Structure; A Stopper to Stan
Free spirits don't like structure. They roam about and do whatever they like, whenever and in the style that hits them at the moment.
Stan hated to read and write, so he did neither, unless forced by his teachers. He was now being forced. He had to write a story about a hermit in the woods.
"Fine!" He thought, "A hermit in the woods... "
He tried nursery rhyme style, fable style, epic style and even non-fiction style. None worked for him. He decided to take a break over the weekend and start fresh on Monday.
At the pizza hangout that night, he ran into some buddies. "Why so glum, chum?"
"Mr. Hague finally trapped me into writing a story, or else. I have to write about a hermit in the woods! Geez!" He shook his head and grabbed a slice.
His buddies looked at each other. "Dude, why not just go see the hermit in Piney Woods?"
Stan's head shot up. "There's a hermit in town?"
"Hell, yeah, man! My dad says he has been here since the sixties."
"Y'all want to go out there with me tomorrow?"
His buddies nodded and told him to bring gifts for the old man. He jotted notes as they told him what the old man would need. He left reinvigorated. He thought of a new style that would work for him.
-------------
The guys left for the woods early, for Stan had to stop to buy the things his Mom didn't have. He also picked up a three pack of legal pads and some pens.
The ride was short and soon they smell a luscious aroma of roasting meat. They had forgotten their own needs. They followed the scent and were soon near a clearing with an unrecognizable meat roasting on a spit.
"Hello!" Stan called out. No answer.
"My name is Stan and I wanted to speak with you and brought some stuff from town." He spoke loudly to nothing in particular.
A wall of limbs seemed to slide in front of him and an old man appeared from some type of hut. He held out a small dry hand and shook Stan's with an odd strength.
He looked clean, but ragged. His hair was short, but had been chopped off without aid of a mirror. He smiled and displayed a full set of clean teeth.
"Have a seat boys. The Venison will be done in about an hour."
He turned to Stan. "How can I help you, young man?" He poked at the roast with a sharpened stick.
"I, uh, I need to write my first story ever and the guys said I might talk to you and get an idea for a story."
"Sure! Sure! Whatcha wanna know?"
"I could just write as you talk, if you don't mind." He handed him the shopping bags of juices and sodas.
The old man gulped down and apple juice and then grabbed a Coca Cola. "One thing I miss is beverages!" They all laughed.
The old man, Walter, just began to talk and Stan began to write. He wrote until the Venison was ready and then they ate, but he scribbled as he ate as well.
As the sun began to dip at the edge of the horizon, Walter and Stan stood. They shook hands silently and turned away from each other.
Stan left with his friends as Walter disappeared into the darkness.
-------------
Stan looked at his paper when Mr. Hague handed it to him and jumped when he saw the grade B+! He figured he had flunked since he had followed none of the guidelines.
"Why didn't you flunk me Mr. Hague?"
"Because of the content, Stan. That is one of the best bits of writing I have ever read and it deserved and A, but this is school and we have to follow guidelines, so I had to drop your grade. How did you write this?"
"I interviewed a hermit in the woods." The teacher's eyes gleamed.
"Walter?" Stan nodded.
"I might have known... Walter was my English teacher... "
Friday, May 31, 2013
1. Structure - J.F. Hire
Gotta Go Fast
*******
"I'm not asking you to stay, I just... I need to know you want to."
You were asking in such a cryptic way. I couldn't tell what you wanted. I was still gripping your pony-tail in my hand, having just severed it from the straggling copper tendrils.
"I know you can't stay," you say, "and I don't expect you to. But I want you to want to stay. Do you know what I mean?"
Still silent, all I can manage to do is comb your bluntly-cut hair down some, as if trying to repair damage to a Barbie's hair-plugs, snipping here and there. It wasn't long before I was reaching for the clippers, allowing them to rattle to lively, groaning metal.
"I'll just shut up. I'm being greedy and weird. I'll just drop it."
I shaved your head, you left afterwards with a terse goodbye, forgetting your shoes.
*******
The coffee was so bitter. Sip after sip, I would grimace and set the Waffle House cup back down. Too distracted by the acidity, I found myself stuck on 5 down, intersected by 18 across. Salt slid from one end of the bar to mine.
"Check it. It cuts through."
For a moment, I was attempting to make eye contact with you past the four other customers. Back and forth, behind and forward. I could only make out your mass of ginger hair, high-lighted in places, with a rat-tail sticking from the bottom, braided as if you were a Padwan.
The salt worked. I tried it later that day while writing for my creative writing course. I put too much.
******
"We're friends, right? You trust me? Just do this one thing for me, okay?"
You had a hold of the steering wheel, gently, but intent on utilizing it from the passenger's seat. I was already breaking when you slowly took control. 'Don't crash, don't crash, don't die, don't panic' went through my head. The parking lot was darker than it should have been, this car wasn't mine, and you didn't see the cops either. I think that you ran into the cruiser intentionally.
"SHIT, KENZI--!"
"I know! 'RUN'!"
******
"Fine, I'll stay here while you sleep. Just don't blame me for the bugs under your skin. I told you that it was a bad idea. I said it. You never hear me."
You didn't respond, just laying there like you had for the past week. I could tell from your expression that you knew I was right. Your eyes seemed to ask me to 'back off' today, the way that the gnats were weighing down the lids.
"You'll sleep in the car one of these days, that's why I'm not covered in bugs."
I finally backed off, and sat on the log where we would meet after a long day of running. I was sitting, my legs were in the 'run' position, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet.
"Eat something. There are four protein bars next to you."
Anxiety was getting the best of me. I didn't know what was wrong. We were safe, no one would find us with the car by this ditch in the middle of no where.
"Shit."
A cicada landed on the arm you were bending behind yourself. You lay so still, your lower-half gone.
You were dead. You would never let a cicada near you.
First 30 Topics
Below I will list the first month's worth of topics. Each topic will be a jumping-off point or focal point for the writer. The first two are provided by A.B. Moore, each odd number is provided by J.F. Hire, and the even numbers are provided by R.T. Shores.
- Structure
- Character[s]
- Sci-Fi themes
- Her crowning glory
- Colloquialisms
- Make me want it - food
- Find what's in the dark
- Nature's beauty
- Prison
- My reoccurring dream
- Emotions
- Freedom
- Pulp
- Coffee or Tea
- Astronomy
- Mother nature's wrath
- Leaving for Italy
- Packing for space travel
- Alien animals
- My friend computer/siri
- Out at sea
- Train sounds
- Romantic tension
- "It was a dark and stormy night..."
- The uncanny
- The beauty of 'salad people'
- Time and place
- The new man: victims/bad dads
- A day in the life of an appliance
- From my hammock
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)