Characters and Consquences

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Day 852 July 8, 2016
Let's try writing in a very confined space: A bathtub story. Your character/ or you are going to stay in this single, relatively confined space for your entry. Do you think you could write a good story with such restrictions placed on you?

Terri could feel the cold porcelain through the thin silk of the oxford shirt. The voices in the next room suddenly jumped several octaves and she heard a stream of explosive cursing. Terri instinctively slipped down lower in the empty claw foot tub, wrapping her arms protectively around her sides, trying to make herself smaller, less conspicuous than she felt. The bathroom was small, but classy. Terri had once thought it was elegant. The claw foot tub was immaculate and white, standing free in the center of the space. The walls were lemon yellow and the decor was retro chic. It was bright and airy, only now it felt like a prison. The ceiling fan slowing rotating above her head drove a consistent, steady stream of near frigid air straight down onto her head and shoulders, slipped right through the thin layer of cotton and chilling her to the bone.

She listened to the argument raging away in the next room and contemplated, not for the first time, the series of bad decisions that had landed her in this uncomfortable situation. Terri tried to focus on what her plan B was going to actually be if hiding in her lover's bathroom did not work out. She thought about what she might do if Lorne's husband suddenly threw open the door and found his ex-wife hiding, half naked in the bathroom of his brand new home. Things could get far more uncomfortable for Terri certainly than they were right now. As if the point needed to be driven home, the shiny chrome faucet began to drip. Icy cold water began running in rivulets over her bare feet and ankles. "Seriously?"

The volume of the voices had dropped again. Terri gripped the edges of the tub and drew body upward, straining to listen. She could swear she heard soft weeping. A bolt of panic surged through her, bouncing off the gleaming porcelain tomb around her. "Was Nadine in there confessing to him?" For a few fiercely painful moments she imagined her sitting on the end of the bed, her pretty blonde face soaked with guilty tears, one trembling hand pointing to the closed bathroom door...

"Stop that!" Terri commanded herself. Nadine would never expose her. She knew that as well as she knew anything in her life.

Suddenly, there was a single, terrified scream. Masculine. Not Nadine. There came the sound of breaking glass and an ominous, heavy thud somewhere in the house. Terri's ears registered the sounds and therir horrifying implications just as the bathroom door flew open so violently, the hinges tore out with a splintering crash.

TO BE CONTINUED...MAYBE...MAYBE NOT...

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Day 1332 July 8, 2016
I was reading Creating Characters by the editors at Writer's Digest and came across this:
There is a character hierarchy where not all characters are created equal. They indicate place holders,walk ons, minor characters and your lead characters create the story. I'm curious how do you measure the importance of each character before the story develops or does it just fall into place?

I think character development typically begins well before I write the first word of any fictional piece. I tend to see the characters or character first, then the plot naturally seems to build around them. There always is a tangible connection between any of my main characters and some element or elements of myself. I feel I write stronger that way, craft more relatable characters whether they end up being protagonists or antagonists. Having characters be engaging to my readers is so important because I typically produce shorter fiction. I have a finite number of words with which to capture, engage and entertain. Limited word counts mean I have to develop those characters quickly and tell their complete story - carrying all the threads through to the end. It is challenging, but perhaps less so than writing novel length fiction where you have room to stretch your legs a bit more but have a lot more work to get done with those "legs".

Remembering Rainbows

Prompt: "We may run, walk, stumble, drive or fly but let us never lose sight of the reason for the journey or miss a chance to see a rainbow on the way." Gloria Gaither What is your take on this?

Sometimes this life's journey feels like one long, perpetually running stumble. The past year has been filled with proverbial potholes of finding judgment instead of understanding and disdain instead of loyalty. There have been moments when I have had to remind myself that each experience, be it disappointing or uplifting, is part of a bigger journey to understanding this world and one's place in it. I have come to a better clarity than I had before, even if that clarity brings a sadness and sense of loss in its wake. I feel I have a better understanding of what I mean to people in my family, my friendships, my workplace...and for me that has helped shape who I am. That has true value, even if it feels hard earned at times. Life is messy but it is also beautiful and fleeting, not unlike a rainbow. I've realized that there is more joy in life than most of us expect and that its usually the quiet moments that affect the biggest changes or make the deepest impressions on our hearts.


When I was little my grandmother used to ask me to sing her Kermit's "Rainbow Connection"...and I remember doing it quite often. I never seemed to recall all the verses but she typically joined in somewhere along the way. The song always makes me think of her, and those sweet moments I shared with her during my childhood. It is a sound about dreaming, about believing there is more to the world than the very literal and tactile elements of daily life. My grandmother is very much a dreamer, a believer in the power of all things artistic and ethereal. It is, I think, one of her greatest gifts. She has been a powerful influence in my journey.  An avid painter and a poet, my grandmother has taught me to appreciate the beauty in life and the value of all of life's lessons - even the difficult ones. She has taught me to take the time to appreciate the colors, the textures and the patterns all around me and use them to create my own art, to enhance my own craft. As I write this, I realize I would do well to remind myself of her lessons, of her contribution to my life.  I need to focus more on the positive, on the good and less on things that may have wounded me and left me feeling more estranged from her in the last year. There were times in my life that my grandmother's rainbows brought color and light when there could have been only darkness for a girl who felt invisible and lost. I really should do a better job of remembering that truth.