I have found that I enjoy posting a message to my blog each day. It helps me to focus on the project at hand and is a great writing warm-up, much like singing scales or "Many mumbling mice are making merry music in the moonlight, mighty nice!" to prepare for choir rehearsal.
Well, it's Tuesday evening. I shopped for Thanksgiving dinner stuff and now it's time to think about writing.
My character, Pamela, has grown on me. I like her. I'm understanding more about what motivates her actions and words. I also have been developing the supporting cast (her family members) and am content with their emerging personalities.
Here's an excerpt from my writing episode last night. It was totally unexpected and obviously came from inspiration. I did not intend to write it when I sat down at the keyboard. It just happened. After you read it, tell me what you think! (-:
Here's the setup. Pamela and her friend Nancy were walking down the school hallway between classes when Nancy suddenly lunged at another girl and began to hit her. Pamela was shocked, tried to break up the fight, and was suspended from school. In this scene, she is eating dinner at her family.
Copyright © 2009 Karen Procopio
“Hey fighter – did you float like a butterfly and sting like a bee?” Jake teased, jabbing with his left fist, then with his right. He pretended to hit himself in the face.
“Shut up, Jake!” Pamela said angrily, glaring at her older brother.
“Did you give her a black eye?" he continued. "Bust up her lip? Geez, I love girl fights!”
“Jake, stop it,” Coach warned.
“Or did you fight like a girl and scratch and claw?” Jake snarled his hand into a cat's claw. "Rarrrrrrrrrrrr!" he hissed.
“I said shut up!” Pamela cried.
“Whatcha gonna do – beat me up too?”
“That’s enough, Jake,” Coach warned.
But Jake couldn’t resist. “I know what you can do, Coach –put her on defense so she can sack the quarterback.” Jake burst into laughter and slapped his thigh.
“I said stop!” Pamela stood up screaming. “Why don’t any of you believe me? I didn’t do it!” She broke into tears. “I hate you Jake, you son-of-a-bixxx!”
Maggie gasped. “PAMELA MARIE!”
Pamela turned and glared at Maggie. Why didn't her mother step in and help defend her against Jake's onslaught of nastiness? Why did she just sit there, saying nothing; cutting her steak into precise, bite-sized pieces.
A voice from deep within Pamela's heart rose out of her chest. “And I hate you the most!” she spat.
Maggie froze. Her eyes opened and her mouth dropped. “Pamela,” she said weakly, looking at Coach, then at Pamela.
Pamela knew she hurt her mother. But she didn't care. All she wanted to do was get away from everyone and everything that tore at her soul.
Pamela angrily pushed her chair away from the dinner table and ran barefoot across the tiled kitchen floor. She lunged toward the front door and fiercely yanked it open. She ran outside into the cold evening air, oblivious to the fact that she was wearing only a short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. She ran down the cobblestone driveway, across the street and down the sidewalk, her bare feet pounded the frigid concrete. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to get away from her house, her family and the excruciating pain in her gut. She ran as fast as she could, the houses and street lights blurred by the tears in her eyes. She headed down one street and then, turned, and ran down the next. The wind whipped against her thin frame.
She headed through the park, the edge of its dark hills lit by the glow of distant street lights. She ran through the blackness, stumbling over the grassy dips and hills until she collapsed on a shadowy bluff, exhausted.
Pamela sobbed deep wretching sobs. Sobs of pain, stress and overwhelming sadness. There was nowhere to turn. Everyone at school hated her. Her family didn’t understand her. The only person who believed in her was 3,000 miles and three time zones away.
Pamela laid on the cold grass. She didn’t care if she caught pneumonia or froze into a frigid corpse by morning. She wanted to die. Death would be peaceful. She longed to sleep peacefully in the solitude of a mahogany box. Safely tucked away from the people who hated her. Safe from the pain that cut into her tender heart.
Pamela crossed her arms over her chest and looked upward at the evening sky. The November evening sky was clear, speckled with sparkling stars. She found the big dipper and fondly remembered her third-grade science teacher in Massachusetts - Mrs. Weston. Mrs. Weston loved Pamela and Pamela loved her. And Pamela loved science. She shared her secrets with Mrs. Weston – that she wanted to grow up to be an astronaut one day. That she had a crush on Jonathan Parker. That she kept a smelly box of seashells from Cape Cod hidden under her bed.
Mrs. Weston always had time for Pamela. Mrs. Weston always listened. Unlike the people in her family who should be the closest to her.
Pamela sighed. The damp ground beneath her body sent uncontrollable shivers rippling across her skin. The grass prickled stiffly under her fingertips. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She wasn’t sure if she had fallen asleep. In her trance, she heard the distant, barely audible sounds of someone calling her name.
“Pamela!”
It was Coach’s voice from a far away distance. Did she detect fear?
“Pamela – where are you?”
That was definitely Jake’s voice, irritated and annoyed. Did Coach make him search for her in the cold night as a reparation for teasing her so mercilessly?
Let them worry, she thought angrily. She remained silent, watching from the hidden shadows of the hill.
Pamela lifted herself on an elbow. She was tempted to yell out to them. To reveal her hiding place. But she wasn’t ready to come out. Not yet.
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