Dealings with the Devil

Alonzo watched from his desk by the window as the young women stepped out of a red Ferrari across the street. Her lipstick matched her car, a bright and shiny red lacquer that demanded attention. She walked towards the doors of the police station.

His interest was piqued. He watched as she entered the reception office, separated from the detective’s desks by a glass wall. She strode to the front desk and spoke to Maria, the receptionist, standing with her hands behind her back like a soldier at ease. Despite her violent lips, she was dressed entirely in dark, muted shades - long black pants, black boots, and a leather jacket far too warm for the bright Sicilian day.

Alonzo had to chuckle when Maria’s lips tightened, and she jabbed a finger at a chair behind the girl. Maria had no time or patience for the rich. She had been supporting herself and her four children since the Mafia had killed her husband.

The Mafia was a serious problem in the city - one that, unfortunately, had the police forces’ hands tied. They could not find a single informant who didn’t disappear in the night, no matter how well-guarded or secret the safe house was made. DNA testing had failed them too, with even the lower-ranked “soldiers” taking precautions against leaving fingerprints, hairs, and blood, committing perfect crimes every night. Alonzo hated those American CIA shows - they gave away all the secrets.

The entire police force had been working overtime trying to get to the Mafia, but the best they could ever get was a soldier or two in the slammer. And even then, the kid was out in little more than a day, his bail paid by some “distant relative”.

Alonzo bent his head back over his most recent report, pushing distraction out of his mind.

It was only after lunch that Alonzo’s thought’s returned to the girl. She was still sitting rigidly in the plastic chair in the reception area, staring into space. Alonzo put down his pen and walked to Maria’s desk.

“That girl came in hours ago,” Alonzo said quietly. “Why is she still here?”

Maria scoffed. “Girl indeed! She’s only eighteen. She came in here and demanded to speak to a high-ranking officer. When I told her she was insane, she just said she would wait. Pah!” Maria went back to typing, having expended the energy she could spare for the youth sitting in the corner. “Probably a prank. Rich kids go around thinking hardworking folk like us got the time to amuse ‘em.”

Alonzo glanced back at the girl. No wealthy child would try to alleviate their boredom by sitting in an uncomfortable chair at a police station all day, especially one who had a Ferrari. 

“Would she talk to me? I could just take her statement and toss it if it’s garbage.”

Maria’s eyes did not leave the dusty computer screen “Be my guest,” she said. “Just as long as she isn’t wasting my time.”

“Beautiful, Maria,” Alonzo said absently, and approached the girl in the corner. 

She only snapped out of her reverie when he was within a meter of her chair. Her hair was coming out of her strict bun in frizzy, curly chunks that hung around her face like limp spaghetti noodles.

She squinted up at him. “Are you the captain?” she asked.

Alonzo smiled, thinking of his pipe dream. “No, I’m a detective.”

Her eyes unfocused again, and returned to a dusty corner of the room. “I refuse to speak to anyone except the captain or someone of equal status.”

Alonzo could see why Maria had lost her patience so quickly. 

“Unfortunately, kid,” he said “I believe I am the only one here who is going to talk to you. So we can either go chat about what’s on your mind, or you can have your butt fall off when it goes numb from that chair.” 

Red lips slim and sharp as a paper cut, the girl nodded and stood up. Alonzo began walking to the interrogation rooms, and she followed at a brisk pace behind him.

The interrogation rooms were dark, with the cheap lightbulbs casting barely enough light to read by. White walls had turned an ambiguous grey. The table was covered in dirt and greasy finger prints, but at least the two broken-down chairs were cushioned.

Alonzo had been sitting quietly with the girl for a few minutes now. He expected she would out with it when they sat down, but she just stared at him, waiting. Finally, he broke.

“Name?” Alonzo asked.

“Angela Columbera,” she responded promptly.

Alonzo leaned forwards across the desk. “And what can I do for you today, Miss Columbera?”

Angela settled her hands on the table, and began rubbing her thumbs together. 

“How can I be sure you’ll use this information appropriately?”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. They all knew the Mafia must have people in the Police force, even the captain had acknowledged that, but Alonzo was still affronted by such an accusation. “You think I’m a plant, lady? A sell out to the cause?”

She just raised her own brows.

Alonzo rubbed his jaw. “Fine, I don’t blame you. But frankly, nothing I could say would convince you I’m not a plant. You’re gonna have to take a leap of faith. But,” he gestured to the ceiling. “One thing we do keep running around here are the security cams. They’re reviewed after every interrogation. Captain won’t tolerate any cops losing it and beating up some poor witness for information.”

Alonzo expected the girl to look either disturbed or comforted by this, but there was no change in her expression. She did, however, begin nodding, fluffy tendrils bouncing around her face. Then she reached into her leather jacket. 

Alonzo’s hand twitched towards his gun, but there was no need. The girl had begun pulling plastic bags, not weapons, out of her pocket. As she laid them out one by one on the dirty table, he could see the contents through the clear plastic - there was a used cigar, a few shiny CDs, and a gun, but she removed it from her coat so gingerly that Alonzo knew there was no danger. 

For a moment both the cop and the witness stared at the mess of objects on the table. Angela took a deep breath.

“These belong to Dante Abandonato,” she said. Alonzo immediately recognized the name. Abandonato was suspected to be the Don, but the force had no evidence they could use against him in court. She pointed to the cigar. “He smoked this, so it should have some spit on it, for DNA.” 

Alonzo reached for the CD. “What’s on these?”

“I’ve recorded his conversations,” she said quietly. “As many as I could, over the past couple months. I pretend I’m listening to music, but I’m really recording with my phone. I’ve got him saying some… incriminating things.”

Alonzo’s eyes widened. “Are you saying you have evidence he’s Mafia?”

She nodded.

Alonzo looked down at the gun sitting on the table. “And that’s…”

“It’s not his real gun,” she said. “But he uses it a lot to threaten people, so I thought you could use it for prints.”

Alonzo picked it up off the table. “If it’s not real, what does it do?”

“It shoots marshmallows,” Angela said, looking away, biting her lower lip. “He just likes to scare people, then see their faces when they realize they were hit with candy.”

Alonzo was speechless. Even if it wasn’t much, it was more than the department had gotten in months.

Angela had started rubbing her thumbs faster and faster. “Well,” she said. “That’s all I have. So… if you’ll excuse me,”

She stood up abruptly, and walked out of the unlocked interrogation room. Alonzo got up and followed her out the door, only catching up with her in the reception area. Maria was watching her leave, a satisfied look on her face.

“Wait!”
The girl turned in a perfect about-face.

Alonzo gestured helplessly. Nothing about this made sense.“…Why?”

The girl’s blood red lips cracked into their first smile. “Because,” she said. “Dante is one shitty stepfather.”

She pushed open the glass doors and walked out into the street, hips swaying like she could finally move freely. She got into her vivid car and sped away in the opposite direction she had come, leaving Alonzo and Maria to stare at where the crimson vehicle had been.

Mismatched Poem - Growing Old

I… Must… Rebuild

The altar of crude reality

Leadership and scholarship

Inspiration and recognition

This is not a game

Talk to me

Do you have opinions

Brains got hungry

The more you eat

Do I dare

Sacrifice our imagination

Such people in it

Take care of

Call of duty

In a box

Board by the theatre

A thousand times over

Help

they need

Candles to light the room

Bright colours to balance out the dull

Being the nice guy

Kinder than being

The one person

Purple Antartica Prompt: Short Story

The pristine white snow reflected the light of the setting sun, bathing the landscape with gentle, vibrant purples. John stood by the window of the cabin with a mug of strong coffee, gazing out over the gracefully bent boughs of the lavender pine trees.

John had traveled far and long to get to his little cabin in the woods. He had abandoned his city life, his expensive suits, even his high profile job in favour of getting back to the basics. 

For so long, John had done nothing but work, work, work; he focused only on his job and the things he could get from it. He never made any lasting friendships, or settled down to have a family. The only thing he had ever wanted was success, until the world around him had shifted.

Out of the corner of his eye, John sensed movement beneath the snow. Feeling safe behind his thick glass window and reinforced walls, he turned with amusement to watch.

He never would have left the city before the catastrophe happened. He was content to focus on his own goals, and those of his company. But when circumstances changed, he was forced to reevaluate his priorities. That was when he used his abundant savings to commission the cabin to be built, sparing no expense, from the solar panels on the roof to the underground self-renewing vegetable garden in the basement.

The figure of a young woman had finally shaken herself free, and staggered up to the window through the thick and debilitating snow. Her snow suit was dirty and ragged, and a ski pole dangled from one decrepit hand. This one must have been a skier.

She gnashed rotting teeth at him, perhaps able to smell his flesh through the window. She still had light pink eyeshadow clinging to her lids, and her one eye was a lovely shade of green. John sipped his coffee, thinking she must have been quite the looker when she was living.

Eventually she ambled away over the mountains, looking for easier prey. John drained his mug and watched the colours of the sky undulate and fade until the sunset changed into northern lights. Yes, it had taken a zombie apocalypse to make him realize what was important in life, but he had come out on top. It was peaceful, being the last man alive.

Analyzing the Opening Scene of a Movie: The Black Swan

The Black Swan Opening

• Opens on a single young woman dancing on a dark stage. Tchaikovsky music plays in the background, beautiful. The dark stage is so reflective it looks like water. We can see no audience.
• She is wearing white; represents purity, innocence.
• A dark figure approaches from behind. She cannot see him as he moves behind her. Lots of emotion, we fear for her. He changes into a demon with special effects that make us doubt it is fake. He changes her dress to something like a swan. She “flies” away, saddened.
• We are shown it was a dream by the ballerina waking up in bed.
• She stretches and cracks her feet, showing us she is in fact a ballerina.
• She talks about the dream with technical terminology which demonstrates her knowledge.
• Her mother is in helping her get ready. They are shown to be close by their conversation where they are joking and the mother helping her get ready.
• There is a scratched-up patch on the ballerina’s back. She brushes it off as nothing to her mother; clearly foreshadowing this will come into play later on.
• On the subway the girl is wearing a frilly white scarf, that looks feathered; represents her wish to be the swan.
• She looks through the subway and sees a girl who looks strikingly similar to her, but wearing black. She gets off at a different stop.
• The main character walks to a theatre house. She stops and looks at the posters outside, of another ballerina. A rival???
• Other girls are talking mean about another ballerina (Beth, the main soloist of the company) for her age. Main character sticks up for her timidly; we are shown she is compassionate, even towards her rival.
• Girls also complain about how no one comes to see the ballet anymore, and that the theatre manager will need to try something, and someone, new. Foreshadowing!!!
• Girl from train shows up. other girls whisper about her, is clearly new.
• We are shown ballerina prepping shoes, shows her as hardworking.
• We see her warming up with the rest of the company. The coach tells her she is doing beautifully, and to relax. Shows she os a bit of a perfectionist. Says her name is Nina.
• A man comes in and ballerina all change out of warm-up gear nervously. They dance the next warm up harder. Demonstrates he is important and influential.
• The man greets the coach and talks about the swan lake ballet as he walks around the room. He taps ballerinas on the shoulder as he goes. Talks about how they will need a new soloist in order to make the play interesting. The girl will have to play a pure white swan and a dark black swan.
• He says the girls who were not tapped will audition for it. Nina is relieved; she was not tapped.
• She is going through motions in the hall when Nina hears glass breaking. It is a girl breaking things in her dressing room and screaming. Door says it is Beth’s room. She storms away.
• Nina goes into the room. she walks among beth’s things and sits at her vanity. She takes one of beth’s lipsticks, coveting it. Shows she is maybe not so pure and innocent after all…
• She dances the white swan part for the man in the audition room. She is sweet and graceful.
• He tells her if it was the white swan part only, it would be hers. Then tells her to dance the black swan part.
• But she shows him the black swan, and he yells at her. She is not vicious, seductive enough. This shows us that Nina can channel the pure and innocent, but not the darker characters. She is spinning and discombobulated, shots showing she is nervous through the spinning. Another girl comes in and bangs the door, distracting her, and she falls.
• The girl is the girl from the train. She is from San Francisco, another dancer named Lily. She says she doesn’t need to warm up; shows cockiness.
• Nina seems to have lost her chance; she is dismissed.

Describing a Picture With a Picture 1

Read the paragraph, then scroll down to see the picture. Let me know if you pictured the same thing!

The green hills rose from the ground in steps, like a topographic map come to life. It was if the land had been cut into slabs and layered one atop the other, making Incan-like pyramids. The slopes connected to each other in a series of earthy bridge ways between the staggered mountains. Their almost unreal shade of leafy green was so bright it hurt to look at, and encapsulated the entire view, blocking out the sky from even the top of one of the natural staircases. 

Describe a Picture without a Character

1. The room was small, but oddly cozy. The sheets covering the small cot on one side looked warm, and a towel and a jacket hung on either side of a shelf across the back wall. The shelf was filled with possessions, mostly leather bound books, as well as a few amenities such as toilet paper. The sink in the corner was scrubbed clean, but clearly older than the classics on the shelf. If you could ignore the bars criss crossing the doorway you could almost call it homey.
2. The cot filled most of the cramped cell, leaving little room for pacing. The ancient books sat above it on the shelf, clearly reached for every night, being the only entertainment provided to the prisoner. A sink was mounted on the very back wall, tinier than a birdbath, to provide only the most basic of hygiene.
3. The factory on the hill oddly resembled a roman colosseum, white and grand in contrast to the black derricks. When the men would go down to the oil rig, the women and children would head into the textile mill, both to return after sunset hungry and exhausted. Perhaps a well-meaning architect built the factory in an attempt to bring colour to the sepia tone town, but all it served to do was to remind the townsfolk of all the other places in the world they could be.
4. The nursery was perfect in every way, clean, expensive, and colour coordinated. Even the books on the shelf had been chosen solely based off their shade, meaning the new tenant of the white crib would never experience Where the Wild Things are, or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Even the soft bunnies in the toy chest looked as if they were not for playing with, and a crystal chandelier hung where a mobile should have been.

Describing Setting Exercise

1. Describe in detail a place you know well. Make sure to use strong nouns and verbs and watch out for cliches and adverbs. try to appeal to at least three of the five senses.

The sunroom could sometimes be hard to look at from inside the house, so bright that you can barely distinguish the light yellow walls from the maple wood flooring. Old crock end tables were covered with books and magazines, inviting you to relax on the warm flower-patterned couch and chair. It always smelled like the outdoors, because the screen door was almost always open to provide a cool breeze, and birds provided music whenever the ancient radio wasn’t softly playing in the corner When you did give in and relaxed, you could always see the sky through the sunlights.

2. Now described that place again, attempting to communicate each of the following atmospheres in turn:

1. Romantic

With the radio softly playing oldies and the birds chirping outside, the windowed-filled space was perfect to watch the sun rise or set. An old, worn love seat sat in one corner, filled much more frequently than the chair adjacent to it.

1. Foreboding

At night, the many windows in the sunroom turned an inky, impenetrable black. No inner lights could penetrate the windows, and it felt almost as if the darkness was trying to impose onto the once-cozy space, invading the light with shadow. The shapes of the furniture and the stacks of books appeared dull in the darkness, like those of an abandoned house, and the only sound to be heard was the wind outside.

1. Cheerful

The sunny room was warm, but not uncomfortably so. The light reflected off almost all surfaces, and filled the room with buttery sunlight. The flower-patterned furniture matched the morning glories and daisies growing just outside the numerous windows. It was a good place to drink coffee in the morning. 

d) Mysterious

As the twilight fell, the lawn overlooked by the sunroom became darker, shadows growing over the children's toys and creating new shapes in the semi-darkness. The corners you had examined earlier that morning suddenly became undiscoverable worlds to you, and though you may sit on the still-comfortable flowery couch and do everything you once did in the cheeriness of the morning, you are given the sense you are merely an observer, and that you have no power over the future events.

3. Now describe the place again, but this time, try to describe it in such a way as to raise a question or expectation in your reader.

The sunroom was always filled with ample light and there were numerous books sitting on the crock side tables by the flowery couch and chair. However, the topics of these books were quite eclectic, with titles like Woodwork for Fun and Profit, Politics of North Korea, The Arsonist’s Cookbook. The oldies played quietly on the radio, lightly countering the silence like a child softly singing a nursery rhyme, and the numerous windows seemed to be trying almost too hard to give a feeling of transparency. 

4. Describe the same place one last time, attempting to set up the following plot potentials.

1. A suicide

Every sun rise and set could be seen through the sunroom windows, reflecting grey light over the fading old floral furniture. The books on the crock table sat dusty and unopened, and the ancient radio that sat in the corner had not been turned on in months.

1. An illicit tryst between a man and his mistress

Despite the many windows of the sunroom, the cozy floral love seat and soft lighting gave off a feeling of intimacy, the room glowing like a chemical concoction in the dark of night.

1. A robbery

The glass windows on the outside of the sunroom stood fragile barriers to the world, drawing only a fine boundary between the precious books kept inside and the city smog.

1. The discovery of some hidden treasure

The sunroom stuck out over the porch, clearly built after the rest of the building. The small room was stuffed with floral-patterned furniture, crock end tables, and numerous books. It looked like a room you could easily lose something in, despite it’s small size and open feel.

Same Character - Different Setting Exercise

Emily Rosen

An English Garden, 1930

• If is 16, was born at the beginning of world war one.
• Can still be a maid, but what if her family was rich and are hit by the crash - hard?
• Perhaps she uses her ingrained handiness to steal from the still-rich and bring it home to her family?
• Would still be close to them, as wouldn’t have been sent off to earn money.

Emily pushed open the garden gate, glad that the rich still oiled them nowadays. It opened smoothly, without waking the dogs lying in the corner. You’d think that instead of expensive lazy dogs, people would just let their gates rust a little. But anyways, it was easier for her this way.

Walking silently in her broken down shoes, she made her way over to the small vegetable patch in the corner. She began grabbing the ripe carrots, lettuces, and tomatoes - not enough that the owners would suspect anything more than a very hungry rabbit, but just enough to make a good hearty soup for a family dinner. Shoving them into an old flour sack, made her way back to the gate, the lazy mutts none the wiser.

She exited the garden and closed the gate once more. The evening wind blew hard against Emily’s cheeks, making her wish for a warm fire, or at least a better jacket. She pulled her gloves out of her pocket and put them on, making fists to protect the exposed tips that had worn through the woollen fingers. She hated the itchiness of the gloves, mostly because they reminded her when her owned a pair made of good silk, which she wore to her mother’s garden parties. They had to be sold long ago, to help pay rent. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and began to make her way back home.

Remote Mountain Town, Current Day

• She is very naturally curious -  she would not be happy in a quiet town, especially if she had lived there her whole life.
• Would still be helping her family with chores, but would be a little bitter about it.
• Would love the idea of school, but perhaps be 
• She would be saving in secret for a bus ticket out of there and hopefully to a better school.

Brooklyn, New York, 1965

• School would be her favourite thing, but would possibly be angry about having to learn about Home Ec instead of Industrial Arts.
• Would be unhappy with both the homemaker role her parents expected of her and the other career options available to her, like receptionists, nurses, ext. 
• Would probably be heavily involved in women's rights and known as a bit of a rebellious child.

Sydney, Aus, 2014

• Would have just moved from England?
• Bit of a tomboy, but maybe has a part-time job with a cleaning crew in a business building?
• Maybe is having trouble making friends because of her prickliness?

Take Your Favourite Character and Put Them in Another Setting Exercise

Favourite Character - Spiderman

New Setting - Tsarist Russia

Peter pulled the fur closer to his cheeks as he walked through the dark, cold hallway. He was supposed to meet the other men here, in the heart of this abandoned house. He knew it had to be a secret, this meeting, but did they really have to keep it so cold?

Finally reaching a central room within the broken down Siberian mansion, Peter paused in front of the doors. Reaching up, he checked and made sure that the black leather mask was still in place. Though it was rimmed with yellow fur, it did much more than just keep his eyes, nose, and cheeks warm.

Finally, reaching in front of him, Peter pushed open the once-grand double doors with both hands, opening them forcefully into the large dining room. It was already full, and all the men within the room turned to gaze calculatedly at the strange man.

Peter strode into the room, trying to keep his back straight and to look confident despite the many questioning eyes on him. His coat was in shambles, but that did not make it any different from the rest of the room’s occupants; in Russia, you were either very rich or very, very poor. What drew the men’s eyes was that it had been hand-dyed a deep black, and had yellow-white fur sewn into the collar and sleeves. His cap, too, was made of the odd fur, and his gloves were dark leather, finer than anything any man in the room wore. He would have been an odd enough character without the mask that graced his face, covering any recognizable features.

There was a silent moment where the members of the room sized up the strange man, before he clapped his gloved hands together, making the party jump in their seats. 

“Right,” said Peter, sounding younger than the men had expected. “Shall we get started, then? Revolutions don’t plan themselves, you know.”

One man in the corner, sporting a large black beard, rose from his seat at the head of the table. “Let’s not get away from ourselves, comrade. You were invited here, tonight, as you have made your goals known. But you are in no way apart of this enterprise yet, da?

Peter remained silent for a moment, grinning widely behind his mask. The men, unable to see his expression, shifted uncomfortably in the silence.

Peter casually stepped up onto the table, with little regard to how his snow-covered boots made puddles on the dusty surface. He was looking ever so forward to proving himself to the Bolsheviks, but was unsure if he would have to. He approached the man at the head of the table, his grin growing every time the much larger man twitched.

“Ivan,” Peter said softly, crouching in front of the leader of the Bolsheviks. “I have made my goals known. Do they not clearly coexist with yours?”

Peter straightened, grasping the old chandelier just above his head. He pulled himself up onto it, hanging from the metal frame by his toes and fingertips. “And was it not you who invited me here, comrade? And yet I must say, you make me feel quite unwelcome.” Peter went to cross his arms, but at the last moment shot one arm out in front of him, his two outer fingers outstretched. Before any man could even think of reaching for his gun, a gossamer thread had wrapped itself around the thick scarf wrapped around Ivan’s neck, and he had been pulled off his chair by the surprisingly strong spider webbing.

Face now level with the mask, Ivan tried in vain to see into the man’s eyes, but they had been covered in dark glass lenses. 

“We are going to be good friends, Ivan,” said Peter. “Possibly great friends. But right now, we are business partners, da? And you have your end of the bargain to uphold.”

Peter began to slacken the webbing, allowing Ivan’s feet to slowly return to the floor. The other men had seen Ivan kill many soldiers before, with no expression or guilt. But even in the dark room they could still see Ivan’s fingers trembling within his thick gloves.

Finally releasing Ivan’s neck from his webbing, Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “I will help you kill the Tsar, but I want to be the one to pull the trigger. I want to have him dead by my hand,” he stroked the scarf around his neck, the only article of clothing he was wearing that wasn’t black, though the light blue fabric was stained with suspicious reddish brown patches. “He owes me his life.”

Rubbing his neck and still shaking, Ivan answered.

“Of course, Spider-man. That is doable.”

Filling in Dialogue Exercise- Made with Ally Cantalini

“Er… Excuse me sir…” Leonard’s reading was interrupted by a hesitant lisping voice.

“Ah… Hello?” his own voice bounced back to him from the seemingly empty room.

“Yes, hi. Um, down here.”

Peering over the side of his bed, Leonard spotted a bespectacled translucent face hovering beneath the bed frame. 

“What can I do for you?” Leonard put down his book and slowly folded his hands stiffly over his silk robe. The ghost drifted up towards his ceiling, still unable to make eye contact. He was wearing a worn sweater vest that was coming unraveled at the edges. 

“I’m sorry. This is my first time….” a sweat broke out over Leonard’s forehead before his cool calculating mind took the necessary leap to cool his heated cheeks. He was about to experience a haunting. 

“Oh… ok. You can start if you must.” his spine straightened to match his purposely level voice. He clenched his hands tighter to prevent them from stroking his finely manicured moustache.

“All right then. Ahem,” the ghost grabbed the window pane with his nail bitten fingers and began shaking them with all the force of his gangly body.

“WOOOOOOO HOOOOOO OOOOOOOHHH MOOOOOOO-“ he clapped his hands over his mouth.

“Oops, I’m sorry - that was a cow,” he floated down to the floor and began shuffling against the fine oak.

Leonard pursed his shallow lips, eyes wandering down to the economics book that had held his attention for far longer. “It’s ok, that was very nice. I am thoroughly shaken.” 

“Thanks man!” the ghost said, unable to sense the unenthusiasm in Leonard’s voice. He settled into the armchair next to the bed, pulling out a bag of peanuts and beginning to munch, crinkling the cellophane at irregular intervals.

Getting to Know your Character: Writing Exercises

Exercise 11 - Pick four predominate aspects of your character’s personality or behaviour and consider whether they are a result nature or nurture.

Emily Rosen

Responsible -  Nurture - She got her responsible nature from the fact that she is the oldest of 7. She has helped her working mother raise her siblings and take care of the household since she was five and her second sibling was born.

Curious - Natural - This is a trait she tried to suppress for a very long time, because it was not prudent for a girl with lots of work to do and little education to wonder so much about the world. She is able to use this trait more when she gets out of her indentured servitude.

Efficient - Nurture - She had to learn to work hard both at home and for her job.

Practical - Nurture - Comes from growing up without much money and learning how to make ends meet.

Exercise 10 - Describe your character’s handwriting and consider how it might reflect aspects of their personality.

Emily Rosen

She doesn’t learn to write until she is 16. She writes slowly at first, careful to form the letters perfectly, but as she finds she needs to write things down quickly she develops a very scrawled, messy writing that even she sometimes has trouble reading. This reflects how she is willing to take the time to make things perfect, but also recognizes when she doesn’t have the time and needs to just get things done.

Exercise 9 - Describe in detail how your character handles and deals with anger.

Emily Rosen

She doesn’t get angry easily, as working as part of the lower class means she has learned to school her emotions. When she does start to grow angry, she will just get quiet and press her lips together. It takes a lot to get her to the point where she starts arguing or full out yelling at someone. Afterwards she feels silly like a child who has just had a tantrum.

Describe an Interesting Character in a Few Sentences: Dave NoName

Dave packed up his case. He was ready to be done with the work day and to go home for a nice meal. His stomach growled as he grabbed his rock salt, black sharpies, rifle… but looking around on the floor of the commercial building, he couldn’t find his holy water. The little crystal bottle was nowhere to be seen. 

He must have left it in the office he had exorcised earlier that afternoon. The office that was now covered in bright smelly ectoplasm. Sighing deeply, Dave stood up. He wished he could come get it later, but he needed it for his next job, at 3 am the next morning. His wife’s squirrel pie would have to wait.

Analyzing the First Chapter of a Novel

Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas

• Definitely catches interest, a lot of good metaphor, golden detail and humour.
• Lots of information and made up names and places; hard to keep track.
• However, gives just enough information to hold reader’s interest and intrigue them further.
• Lots of exposition.

Eyes Like Stars by Lisa Mantchev

• Exposition does not start until 6 pages in, that’s too long.
• However, with the exposition it poses quite an interesting plot line and introduces a number of questions.
• But in those first six pages I felt no attachment to any character or obligation to keep reading whatsoever.
• However, has an interesting format.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

• Exposition starts page 4; just right.
• Very interest grabbing, starts right off with an important event
• Constant character development and information being provided to the reader, even though the active story remains stagnant.

Assembling Your Cast

1. Pick a novel or story you like and know well. Write a few sentences describing the protagonist at the start of the work. Then write about the character at the end of the story. Do you see any significant differences? How would you describe their emotional arc?

In the beginning of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger is described as more than a bit of a know-it all. She is good at heart, as shown when she helps Neville look for his toad, but is also thinks herself above most people, and behaves a little high-and-mighty and believes deeply in following the rules. She is, however, definitely a very brilliant girl.

Hermione has changed significantly by the end of the Harry Potter books. She is far more humble about her intelligence and makes a strong effort not to shove her own knowledge down other people’s throats, though she is quick to use it when the situation arises. She is more lax about breaking the rules in that she deeply questions society and decides what she thinks is right and wrong. Overall she matures a lot throughout the span of the books. She is still, however, considered the most brilliant witch of her generation.

2. Read today’s newspaper, looking specifically for characters you would like to write about. Write down everything you know about them, then fill out a mini-bio, filling in answers that you don’t know. 

 Kate Hammer

• One 17-month old son
• Educational Investigative Reporter for the Globe and Mail
• Married
• Lives in Toronto

MINI-BIO

Name - Kate Hammer

Age - 31

Birthplace - Toronto, Ontario

Marital Status - Married, 1 husband

Children and Ages - 1 17-month old son

General Appearance - Dark hair, up in a bun, pale complexion, high cheekbones; a striking profile. On the thin side, but very muscular.

Living Arrangements - Lives in a nice but small house in a good neighbourhood in Toronto with son and husband.

Occupation - Educational Reporter for the Globe and Mail.

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Highly competent and driven.

Feelings about Occupation - Very devoted to her chosen career.

Family Background - Grew up in Toronto as the only child of a single mother. Went to an inner-city school that was very diverse. Thoroughly enjoyed schoolwork, was teased for being a bit of a nerd. Had to work two minimum wage hubs to get to college.

Jonathan Carson

• Founder of KCC, sold it recently for $100 million 
• Inventor of the Skywell

MINI-BIO

Name - Jonathan Carson

Age - 42

Birthplace - Area which is now Silicon Valley

Marital Status - Married, wife.

Children and their Ages - 1 girl, 17, 1 boy, 20

General Appearance - Thinning blond-grey hair, slightly overweight, clean shaven, blue eyes, glasses.

Living Arrangements - Tasteful one-storey spanish-style house on quiet street with big garden.

Occupation - Past CEO of KCC, new inventor and promoter of Skywell.

Degree of Skill - Master of All.

Feelings about Occupation - Loved both jobs. Needs to keep busy to be happy.

Family Background - Grew up only child of a stay-at-home mom and a father who worked in a mid-level corporate position. Was of the upper-middle class, was lazy through school, but worked hard on his own projects. Learned to like to keep busy.

3. Fill out a mini-bio for a relative. When it’s complete, start changing answers.

MINI-BIO UNCHANGED

Name - David Woodiwiss

Age - 46

Birthplace - Oakville, Ontario

Marital Status - Married, Wife

Children and their Ages - 2 Girls, 13 and 16

General Appearance - Thin and wiry, short salt-and-pepper hair.

Living Arrangements - In a house in Southeast Oakville.

Occupation - Commercial Real Estate 

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Highly skilled and experienced

Feelings about Occupation - Mildly indifferent

Family Background - Father grew up on a farm where he had to eat squirrel pie. Mother is now elderly and needs help doing things like working the television.

MINI-BIO CHANGED 

Name -Dave

Age - 46

Birthplace - Who knows?

Marital Status - Married, wife

Children and their Ages - 2 girls, 13 and 16

General Appearance -Thin, short salt-and-pepper hair, tattoos of mythical creatures on his arms.

Living Arrangements - Lives in a apartment complex with family

Occupation - Commercial Exorcist

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Highly skilled and experienced

Feelings about Occupation - Likes it enough, but doesn’t like it when his work follows him home (literally…)

Family Background - No one knows. The only clue he has is his cravings for squirrel pie…

4.Pick a story you know well and list the major characters Look at each one in turn and think how different it would be if they were the star.

HARRY POTTER

Hermione - It would be a story about a smart girl whose friend has a lot of responsibility placed on his shoulders, and how she helps him and her other best friend conquer dark lords, stay out of trouble, and do their homework. Also a love story about falling in love with one of her best friends.

Ron - A story about his first friends and how he was overshadowed by both of them. How he gained self-confidence and managed to help them do the impossible. Also a love story about falling in love with one of his best friends.

Neville - A story of how he learned to stand up for himself, overcome his parent’s death, and eventually became the leader of a covert rebellion within his school against the forces of evil.

Luna - A story of how she managed to get people to accept her as she is and how she became friends with the leaders of a rebellion and heeled them stop the dark forces of Voldemort. Also, nargles.

Ginny - A story about how she did not let love consume her and learned to stand on her own feet before she finally “got the guy”. Also about her part in the rebellion.

George - The tragic story of how he grew up with his brother, pulling off all sorts of jokes, their family and family drama, and how he eventually lost his twin fighting in the battle of Hogwarts.

Mrs. Weasley - A story of a woman struggling to make ends meet for her too-big wizard family, and also how they became involved with the Order of the Phoenix and fought in the battle of Hogwarts, where she lost one of her sons.

Sirius - The story of how he was wrongly incarcerated in an inhumane prison for the murder of his best friend, how he broke out to kill the true murderer, and ended up reuniting with the son of the murdered friend and fighting the dark forces who had his friend murdered.

Remus - The story of a shunned werewolf and how he found love and acceptance within a secret order fighting Voldemort.

Dumbledore - The story of a wise old man who has seen two wars trying to help the youth of the new generation prevent the third.

Snape - The story of a bitter man whose love was rejected by his childhood best friend and how he has to protect her son and play a double agent to Voldemort for Dumbledore in order to fulfill an ancient prophecy.

Malfoy - The story of a confused boy whose friendship is rejected the first day of school, and his moral struggle between right and wrong as his parents push him to fight for Voldemort.

Bellatrix - The story of a crazed woman with a worship-like devotion to Voldemort and how she tries to help him and win his love after she is broken out of prison.

Lucius - The story of a cowardly man who realizes too late that he is on the losing side of the war - again.

Voldemort - The story of a tragic orphan who wishes only to bring a new world order to the wizarding world, and nothing, not even death, will stop him.

5. Make a list of characters you have begun to write about or would like to write about. Fill out a mini-bio for each. Look at each one and consider their stories.

Name - Dove

Age - Biologically 14, actually 96

Birthplace - New York City

Marital Status - Unmarried, single

Children and their Ages - None

General Appearance - Long white hair, clear opalescent eyes, worn out grey pea coat and combat boots, dirty white t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Living Arrangements - Lives in abandoned theatre in New York

Occupation - Street performer

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Musical prodigy

Character’s Feelings about Occupation - Likes to make music, but is in it for the money, so she can give it away.

Family Background - All deceased, only knew her father.

Name - Elaine Terramur

Age - 14

Birthplace - Terramur Manor

Marital Status - Single

Children and their Ages - None

General Appearance - Dark long hair, green eyes, pale skin

Living Arrangements - Lives with her parents in the manor, later on moves to living in the forest, streets, wherever is convenient.

Occupation - None, but throws knives well. Is sort of a mercenary, but a good mercenary.

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Good at throwing knives, smart when it comes to tactics.

Character’s Feelings about Occupation - She likes throwing knives, she likes tactics. But she doesn’t like war or politics.

Family Background - Lives with her parents, but gets along better with her grandmother. Was mainly raised by a governess.

Name - Molita Despre

Age - 28

Birthplace - Port-au-Prince, Haiti

Marital Status - Married to William Despre

Children and their Ages - One adopted son, James Williams, 4

General Appearance - Tall, strong, native Haitian, has cornrows that are pulled back into a bun, dresses very professionally the majority of the time.

Living Arrangements - Travelled around Europe with her husband before adopting her son, settled in Quebec City after his adoption.

Occupation - Cultural Anthropologist

Degree of Skill at Occupation - Has written several books, travels around giving speeches at various universities, is very well known and renowned.

Character’s Feelings about Occupation - Thoroughly enjoys what she does, works very hard.

Family Background - Grew up as part of a lower middle class family in Haiti, was taught to work hard, paying for her and her brother’s schooling  was priority. Her brother passed away of Hepatitis E when she was 7 and he was 10. Worked very hard to get as far as the local university could take her, then got a scholarship to Cambridge. There she gained respect in her field and met William, the only other Haitian there.

First Impressions Exercise: Names and Apperences

Names

Hana Morkans

• “Normal” girl
• Lives in a Mongul-type area
• Low-born
• Unfortunate circumstances send her reluctantly on an adventure

Dave NoName

• Ambiguous backgrounds
• Involved in the supernatural
• Reluctant Hero
• Reputable

Anaconda Jones

• Ex-American
• Lives in amazon
• Adventurer, adventurer parents

Appearances

Madeline grabbed her favourite sweater out of her closet. It was technically her dad’s, so it hung loosely over her shoulders and came down over her hands, but the double-knit yarn was so soft she didn’t mind. Plus, the pattern of reindeer prancing across the front was so unbelievably cute, her dad wouldn’t have worn it anyways.

John pulled his hockey stick out for the first time since last march. The wood was old and faded, the brand name long since gone, but the good hockey tape he had saved up for for a month was still securely wrapped around the blade. He lowered it to the floor and took a few fake slap shots towards his mirror, the wood familiar in his hands. 

Anaconda grabbed her Father’s machete. It had all these cool old stickers on it, from where her parents used to live in The Country. They were peeling off now, but she still liked to try to read them, to puzzle out what the old slogans meant.

Dave pulled an old sweater on over his t-shirt, covering the tattoos that encircled his arms like sleeves. He wasn’t really a fan of them, to be honest - if he were to get a tattoo, he would at least like to know what the symbols meant. But he had woken up with these, and he guessed he just had to live with them. He had not met a laser technician who could remove them.

Hana looked down into the well at her reflection, dark but visible in the deep waters. Her usually tight braid was coming out around her ears, making a downy halo around her face. Bags decorated her dark eyes, and in between them sat her father’s nose, too large and hooked for a young girls face. She already had worry lines around her mouth. It’s no wonder no one will marry me, she thought. I already look like an old maid.  

Minor Character Description

The kid’s hair was wild and greasy, sticking up without the use of any product in a blatancy defiance of the laws of physics. It bobbed wildly as he spoke, a bright red mass bouncing as he gestured widely with his pale, freckled hands.

Dave pulled the sweater on over his t-shirt, muting the shirtsleeves of colour covering his arms. I wondered if even he knew what those strange tattooed symbols meant.

DAVE NO-NAME MOTIVATIONS

Backstory - Can’t remember his past, has no family other than wife and kids

Setting - In a sort-of broken down town full of supernatural creatures. 

• Is a commercial exorcist, comes very naturally to him.
• Has lots of tattoos on arms, sometimes they glow
• Wants to know where he came from
• Wants to make the town a safer place for his children

ANACONDA JONES MOTIVATIONS

• Was born in a grass hut in the forest, has never left
• Knows how to hunt, use machete, harvest plants, ext., but has never used a chip-and-pin machine
• Wonders what the United States are like
• Wants to travel out of the jungle and see cities
• Wants to end corporate injustice within the government
• Wants to stop deforestation

Dave huffed and pulled his jacket closer to his neck as he walked past a group of stray werewolves. He would have to remember to tell the girls to not walk by this street. He couldn’t understand why the city council didn’t do anything about the scum on the streets; it was a terrible hazard to children, whose necks were soft like chew toys to a young werewolf. He sometimes wondered if he would be able to do a better job at running the city, but he didn’t have the papers required to run for office anyways.

“It was my dad’s,” said the client, patting his glowing bow tie with pride. Dave grinder his teeth, partially out of annoyance at the interruption, and a tiny bit out of jealousy. The only thing he had left of his ambiguous, possibly-existent parents was a strange craving for squirrel pie.

In the darkness of the office building, Dave’s tattoos began to glow beneath his shirtsleeves. he didn’t know why they did that, but it was a comfort in times like this. Plus, it meant that he never had to worry about carrying a flashlight around.

Sad Eye Descriptions

What's your favourite? Your least favourite?

1. Tear-filled eyes.
2. His eyes were wide and clear, but droopy like those of a basset hound.
3. If eyes were the windows to the soul, his would be broken.
4. She looked out at him through red-rimmed eyes.
5. The blue of her eyes seemed deeper under the tears, like an ocean he could not fathom.
6. His eyes looked distant yet concentrated as he tried to save face and hold back his tears.
7. His eyes looked ten years older, the wrinkles deepening and making his face heavy with age.
8. Her eyes shone, sparkling with sadness.
9. Her eyes were dull, with not a sparkle of hope.
10. He looked away, avoiding her eyes as if to avoid triggering tears.

Show Don't Tell Practice

A boy trying to ask a girl out.

He could see her across the bar, talking to her friends. Why did girls always travel in packs? They never seem to be alone, especially not her. He had seen her come here almost every saturday for a month. She was always with someone, but never another guy. So, she must be single.

But not for long.

He grabbed his cheap beer off the bar and took a last swig of it, emptying the half-full pint glass of the alcoholic beverage. Then he tossed the change for the bill of the counter and hopped of the stool, like a stranded swimmer leaving his flotation device, his one lifeline.

Cornelius fought during World War I, he met his wife during the war, a french nurse.

All the veterans always attended the local Remembrance day celebration, and Cornelius was no exception. But he never enjoyed the solemn atmosphere as much as some of his colleagues. Monique never thought poppies to be a sad flower, even though they grew all over the graves of soldiers. In fact, she thought they were quite cheerful, that they brought a burst of lively colour to the otherwise dank brown hospital field. The tent she managed was full of the flowers, despite that some of the soldiers who passed through thought it to be disrespectful, as if she was preparing them for their graves. But in Cornelius’s memories, fuzzy but distinct, those bright bursts of colour, as well as her angelic face, helped cut through the pain of his missing arm.

Anna was a determined child who always questioned authority.

Anna hadn’t changed much since Will first met her. He could still remember being in first grade, and fearing the fiery little girl who would yell at the gym teacher when he wouldn’t let the smaller boys do the modified push-ups that some of the girls did. She did not fear any teacher or parent, and would somehow manage to get up in their faces despite being a good two feet shorter. She maintained that spirit all through her life, and he could still see the child with pigtails and a pink dress within the woman in the business suit arguing with the judge.

Arnold never did love his wife, the marriage had always been a sham.

There was no denying Mary was pretty, despite her advancing age of forty-seven. But even seeing her in a beautiful Coco Chanel off-the-shoulder wedding dress with three tiers of lace brought no joy to Arnold’s heart. He remembered maintaining his outward calm smile that day, but inside he was screaming. What kind of society allowed it’s young people to be married off to complete strangers, and ones so much older than themselves too? Why was his  life valued so much less than the woman’s in front of him? Would he truly get the money for law school through this sham, or would he just become another trophy husband like he would see on the street, walking submissively behind their wives? These thoughts and more had run through his head that day as the priest bound them by law, for better or for worse. From that day forward, Arnold outwardly displayed the submissive outward calm every husband should have, but inside he seethed. He never did get to go to law school.

The Turner house had stood on the corner of Main Street for nearly 200 years, but no one had lived in it for half as long.

The old, rotting house loomed over the others on the block, standing a formidable three stories high. The sign from the historic society petitioning for its protection and restoration was nearly decrepit as the building itself. The only new thing about it was the fresh boards over the window, which were put there to prevent the neighbourhood youths from sneaking in and telling scary stories about the cursed family who had lived there nearly a century ago. In truth, no one living had memory of the mysterious Turners who vacated the property and made sure it stayed that way a hundred years into the future. The only proof they had of them were the gravestones; all seventeen of them, lined up neatly in the backyard.

Two men were arguing about who was going to pay the bill. One of them had the money, but the other had too much pride.

Both hands slammed down on the slim black book the moment it touched the table. The men met each other’s eyes; defiance clashing with exasperation.

“Dave.”

“I got this one, Tom.”

“Dave, you don’t have any money.”

“I can get it.”

“I am a lawyer. You are unemployed. The check is probably a hundred dollars.”

Dave huffed and retracted his hand, glaring off at the sandwich board by the counter. His stepfather sighed and pulled out his credit card. Teenagers, he thought. Always want to take control.

The award was a prestigious one, and was always awarded to the kid who sold the most candy bars.

The boy scouts burst through the back of the truck the second the roll-up door was open, some even ducking under Indiana Jones style. They grabbed as many boxes of Huney Nutbars and Choco Goeys as they could carry, hauling them out to their parent’s cars. The boy with the most candy bars, could sell the most candy bars. And the boy who sold the most candy bars got to go to Great Wolf Lodge to meet Charles Bronwin, the founder of Boy Scouts America.

Doug was a simple boy, who likes candy corn and comics.

“Do you want to go to the fair this summer? Or visit Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage?”

“No thanks,” said Doug from the back of the car. He munched on the bag of candy corn in his lap.

“Well then, what do you want to do?” asked his mother.

“Can we go to the comic store? I want a new Iron Man comic,” replied Doug, speaking around his candy.

Doug’s mother sighed and turned the car around. It was going to be a long summer.

Janet always wore mom jeans, and that’s why her husband left.

Janet sat nervously at home, playing with the baby. She had been complaining to her husband about how the pregnancy weight had never “melted off” like it was supposed to, when a look came over his face. Without a word he had gotten up from the breakfast table, kissed her cheek, got in the car, and drove off, leaving his wife wondering what had just happened.

The old front door creaked open, and in stepped Janet’s husband holding a shopping bag. 

“Jim!” she cried, scooping up her child and going to greet him. “Where did you go? Why did you go?”

“Here,” he said, proudly offering her the shopping bag. Janet took it with a few of her left fingers, balancing it and the baby. 

“What in God’s name is this?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“New pants,” Jim said. “You can’t possibly feel good about yourself in those old mom jeans you’ve been wearing since the second trimester,” he kissed his his shocked wife on the cheek. “Happy Anniversary, dear.”

Sam went to the shop and bought the ingredients for a cake.

Sam looked up at all there brightly coloured bottles sitting on the shelf. He had just needed some vanilla. He thought it would be easy, when Maggie said she wanted a vanilla cake for her birthday. Ha! 

On the shelf sat at least twenty different bottles whose labels contained the word vanilla. There was vanilla flavouring, vanilla extract, organic vanilla extract, vanilla beans… He didn’t even know where to start.

He tried to get something else on his list first, and mull over the vanilla problem as he did, but he was met with the same massively varied selection when he went to get flour. And butter. And eggs.

Sam vowed to never go to Whole Foods ever again.

Anna felt sorry for the homeless puppy in the window.

His big eyes stared out at her dolefully from the Humane Society’s display window. He didn’t frolic like his brothers and sisters, but sat there up in front with his head tilted, staring into Anna’s very soul.

“Mom! Can we take that puppy home. Pleeeeeeaaase? He’s homeless!”

Anna’s mom turned towards her, her response already formed. “Anna, we don’t have-“ she stopped when she saw the dog Anna was pointing to. “ Oh. All right, why not,” she smiled. “But you have to take good care of him.”

“I will!” Anna shrieked in excitement as they walked in.

When they walked out of the building, Anna was carrying a brand new stuffed puppy dog.

Timothy’s clothes were all second-hand.

Timothy rubbed a stain at the bottom of his shirt. He wondered what it was; it was already there when he bought it. Knowing shirts from the Salvation Army, it could be anything from dirt to ketchup to blood.

Bridget knew how to hit a baseball.

Bridget picked up her little brother’s bat, the wood grains comfortable against her palm. She took a couple practice swings, beating at the air as she imagined a ball coming at her, timing her swing so it would hit at the right angle, and send the ball flying into the outfield.

The group was scared of the haunted house.

They stood as close together as their costumes would allow, staring at what and once been Mrs. Norris’s charming, welcoming house. They shuffled together hesitantly, no one wanting to go closer, or move away and risk being called chicken.