from a podunk village in the cornfields to become a big city reporter. Even the whiny Spiderman lived in a thriving metropolis. They all had the means to research crimes. If Hickory, Michigan – a town devoid of hickory trees – has an underworld, Dan will not discover it while sorting mail.
On Dan’s lunch, he rushes to the library to gain access to their public computers. He has resumes posted on all major job sites, and checks his email daily for job offers. Occasionally he gets various “Work from Home” email, but today he does not even receive those. Rejected and dejected again, his mood is somber in the afternoon, until he overhears a coworker mention to the other about a drug dealer. It appears this scum has a thriving marijuana operation in downtown Hickory after dark. Dan perks up and tries to listen to the details. He thinks about talking to the drones to get more info, but restrains himself. Dan doesn’t want to raise suspicion – especially since he will apprehend the criminal tonight.
After work, Dan returns home and goes to bed. He sleeps this early, so he can spend the night securing the city from whatever evil tries to bestow on it. As he waits to fall asleep he wonders if there are others like him out there. Others trapped in small towns scattered across the United States – others with powers, but not the means, to provide justice and protect mankind. He wakes up around midnight, dresses in his alter ego’s outfit, and heads out to protect the streets from evil.
Captain Electro, as he refers to himself at night, has a sub par outfit. Dan sets money aside every paycheck so he may one day create the outfit suitable for Captain Electro. He is even thinking of taking a sewing class. Until the outfit is complete, he will not dare wear it in public. Captain Electro should be viewed with dignity and respect – not as a crazy Circus Soleil reject. This, along with his car’s tendency to backfire, would definitely make him stand out in Hickory. His secret pledge to protect and serve would be discovered. For the moment, he just wears a dark, black hooded sweatshirt, black sweatpants with hockey knee pads underneath. He disguises his face with a Lucha Libre mask - an authentic Mexican wrestling mask he found online. The mask type is Aguila Negra. He thought it looked like a silver outline of a Phoenix on the front of the black mask. Since a Phoenix rises from the ashes, and has something to do with fire, he thought it was close enough to electricity. It wasn’t until curiosity got the better of him that he realized aguila is Spanish for eagle. The mask is not easily noticeable with the sweatshirt hood up, but if he stops a crime, the mask will disguise his face.
Tonight is the third year one month anniversary of the first patrol he took. So far he has reported four cases of littering, and found a lost dog from the signs posted on telephone posts. He didn’t receive recognition for those deeds – not that he craved the recognition. He doubted the police did anything about the litterers. As for the dog…he recognized it from the posters and drove it to the family’s house. Captain Electro took a bungee cord from his trunk, and hooked one end to the dog’s collar – the other end to the banister. He rang the doorbell, and with a backfire of the car’s exhaust, disappeared in to the night, as a light turned on from inside the house.
Captain Electro feels tonight will be his night. He softly whispers “there is electricity in the air” as he sips his cup of gas station coffee. So far, that is his catchphrase – but he knows he will need a catchier one for after he apprehends the drug dealer. It seems that even in the quiet, peaceful town of Hickory, the evil scourge of rampant drug trafficking seeps through the night, like a biblical plague. Tonight, he is going to end it. Captain Electro will apprehend the evildoer.
He sits in his car across the road from Carla’s Country Crafts, coffee in hand. The shop is located at the center of town, close to the only intersection with a stoplight. The stakeout is going slow - each passing minute feeling like eternity. He wishes he had a Sudoku puzzle book. There is so much fiction about superheroes. They seem to just show up whenever there is a crime. A real superhero is not glamorous. It involves a lot of waiting and sleepless nights. Captain Electro needs to be in a big city like New York, Chicago, or Albuquerque, so he can accomplish more for the common man. There are no bank robberies or mafia here. A lesser man would give up by now…but he is not a lesser man. He is super. This empty street makes Captain Electro want to move on - to cruise the neighborhood looking for trouble - but he has read that patience is a virtue. That must apply to superheroes even more so than mere mortals.
A young lady is walking down the street. Captain Electro feels the need to jump from his car and rush over to her. This is no time of night for a lady to be walking the streets. She is wearing grey sweatpants, a U of M sweatshirt, and appears to be tightly clutching a small purse. Obviously she is not a hooker. He notices she is walking hesitantly, head moving from side to side, as she looks in to the shadows of the night. Captain Electro suddenly is wide awake. This is potentially someone that could need his assistance. He decides his goal for tonight will change. It is now to make sure she gets to her destination safely. He will silently follow her…making sure no villains attack her.
She stops under a street light and looks around. Captain Electro watches as she slowly walks around the corner of the tiny craft shop. This is bad, he thinks. Darkened corridors and alleyways are always festering with muggers, rapists, and other scum. Sure, he has yet to see that in Hickory, but there are only so many alleyways he can cover. He quickly gets out of his vehicle and runs across the street. As he approached the back corner of the shop, he pressed his back against the brick wall. There is not much light, and he feels like a ninja – unseen by the average human eye. He peers around the corner to make sure the lady is safe. To his dismay, he sees a drug deal taking place. The young lady hands over money, and an evildoer hands her a plastic bag. He can’t see the contents, but he knows it is marijuana. The evildoer is younger than he expected. He appears to be a teenager, with long floppy hair, wearing baggy jeans. Captain Electro can tell from the cocky demeanor that this young thug has potential to become a criminal mastermind. This causes Captain Electro’s pulse to quicken and his heart to race. The moment he has been waiting for is coming to fruition. This is his time to apprehend a criminal and make the streets of Hickory safe. He can feel sweat on his palms and on the nape of his neck. Many days he has dreamed of this moment, and planned the speech he will give to the thwarted criminal. Captain Electro steps around the corner…ready for action.
“Stop criminal, or feel the shocking force of Captain Electro!”
The lady drops the baggie to the littered concrete. The baggy-jean criminal jumps back, quickly recovers and stares back.
“I am Captain Electro…here to rid the streets of vile scum like you.”
Captain Electro starts in to his speech. “I am born from the lightning that flashes through the night. My duty is to…umm…stop you criminals from doing…crimes….and protectthepeopleofHickory…” The nerves get to him and his words run together. He tries to recover, but that causes more fumbling. The lady keeps asking what the hell is going on. The criminal asks if this is a joke.
“Who the hell are you, you freak?” The criminal regains his control and starts moving to Captain Electro. “Get the hell away, before you get hurt.”
Captain Electro gets frustrated. This is not going as planned. The vile criminal does not seem afraid of him. Embarrassment quickly turns to rage.
“Criminal, give up now and you won’t be hurt”
“What the fuck is going on?” screams the lady. She is too afraid to move. Her eyes dart back and forth from the two men, and to the baggie lying on the concrete.
The criminal races towards Captain Electro. Even in the darkened alley, and with the criminal’s hair hanging in his face, Captain Electro can see evil in the criminal’s eyes. The criminal is wearing a Megadeth shirt – a true sign of evil…stating he supports massive deaths, and is inconsiderate of typos.
Captain Electro’s heart is beating so much he swears he can even feel it in his ears. He grabs the drug dealer and slams him against the wall. As he does, a powerful electrical wave releases from his hands and into the evil teen causing the body to crumple to the ground.
“What did you do? You killed him!”
The lady screams and runs around the corner. Captain Electro doesn’t pursue, but just stares at the body lying lifeless in front of him. He did not mean to use such force. He just got so…angry.
A few minutes pass as Captain Electro stares at the body. Time seems frozen. It does not exist. This was not the plan. His breathing is increasing. Anxiousness is creeping through his body. His stomach feels weak. He vomits. He tries to turn away, but the vomit sprays on the wall of the building, and splatters the teenager lying before him.
A siren in the distance breaks the quiet of the night. Captain Electro snaps out of his frozen stance and runs back to his car. He starts up the Corsica and drives quickly away through the night.
Dan sits at his kitchen table. Beer bottles are scattered around the kitchen. Bowls with small amounts of spoiling milk are on the table. An empty box of Cap’n Crunch is within reach. Dan periodically scratches his unshaven face. For the first week after the incident, the news reported how a local teenager was brutally killed by an unknown assailant. A witness stated that the assailant was obviously a deranged sociopath.
There is a message on his voicemail from his landlord asking where the rent check is. Other messages are from his employer – each more threatening, until the last one states he has been fired for not showing up to work.
Dan periodically holds the mask, but his hands tremble whenever he touches it. He should be a hero. He rid crime from the streets. That has been his dream since he was a young boy and first discovered his powers. His failure was that he never practiced to harness that immense power. It led to death. A death of a criminal…but still a death. It is also a death of his dream. He no longer wants to move to a big city. He no longer cares to be the defender of the helpless. All he cares about is having another drink.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Writing Exercises
I rewrote my major conflict scene with Magnifying Conflict in mind. It actually was about two pages long. I did go with the extreme on it. It was an interesting exercise, but I found that at the end, I scaled a lot of it back. I think it was actually better with less details. The scene now has one aspect that was not even hinted in my original rough draft. I added a line in a more dramatic scene which is more humorous. I was attempting to keep people on their toes, I suppose. Since my ending was considered jarring, I thought having another line that might seem a bit out of place would actually benefit the story. Also because of this exercise, my human antagonist was altered. In my mind I saw him a certain way, but decided to add some details so others might see him a certain way too. That made me add two lines to my closing. I think it improved the story. I hope it did.
The In-Class Revision exercise helped the most. Though it was not done in the exact way of the book stated, I think I followed it pretty well. I printed out my story along with the comments from Dr. Lacina, and comments from classmates that I deemed very important and inciteful. I also had a section of what they liked too...just so I didn't cut out something others seemed to enjoy. The In-Class Revision is made up of a large amount of exercises. Because of comments, I changed some of the dialogue, and greatly revised the opening third. It has a lot of the same details, but the whole style was changed. Though I am unsure if I technically started the story in the right place (the middle), I still think the beginning of my story started with the right line. Another thing I wonder if I succeeded or failed at was if my title was just thrown at the top of the page or chosen with care. I did not use my first title choice, but did use the one I thought of right before I posted my rough draft. I was planning on changing it for the final version...but I grew to really like the title. It does fit with the story, and in my mind means a few different things. It can be interpreted a few different ways. The only thing that might not make it a good title is that it is a Spanish title in an all English story. There was reasoning behind it though.
The With Revision Comes Final Meaning exercise reminds me of the last short story discussion we did - which I think was the worst posting I did for a discussion. I attempted to do the same thing with this. Because of this exercise, and also feedback from others, my story was altered a bit. I know what my final meaning is, and I hope it came across. It is not incredibly deep and philosophical...but I do have a meaning.
When all is said and done, I know that some will not care for my story. That is to be expected...with basically anything I write. I have trouble with Hollywood endings...and I like open-ended stories too. This one is a bit more tightly wrapped up than I expected (and wanted) it to be, but my outcome differed from what I expected it to be. I had a vision of how the story was going to end, but as I was writing, I knew that vision was to be scrapped. So...I just wrote and had the ending reveal itself to me, instead of me trying to force it to what I expected. (That last sentence makes me sound insane).
The In-Class Revision exercise helped the most. Though it was not done in the exact way of the book stated, I think I followed it pretty well. I printed out my story along with the comments from Dr. Lacina, and comments from classmates that I deemed very important and inciteful. I also had a section of what they liked too...just so I didn't cut out something others seemed to enjoy. The In-Class Revision is made up of a large amount of exercises. Because of comments, I changed some of the dialogue, and greatly revised the opening third. It has a lot of the same details, but the whole style was changed. Though I am unsure if I technically started the story in the right place (the middle), I still think the beginning of my story started with the right line. Another thing I wonder if I succeeded or failed at was if my title was just thrown at the top of the page or chosen with care. I did not use my first title choice, but did use the one I thought of right before I posted my rough draft. I was planning on changing it for the final version...but I grew to really like the title. It does fit with the story, and in my mind means a few different things. It can be interpreted a few different ways. The only thing that might not make it a good title is that it is a Spanish title in an all English story. There was reasoning behind it though.
The With Revision Comes Final Meaning exercise reminds me of the last short story discussion we did - which I think was the worst posting I did for a discussion. I attempted to do the same thing with this. Because of this exercise, and also feedback from others, my story was altered a bit. I know what my final meaning is, and I hope it came across. It is not incredibly deep and philosophical...but I do have a meaning.
When all is said and done, I know that some will not care for my story. That is to be expected...with basically anything I write. I have trouble with Hollywood endings...and I like open-ended stories too. This one is a bit more tightly wrapped up than I expected (and wanted) it to be, but my outcome differed from what I expected it to be. I had a vision of how the story was going to end, but as I was writing, I knew that vision was to be scrapped. So...I just wrote and had the ending reveal itself to me, instead of me trying to force it to what I expected. (That last sentence makes me sound insane).
Saturday, June 6, 2009
What guys talk about while shopping.
“You know me…you know that right? You owe me.”
“Yeah, ok…I owe you. Whatever,” Tyler responded in an exasperated tone. He was pushing a shopping cart up and down aisles as Zachary randomly threw items in to it.
“I was suspended because of you. Hell…I was almost arrested!”
Yellow, rubber, cleaning gloves were tossed in to the cart, landing by a spool of twine. Zachary was moving up and down the aisles in a skittish manner, often backtracking, picking up an item and then putting it back on the hooks. Tyler kept up, even with the cart’s bad left, front wheel that he had to constantly fight with.
“Ok! I get it. I just don’t know why we are doing something this stupid. Why a UPS truck?”
“Because,” Zachary responded with surprise, “it’s like friggin Christmas.”
For the next fifteen minutes as they wandered around the store. Zachary shared his memories of riding the school bus down the dirt road, and seeing a UPS truck on the side of the road. Every day, it seemed to be there – but no driver. Tyler asked how he knew that the truck wasn’t abandoned, but Zachary knew that it was never in the exact location, just the same close proximity. Zachary told Tyler that anyone can rob a bank. Once you rob a bank, you know what you got. Money. The thrill is gone the moment you got away. With a UPS truck, the thrill continues. Every package that they steal is a mystery. You never know what you are going to get.
“So…you would rather have mystery instead of guaranteed millions? It seems more logical to get a big score.”
“Ty, don’t be so friggin stupid! I saved your ass from getting busted with just some stupid weed. You can’t talk about a big score when you risk prison for pot? What the hell?”
“Yeah, now I am going to go to jail for a box probably containing ShamWows instead.” Tyler was nervous about this plan – this stunt. It was irrational. He knew that Zachary had too much dirt on him, and saved him from getting in trouble for pot possession. Still…his nerves were increasing. “Ok…can we talk about the plan again?”
Zachary proceeded to tell his plans, taking momentary pauses to compare items such as bolt cutters. They will leave school early, and start driving down the road forty-five minutes before the school bus usually passes by. For every question Tyler asked, Zachary could respond. If the truck wasn’t there, they would keep making passes – the dirt road seldom had traffic, and was surrounded by six foot high corn fields. There was little chance of being noticed. If they get to the truck, and the driver is there, they could just pretend to be concerned citizens and making sure the driver and vehicle were ok. Zachary pulled out his cell phone to show Tyler the pictures he took of the UPS truck on the daily visits. He explained that he has been studying the vehicle, and appears that a decent, heavy duty bolt cutter should be able to get the inside the cargo area of the truck. The rubber gloves will let them leave no prints. The twine and duct tape are precautionary items. They might be used to secure packages…or if the driver comes back, they can tie him up. The utility knife is for opening packages, cutting the twine, or used as a weapon if necessary. Zachary’s voice got more animated and the words spewed out of his mouth faster and faster as he described the plan. It was child-like excitement mixed with devious desires.
“And Kobalt tools are on sale, so we are even saving money!” Zachary exclaimed. By this time Tyler could no longer tell if Zachary was joking.
The disagreement on transportation was quickly solved. Zachary’s exuberant plans contrasted with Tyler’s mixed feelings of remaining logical, and controlling the nervousness. They agreed that stealing a car would be better than borrowing a vehicle. The risk of stealing a car was deemed by both to be less than getting caught with a borrowed vehicle. Tyler knew from selling pot behind the 7-11, that often drivers left their vehicles running on lottery days. The customers seem to think it is safe, since they will only be inside long enough to buy a few tickets, and the car is right outside the window. A vehicle would be easy to quickly take. They could ditch the car quickly.
This revelation had Zachary sprinting off, and Tyler trying to follow while combating the shopping cart that constantly veered to the left. Zachary found the item he was looking for and made it back to Tyler, whose nervousness was now being replaced by annoyance with the cart. Zachary tossed a red, plastic gas container in the cart.
“We can burn the vehicle when we are done. Now, let’s head to the plywood.”
As they went down the plywood aisle, Zachary explained how he saw on CSI episodes that the investigators could see footprints, tell what size feet they have, and what style of shoes they wear. Also, they could probably compare dirt samples from the road and match it to the shoes. If they cut plywood and make it like big wooden snowshoes, it would leave no tracks, and the crime scene people couldn’t tell how big their feet were. Tyler fought against this idea, stating they have no way of cutting the plywood without someone knowing. He also didn’t believe the local police had the same technology as on television. Even with his protests Zachary was insistent that their footprints should be disguised.
“What about wood shims, Zach? They are cheaper than plywood, and we can glue them on shoes. They won’t leave tread marks, and won’t give our shoe size away. Also…if we get caught, I don’t know if we can escape running in plywood snowshoes.”
“That is the first friggin bright idea you had all day! Ok…we can do that,” Zachary stated as he started grabbing packages of wood shims.
“Or…we could just go to the Salvation Army, get shoes that are too big or small, and wear them. They are probably so worn they can’t even get a tread print.”
Zachary tossed the wood shims back in the bin. His smile was enough communication to show his approval. They both made their way to the checkout in silence. No plans were stated as the cashier rang up their purchase. Tyler felt that the cheap, green, plastic flower-watering pot that Zachary threw in the cart to “disguise their purchases” was a stupid idea, but he started thinking that the overall plan could work.
As they walked across the parking lot to Tyler’s old, beat-up Stratus, Tyler blurted out “wouldn’t it be funny if the keys are in the truck’s ignition, and all of this is for nothing?”
“You, my friend, are a friggin idiot,” Zachary responded with a laugh.
“Yeah, ok…I owe you. Whatever,” Tyler responded in an exasperated tone. He was pushing a shopping cart up and down aisles as Zachary randomly threw items in to it.
“I was suspended because of you. Hell…I was almost arrested!”
Yellow, rubber, cleaning gloves were tossed in to the cart, landing by a spool of twine. Zachary was moving up and down the aisles in a skittish manner, often backtracking, picking up an item and then putting it back on the hooks. Tyler kept up, even with the cart’s bad left, front wheel that he had to constantly fight with.
“Ok! I get it. I just don’t know why we are doing something this stupid. Why a UPS truck?”
“Because,” Zachary responded with surprise, “it’s like friggin Christmas.”
For the next fifteen minutes as they wandered around the store. Zachary shared his memories of riding the school bus down the dirt road, and seeing a UPS truck on the side of the road. Every day, it seemed to be there – but no driver. Tyler asked how he knew that the truck wasn’t abandoned, but Zachary knew that it was never in the exact location, just the same close proximity. Zachary told Tyler that anyone can rob a bank. Once you rob a bank, you know what you got. Money. The thrill is gone the moment you got away. With a UPS truck, the thrill continues. Every package that they steal is a mystery. You never know what you are going to get.
“So…you would rather have mystery instead of guaranteed millions? It seems more logical to get a big score.”
“Ty, don’t be so friggin stupid! I saved your ass from getting busted with just some stupid weed. You can’t talk about a big score when you risk prison for pot? What the hell?”
“Yeah, now I am going to go to jail for a box probably containing ShamWows instead.” Tyler was nervous about this plan – this stunt. It was irrational. He knew that Zachary had too much dirt on him, and saved him from getting in trouble for pot possession. Still…his nerves were increasing. “Ok…can we talk about the plan again?”
Zachary proceeded to tell his plans, taking momentary pauses to compare items such as bolt cutters. They will leave school early, and start driving down the road forty-five minutes before the school bus usually passes by. For every question Tyler asked, Zachary could respond. If the truck wasn’t there, they would keep making passes – the dirt road seldom had traffic, and was surrounded by six foot high corn fields. There was little chance of being noticed. If they get to the truck, and the driver is there, they could just pretend to be concerned citizens and making sure the driver and vehicle were ok. Zachary pulled out his cell phone to show Tyler the pictures he took of the UPS truck on the daily visits. He explained that he has been studying the vehicle, and appears that a decent, heavy duty bolt cutter should be able to get the inside the cargo area of the truck. The rubber gloves will let them leave no prints. The twine and duct tape are precautionary items. They might be used to secure packages…or if the driver comes back, they can tie him up. The utility knife is for opening packages, cutting the twine, or used as a weapon if necessary. Zachary’s voice got more animated and the words spewed out of his mouth faster and faster as he described the plan. It was child-like excitement mixed with devious desires.
“And Kobalt tools are on sale, so we are even saving money!” Zachary exclaimed. By this time Tyler could no longer tell if Zachary was joking.
The disagreement on transportation was quickly solved. Zachary’s exuberant plans contrasted with Tyler’s mixed feelings of remaining logical, and controlling the nervousness. They agreed that stealing a car would be better than borrowing a vehicle. The risk of stealing a car was deemed by both to be less than getting caught with a borrowed vehicle. Tyler knew from selling pot behind the 7-11, that often drivers left their vehicles running on lottery days. The customers seem to think it is safe, since they will only be inside long enough to buy a few tickets, and the car is right outside the window. A vehicle would be easy to quickly take. They could ditch the car quickly.
This revelation had Zachary sprinting off, and Tyler trying to follow while combating the shopping cart that constantly veered to the left. Zachary found the item he was looking for and made it back to Tyler, whose nervousness was now being replaced by annoyance with the cart. Zachary tossed a red, plastic gas container in the cart.
“We can burn the vehicle when we are done. Now, let’s head to the plywood.”
As they went down the plywood aisle, Zachary explained how he saw on CSI episodes that the investigators could see footprints, tell what size feet they have, and what style of shoes they wear. Also, they could probably compare dirt samples from the road and match it to the shoes. If they cut plywood and make it like big wooden snowshoes, it would leave no tracks, and the crime scene people couldn’t tell how big their feet were. Tyler fought against this idea, stating they have no way of cutting the plywood without someone knowing. He also didn’t believe the local police had the same technology as on television. Even with his protests Zachary was insistent that their footprints should be disguised.
“What about wood shims, Zach? They are cheaper than plywood, and we can glue them on shoes. They won’t leave tread marks, and won’t give our shoe size away. Also…if we get caught, I don’t know if we can escape running in plywood snowshoes.”
“That is the first friggin bright idea you had all day! Ok…we can do that,” Zachary stated as he started grabbing packages of wood shims.
“Or…we could just go to the Salvation Army, get shoes that are too big or small, and wear them. They are probably so worn they can’t even get a tread print.”
Zachary tossed the wood shims back in the bin. His smile was enough communication to show his approval. They both made their way to the checkout in silence. No plans were stated as the cashier rang up their purchase. Tyler felt that the cheap, green, plastic flower-watering pot that Zachary threw in the cart to “disguise their purchases” was a stupid idea, but he started thinking that the overall plan could work.
As they walked across the parking lot to Tyler’s old, beat-up Stratus, Tyler blurted out “wouldn’t it be funny if the keys are in the truck’s ignition, and all of this is for nothing?”
“You, my friend, are a friggin idiot,” Zachary responded with a laugh.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Story Idea 2
My second story idea involves a man that saves a child's life...and how the local media embraces the story. The saving the life won't be as titillating enough, nor the kid cute enough, for the national media to embrace it. This takes place in a decent size area (like a Saginaw-size place) where there is not enough real news to report. The type of place, like here, where they interview people at gas stations for opinions on why gas prices are high, and call it news. So, it is a great opportunity for a "feel-good" piece for the local news.
The main conflict, or problem, is that the guy is not a likeable guy. He has done bad things in the past, and even now lives his life in a way that is unheroic. He is trying to find a way to spin the public attention for his gain, but also has to make sure that they don't find out who he truly is, and what his past is like. He knows that the news and a large portion of the general public likes to build up heros and tear them down...and he is not a good guy to begin with.
So, this sets off a string of events why he tries to play up his moment of good public opinion, while trying to hide who he is from reporters and the public.
The main conflict, or problem, is that the guy is not a likeable guy. He has done bad things in the past, and even now lives his life in a way that is unheroic. He is trying to find a way to spin the public attention for his gain, but also has to make sure that they don't find out who he truly is, and what his past is like. He knows that the news and a large portion of the general public likes to build up heros and tear them down...and he is not a good guy to begin with.
So, this sets off a string of events why he tries to play up his moment of good public opinion, while trying to hide who he is from reporters and the public.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Character Description #2
This is my second attempt at the Character Description. This is actually the one I started to write first, but was not doing well. I think I improved it...but it still seems pretty weak. This person was someone I saw with my oldest sister while visiting my mother in Hale. I made an inappropriate comment about the people in Hale...and it made this stick in my head. I think the one I posted first is the better of the two. I am posting this just for more practice.
Mindy is staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still wet from the shower – the drops running down her back. She feels there is a lot of work she is going to have to do today. Her eyes feel puffy, though she knows they look no different from any other day.
This has potential to be a big day. Her shift at Food Pride starts right around the noon rush. Mindy loves the holiday weekends. This is usually when the boys, “or trunk-slammers” as the older locals call them, come up from downstate. They will be stopping by the Food Pride, picking up cases of beer and bags of chips, before they go off four wheeling or fishing. These guys live their beer. It is amazing Anheuser-Busch sold out to those damn foreigners. If the bigwigs ever visited places like here, they would see how many true Americans drink their Buds. Even the down-state guys do.
As she straightens her hair, she dreams about leaving this hellhole. Possibly moving down state. She has talked to enough of her customers to envision where she wants to live. There are just no worthy local boys up here.
Mindy opens the cabinet above the sink. A few tubes of lip gloss and mascara fall out. She sees the unopened box of hair dye and silently curses. This would be a perfect time to have used it. Some highlights at minimum would have been nice. She reaches for the wrinkle remover. It lessens the bags under her eyes, but does wonders for the crow’s feet. As she is applying the cream, she notices that she is starting to get lines around her lips too. Can she really be getting more wrinkles? That is why Mindy dreads every birthday. She is getting older, and she gets less attention from the guys at Food Pride.
After she finishes putting on some makeup, she practices smiling. Food Pride doesn’t approve of a lot of makeup, but she puts on the types that make her look natural - and younger. She searches her room for the perfect outfit. Clothes are tossed in a pile in a corner. She has not had time to do laundry yet this week. The selection she has that is appropriate for work is sparse. Mindy spends more of her time on her “going out” clothes. Most of the time, she does not care what she looks like at Food Pride. Today, she cares. Mindy pulls out the nicest pair of jeans from her dresser. They are tight, and she feels shows off her ass pretty good. She pulls out a white top. It is slightly tight, but when wearing the appropriate bra, it shows off the shapes she wants people to see, while hiding some of the areas she wants to remain hidden.
After Mindy is dressed, she rushes goes to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She wishes she had one of those thermoses so she could drink on the road, but has to settle for quickly drinking from one of the small mugs in the cupboard. Most of them she got as free samples…this one from a local realtor. She pours a cup from her Mr. Coffee machine, adds some Food Pride brand artificial sweetener, and glances at the time. Though she got up early, she still seems like she has to rush to not be late.
She grabs her keys, cigarettes, and brown, faux leather purse from the countertop. She hops in her white ’97 Grand Am and heads for work. It is another summer season, and this time she is going to make the most of it.
Mindy is staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still wet from the shower – the drops running down her back. She feels there is a lot of work she is going to have to do today. Her eyes feel puffy, though she knows they look no different from any other day.
This has potential to be a big day. Her shift at Food Pride starts right around the noon rush. Mindy loves the holiday weekends. This is usually when the boys, “or trunk-slammers” as the older locals call them, come up from downstate. They will be stopping by the Food Pride, picking up cases of beer and bags of chips, before they go off four wheeling or fishing. These guys live their beer. It is amazing Anheuser-Busch sold out to those damn foreigners. If the bigwigs ever visited places like here, they would see how many true Americans drink their Buds. Even the down-state guys do.
As she straightens her hair, she dreams about leaving this hellhole. Possibly moving down state. She has talked to enough of her customers to envision where she wants to live. There are just no worthy local boys up here.
Mindy opens the cabinet above the sink. A few tubes of lip gloss and mascara fall out. She sees the unopened box of hair dye and silently curses. This would be a perfect time to have used it. Some highlights at minimum would have been nice. She reaches for the wrinkle remover. It lessens the bags under her eyes, but does wonders for the crow’s feet. As she is applying the cream, she notices that she is starting to get lines around her lips too. Can she really be getting more wrinkles? That is why Mindy dreads every birthday. She is getting older, and she gets less attention from the guys at Food Pride.
After she finishes putting on some makeup, she practices smiling. Food Pride doesn’t approve of a lot of makeup, but she puts on the types that make her look natural - and younger. She searches her room for the perfect outfit. Clothes are tossed in a pile in a corner. She has not had time to do laundry yet this week. The selection she has that is appropriate for work is sparse. Mindy spends more of her time on her “going out” clothes. Most of the time, she does not care what she looks like at Food Pride. Today, she cares. Mindy pulls out the nicest pair of jeans from her dresser. They are tight, and she feels shows off her ass pretty good. She pulls out a white top. It is slightly tight, but when wearing the appropriate bra, it shows off the shapes she wants people to see, while hiding some of the areas she wants to remain hidden.
After Mindy is dressed, she rushes goes to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She wishes she had one of those thermoses so she could drink on the road, but has to settle for quickly drinking from one of the small mugs in the cupboard. Most of them she got as free samples…this one from a local realtor. She pours a cup from her Mr. Coffee machine, adds some Food Pride brand artificial sweetener, and glances at the time. Though she got up early, she still seems like she has to rush to not be late.
She grabs her keys, cigarettes, and brown, faux leather purse from the countertop. She hops in her white ’97 Grand Am and heads for work. It is another summer season, and this time she is going to make the most of it.
Quick thoughts on week 3 exercise (not really class assignment).
Ok...this is more of a ramble, than anything coherent. The blog I posted just a bit before this is the one for the actual assignment. This is just thoughts, that I may revisit tomorrow and see if I can improve my assignment. I think I did pretty good at the task sheets and thinking about different people. I can easily answer the questions for a range of different people.
I was playing around with the Exercise 31 too. Kind of got away from the exercise we are supposed to do...but just wanted to get used to describing certain types and get my mind going.
The making the hero flawed portion (Exercise 29) is definitely going to help with my short story. Even if I don't go with my first plot idea, I think this will be something I will reread. For the blog posting, I don't believe we were supposed to incorporate it...as it is just a character introduction. I started hinting at things, but never really expanded on this.
The 1st person versus 3rd person exercise .... I failed. To me, I can change from "I" to "he" and not get dramatic differences. The only time I can see the obvious benefit to 3rd person is if you have multiple characters that you want to have their thoughts and behaviors better utilized. If it is a primarily one person story, I can't see how one way is too different from others. So...I am missing something there. If anyone reads this, can they tell me what I am missing?
So...I posted my introduction. It might be longer than I needed to. I think I described the workplace better than the person. I might have went with too much physical description, though I attempted to keep that to a minimum. I tried to subtley sneak in her mannerisms, but I am unsure if I added enough to it. I want to share what I think I added, and how I perceived it...but I think that goes against the heart of the exercise. This was my third character I started writing on. I stopped on the other two. Maybe tomorrow I will attempt one of the ones I abandoned. I wanted to try a female, as I don't believe I have ever written primarily from a female perspective. Let's see how off I am on how women think and act.
I was playing around with the Exercise 31 too. Kind of got away from the exercise we are supposed to do...but just wanted to get used to describing certain types and get my mind going.
The making the hero flawed portion (Exercise 29) is definitely going to help with my short story. Even if I don't go with my first plot idea, I think this will be something I will reread. For the blog posting, I don't believe we were supposed to incorporate it...as it is just a character introduction. I started hinting at things, but never really expanded on this.
The 1st person versus 3rd person exercise .... I failed. To me, I can change from "I" to "he" and not get dramatic differences. The only time I can see the obvious benefit to 3rd person is if you have multiple characters that you want to have their thoughts and behaviors better utilized. If it is a primarily one person story, I can't see how one way is too different from others. So...I am missing something there. If anyone reads this, can they tell me what I am missing?
So...I posted my introduction. It might be longer than I needed to. I think I described the workplace better than the person. I might have went with too much physical description, though I attempted to keep that to a minimum. I tried to subtley sneak in her mannerisms, but I am unsure if I added enough to it. I want to share what I think I added, and how I perceived it...but I think that goes against the heart of the exercise. This was my third character I started writing on. I stopped on the other two. Maybe tomorrow I will attempt one of the ones I abandoned. I wanted to try a female, as I don't believe I have ever written primarily from a female perspective. Let's see how off I am on how women think and act.
Week 3 - Introducing a character
Only three more hours left on her shift. For the remainder of the week, she is working the late shifts. She doesn’t mind that at all. On those shifts the door is locked, and the people have to pay for the window. There is no chance that she will be robbed. Also, with the thick glass, and the turnstile that they put their money or credit card in, there is very limited opportunities for conversation. Megan can’t stand hearing the same fucking lines over and over. The old guys, or the young ones filled with machismo and fake bravado, using the same cheesy lines to hit on her.
Today is slow. The bigger name gas stations have lowered their price to match Admirals. That is the only reason people come to this dump. The gas is usually cheaper. Inside the small cramped establishment, there is a cooler with a few Coke and Pepsi products, water, and a few flavors of Gatorade. Beef Jerky hangs next to the sparse candy rack. The cigarette shelves are packed. The other shelves have chew, and bags of tobacco. Besides that, all that remains is a shelf with motor oil, and the newspaper rack. The station sits on the corner of two busy streets. There is usually an accident once a month from people trying to pull in or out of this station. Most busy days there are a few near misses as cars jockey for pump positions. The pavement is cracked. Megan sometimes wonders how much of the spilt gas and leaking oil seeps in to the ground beneath the pavement cracks. She has spent most of the day just staring out at the traffic, or at her nails. Her fingernails are painted black today, though her left index finger has part chipped off. She wishes she brought the nail polish with her.
Megan has already looked in her little black bag. It doesn’t hold much, but she loves the bag. It has little skulls all over it. Her purse is crammed with ATM receipts, some lip balm, a few wadded dollar bills, a half pack of Newports and her keys. She doesn’t like to bring too much stuff with her at work, because you never know when you will get held up.
The job is overall not too bad though. It is easy, and she doesn’t mind not doing anything. There aren’t too many jobs out there for someone with just a high school diploma. This one lets her easily pay her portion of the rent. They let her dress however she wants to, as long as her clothes are not ripped. She had a pair of jeans she bought with rips in them, but was informed she could never wear them again. Her boss doesn’t understand her fashion. It is ok though. She can still wear her concert t-shirts. Today Megan is wearing one of her favorites – See You Next Tuesday. She is not too much of a fan of the band – her old boyfriend was. He used to love the song 8 Dead, 9 If You Count The Fetus. All of the songs sounded the same to her…just a bunch of high pitch screaming. Still, the shirt is pretty fucking cool. It is black, but the graphics have so much color, including pink, that she can match it with any color nail polish and eye shadow. The only bad part is they make her wear the blue Admiral vest over the shirt. Most of the day she doesn’t have it on. She can see when a boss pulls up, and always has time to pull it on before they notice.
The radio is playing Z93. Nickelback is playing again. They play the same shitty songs over and over. One day she will bring in an MP3 player, so she can listen to some good music. Since nothing is good on the radio, it is time for another smoke break.
Megan grabs a cigarette, bums a disposable BIC from the bowl on the counter, and steps outside. Just as she lights up, a Chevy Cobalt with the bass on high pulls up to the pump. She takes one more quick drag and tosses the cigarette to the ground. She grinds it with her black and pink Vans and steps back inside.
She looks at herself in the security mirror as she waits for the young guy to finish filling the tank. The red streaks in her hair are starting to fade a bit. She cheapened out and used the temporary dye the last time. Next time, I will go blue. Megan always thinks about going blue, but ends up sticking with red. She knows her boss won’t bitch with her hair having long strands of red in it. For some reason that seems to be more acceptable to old people than blue. Why push her luck? The guy finishes filling up and heads her way to pay. She notices his American Eagle shirt (and probably the same with his shorts) and backwards cap. She hopes this loser won’t hit on her. He is probably too preppy to care, but she can tell he has the cockiness. Oh well….another day in paradise….
Today is slow. The bigger name gas stations have lowered their price to match Admirals. That is the only reason people come to this dump. The gas is usually cheaper. Inside the small cramped establishment, there is a cooler with a few Coke and Pepsi products, water, and a few flavors of Gatorade. Beef Jerky hangs next to the sparse candy rack. The cigarette shelves are packed. The other shelves have chew, and bags of tobacco. Besides that, all that remains is a shelf with motor oil, and the newspaper rack. The station sits on the corner of two busy streets. There is usually an accident once a month from people trying to pull in or out of this station. Most busy days there are a few near misses as cars jockey for pump positions. The pavement is cracked. Megan sometimes wonders how much of the spilt gas and leaking oil seeps in to the ground beneath the pavement cracks. She has spent most of the day just staring out at the traffic, or at her nails. Her fingernails are painted black today, though her left index finger has part chipped off. She wishes she brought the nail polish with her.
Megan has already looked in her little black bag. It doesn’t hold much, but she loves the bag. It has little skulls all over it. Her purse is crammed with ATM receipts, some lip balm, a few wadded dollar bills, a half pack of Newports and her keys. She doesn’t like to bring too much stuff with her at work, because you never know when you will get held up.
The job is overall not too bad though. It is easy, and she doesn’t mind not doing anything. There aren’t too many jobs out there for someone with just a high school diploma. This one lets her easily pay her portion of the rent. They let her dress however she wants to, as long as her clothes are not ripped. She had a pair of jeans she bought with rips in them, but was informed she could never wear them again. Her boss doesn’t understand her fashion. It is ok though. She can still wear her concert t-shirts. Today Megan is wearing one of her favorites – See You Next Tuesday. She is not too much of a fan of the band – her old boyfriend was. He used to love the song 8 Dead, 9 If You Count The Fetus. All of the songs sounded the same to her…just a bunch of high pitch screaming. Still, the shirt is pretty fucking cool. It is black, but the graphics have so much color, including pink, that she can match it with any color nail polish and eye shadow. The only bad part is they make her wear the blue Admiral vest over the shirt. Most of the day she doesn’t have it on. She can see when a boss pulls up, and always has time to pull it on before they notice.
The radio is playing Z93. Nickelback is playing again. They play the same shitty songs over and over. One day she will bring in an MP3 player, so she can listen to some good music. Since nothing is good on the radio, it is time for another smoke break.
Megan grabs a cigarette, bums a disposable BIC from the bowl on the counter, and steps outside. Just as she lights up, a Chevy Cobalt with the bass on high pulls up to the pump. She takes one more quick drag and tosses the cigarette to the ground. She grinds it with her black and pink Vans and steps back inside.
She looks at herself in the security mirror as she waits for the young guy to finish filling the tank. The red streaks in her hair are starting to fade a bit. She cheapened out and used the temporary dye the last time. Next time, I will go blue. Megan always thinks about going blue, but ends up sticking with red. She knows her boss won’t bitch with her hair having long strands of red in it. For some reason that seems to be more acceptable to old people than blue. Why push her luck? The guy finishes filling up and heads her way to pay. She notices his American Eagle shirt (and probably the same with his shorts) and backwards cap. She hopes this loser won’t hit on her. He is probably too preppy to care, but she can tell he has the cockiness. Oh well….another day in paradise….
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