If we were all forced to wear a warning label, what would yours say?
Handle with care.
Found this online, thought it was interesting.
P.S. Dropping in, moving into a new place not fun.
Tag: dabbling in the art of writing
Character Creation – part 1
Sometimes a character pops into my head before the actual story. There might be a small scene around the character but nothing is concrete. I don’t plan for this to happen, it just does.
So, what do I do when I have an idea of a character? For starters, I tend to know the character’s sex. I don’t know the character’s gender until way later.
Next, I think about what kind of world would this character live in? Futuristic? Fantasy? Modern day?
Once, I decide that, I look at the situation they are in. Do they struggle to pay for basic essentials? Are they on the run? Are they a gun for hire? Maybe they are a detective/ investigator.
If I can’t think of an answer, I mix and match. Would this character fit in an urban setting? Would it make sense if they were on the run? Nothing is is ever concrete at the beginning. Characters are like clay. They can be modeled as many times as they need to.
As the character takes shape, pieces tend to fall into place. A character now has a sword and a gun. The only place they drink their coffee is from a run down shop on a corner of a not so nice street. For character creation, I think it’s helpful to start with the little things.
What would their room look like? It’s a clean? Messy? Undisturbed? Do they use mouth wash? What snacks do they eat? Do they drink too much coffee? What does a normal day for them look like? What kind of clothes do they wear? Where do they buy their clothes?
There are a lot of character creating questionnaires out there and I’ve found some of them very useful. However, I don’t always need to use them. Sure it’s important to know if your character has any family, siblings, a boyfriend/girlfriend, or a pet, but I found that somethings, character creation gets bog down with those sorts of questions.
At times, it feels like a job to me and it’s no longer fun. The character just slips from my mind and it never goes anywhere. I like to mull it over a bit. Keep it a secret if you will before putting it down on paper.
Doing Better
The weekend is here but there’s no time to waste. With going through thr certification program, my time has been eaten up by watching observational videos, homework, and work. At this point, it feels like all I do is homework.
Good news – or maybe mix news – I’ll be moving into a new place soon. Managing everything is going to be difficult but I think I have it handled.
Wven though I’m not writing as much as I want to, I am writing. Weekly chapters still go up on wattpad every Sunday. I’m staying on top of my writing prompts and Friday posts. Monday has been bleh. I need to do better. I will do better.
In general, I’m getting a couple of sentences down in my novel. Little by little, those sentences pile up and I have been making progress. For now, that’s all I can do.
Writing Prompt – The Shot
“Good,” she smiled. “One shot is all you need.”
Frowning, I looked at exaggeratedly large bullseye. The gun was too small in my hands. I could grasp it with one hand and even then, it wasn’t such an easy shot. Did she really think I could hit the center with such a tiny gun?
Didn’t she know that I had terrible depth perception? I turned to look at her again. Her hands were clasped to her chest and she nibbled on her worn out thumb nail.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a crowd had gathered at the booth.
Great.
“You got this. Just point and shoot.”
Like it was so easy. I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands against my jeans. First the right hand then the left. I could do this. Sure, I had never shot a gun before but I had shot a toy gun before. My brothers and I used to run around the backyard all the time. I had prepared for this. I had trained for this.
My gaze flickered to the left. The panda’s bug eyes stared lifelessly at me. There it was the source of my misery and perhaps happiness. It was its fault if this went sideways. It already cost $12 and it was totally not worth it.
I could probably sew something better. I’m sure there were some store that sold that puke colored pink material. Amazon could have it too.
“You got this,” she whispered. She did a little hop.
Maybe she wanted the bunny instead.
“Just one shot,” said the carny behind the booth.
Why was everyone reminding me? I took my stance and aimed the little orange gun. The height mattered. It couldn’t be too high or two low . . . something in between. I closed one eye then the other and decided to keep them both open. I could barely see as it stood.
I’ll do it in three, I told myself. One . . . two . . . deep breath . . . three.
For a moment, everything stood still. No one said anything. Then . . .
“Would you like to try again?”
I heard her speak one word. “Please.”
Writing Prompt – Gray Eyes
And just like that, the man I’d been kissing moments ago became the most dangerous man on the planet.
His face flashed across the platform’s screen. Somewhere behind me, the train screeched to a halt. Shoulders moved past me but all I could look at was at those gray eyes.
The picture was terrible. His face was blurred, distorted. Anybody who didn’t know him wouldn’t recognize him. I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought.
It been only moments ago, when we said goodbye, that I was looking at those same gray eyes.
“Suspect is charged with arson, theft, murder, kidnapping . . .”
The list just went on and on. Apparently, he was behind the recent Ouji attack where a government building had exploded. The news didn’t say it but it the building had been a research facility. I should know. I used to work there until recently. That was where I first met him.
Terrorist was what the media called him. Yeah, with a rep list like that I would do and yet, was it really him? Was this the same guy who brought me dinner when I worked late? Or gave me a ride because my car wouldn’t start?
He had even helped me buy groceries. It couldn’t be him and yet, how could I not know those gray eyes. They looked like a thunder storm. The way the sky once moved, the way it is portrayed in videos.
“Train to Zanx will depart in five minutes. Train to Zanx . . .”
Had it all been a lie? Was that just one of his many personas? It would make sense. If it was true, everything he ever said and did would be a lie.
My gut twisted. It was a lie. Pressure build behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly. Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted. It didn’t mean anything, not really. I knew it wouldn’t last. That was obvious.
Somewhere close by, heavy footsteps approached. They came to a stop around me.
“Miss Alex Wight. Please come with us.”
I turned to the voice that had spoken. Surrounding me, there were seven individuals in tactical armor. They all point their weapons at me. The woman who had spoken stepped forward. She had cuffs in her hands.
“What is all this for?” I asked.
Most of the platform was empty but there were a few who loitered around waiting for the next train. They kept a wide berth from us.
“You’re charged with aiding a terrorist,” the woman answered, “please come with us.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. And just like that, I was a suspect.
Dabbling in the Art of Writing 