As this break draws to a close I’m starting to realize that I haven’t accomplished my writing-related goal for it. No short story has materialized over the past 3 weeks, despite all of my best intentions. I’m still hoping to write it before returning to school, but I don’t have a lot of time. For now, we’ll try out a few character sketches.
I’ve settled on the name Edmund Reaves. Not entirely sure why, or really even who he is. As I discussed in this post I’d like to write a story about self-discovery. Edmund would need to come to terms with something about himself, something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Problem is, I’m stumped as to what.
I could see a scenario in which Edmund is a stuck-up jerk who doesn’t want to admit some flaw to himself, but I honestly don’t know how to write that.
But what if he’s been raised to think he should be better than other people, and has to discover that he isn’t? His parents gave him some delusion of grandeur, perhaps even told him that he has special powers or that he cannot die?
Better yet, he could be a perfectly normal teenager, which means that he feels invincible. Discovering that you aren’t is quite the experience. A horrible car accident was my tutor in that department. I wonder how other people come to terms with their mortality. It seems like the kind of experience that everyone has sometime during their young adulthood.
Perhaps this isn’t stretching myself very much, but it’s easier to conceptualize him if he’s similar to me. Relatively normal childhood, supportive family, sense of purpose, destiny even. Feels the calling of a fate so powerful that not even death seems like a plausible obstacle.
As an added challenge to myself, I might write this from someone else’s perspective. Someone watching Edmund go through all of this. I’ve heard the writer’s maxim “Show, don’t tell” before, we’ll see how good I am at it.
This has actually been a very productive writing session for me. The seeds of this story have been planted, and I meant that almost literally, because I think the plot of this short story will revolve around trees.
Anywho, I’m off to read some. I’ve heard that writers are supposed to do that from time to time. Goodnight Internet.
Today’s First Sentence: That day I learned not to give girls bouquets of roses that still have thorns.
Where's Waldon? 