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.
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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.
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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... "
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