The Icing on the Cake

I chose three different exercises to try: 90 Gifts to Yourself, 94 What’s at Stake?, and 95 Writing Outside the Story and experienced a variety of success with each. First, I tried Gifts to Yourself, and because of this almost changed my story in significant ways. I found that I had mentioned the golden curls of Amy and Gabby frequently throughout the story and toyed with the idea of having these locks reflect the state of mind Amy was in. For instance, while she was grieving and still at home with her family trying to fake the fact that she was ok, I thought about inserting a line having her hair dyed a dark chestnut brown. Then later, as she was being carried out, her head would be shorn of those golden curls. Though in the end I decided against this as I did not want to give the impression Amy was mentally ill, only sick with grief, the exercise did open up my eyes in an unexpected manner. I had thought I would see how I do not provide much detail to the setting or appearance of my characters, something I still think is true; but I also saw how the details that are provided can have the possibility of shaping the meaning in a story.

I next tried What’s at Stake? but did not feel that this particular exercise affected this particular story much. Maybe it could be of use in another story, and I did have fun making a list of my favorite tales and the conflict involved – but I thought Amy’s problems were pretty well defined. I was worried because most of the conflict for Amy is internal, but I think that it doesn’t make it any less relatable – at least I hope it doesn’t…

Finally, my favorite exercise was Writing Outside the Story and I can see myself using it with other stories as it has the ability to provide amazing insights into people (characters) I already thought I knew inside and out. I wrote a letter to Amy’s mom, from her, not long before the ambulance arrived. I loved doing this, and though the contents of that letter do not make it into the story, it helped me to read the tale again with that perspective in mind and make sure that relationship is reflected. I really hope that others can gain insight into Amy without me detailing her heart by revealing that letter. Amy is flawed, a tortured soul who perhaps loved too deeply. I really loved getting to know her and hope others will look on her with compassion and some of the love that she so generously bestowed upon others.

Conversations with a Stranger

I say I remember the details, but technically that would be a lie. Those brief moments of the attack remain a haze – a blessing or a curse I am still unsure of. The police found it to be maddening. “What did you see?” They would keep asking, again and again – each time the compassion in their voice weakening – insistent, continual, as if being pressed enough would cause the fog to dissipate and clarity to return, perhaps even in time for them to kiss the kids goodnight, or to catch Leno or the scores from the late game. Anything but sit here in front of yet another young girl, big eyes frozen wide in a pale face, huddled under a blanket and offering no information in a crime which frankly would most likely remain unsolved.
“The smallest detail could help – just think carefully.” Really, could the smallest details really help? Did they want to know his breath smelled of whiskey mixed with peppermints, or of his voice – soft and sweet with only a hint of mockery and superiority seeping through, whispering so close I felt his dry lips brush against my ear? Baby he called me. “Aw baby you feel so good – why don’t you show me where you keep all that sweetness?” He nuzzled my face. I raised my hand to my cheek as if in a trance – “he had stubble.”
“Great, just great – a man of average height, average weight; race and ethnicity unknown – but he had stubble…” The frustration of the male officer was clear as he shoved his chair back, fingers raking through his hair leaving it standing on end with even rows between.
“That’s good, honey. Real good,” she patted my hand, smiling as if to offer comfort, support but her eyes were dead. To care would be to get too close, it was better to stay detached so as to guard against emotions of pain or rage. I did not blame her – my eyes had died too.
“Can I go now?”
The first light of hope hit his eyes at my question, “I think we got all we need.”
She looked tired. “We have to release her to the custody of her parents. McNally hasn’t been able to get a hold of anyone yet.” What she didn’t say was that my mom had split, left for a new husband, new life and new family, while my dad was, well who knows where.