Writing Wednesday: Improv Prompt
The character, scene and conflict were dictated by my almost 7-year-old. Here we go.
The floorboards creaked as a light flickered on. A low grunt echoed through the store. Toys lining the shelves shook as the rhythmic thumping of footsteps treaded toward the register. A blue and orange toy arm claw squeaked as it pulled a lever below the register. A hatch in the floor opened up, revealing a winding ramp into the lair below.
The emptiness and darkness of the hideout contradicted the bright and overly packed toy store above. A Tyrannosaurus Rex plopped down onto a bed of hay as he tossed his trusty arm claw beside him. A sigh bellowed through the room. His eyes drooped closed, with just the sound of his heavy breathing lulling him to sleep.
BRRRRIIIINGGG. It was the phone. A red light flashed on the panel. Another emergency, this city was full of them. The Tyrannosaurus shut his eyes tighter, pretending he didn’t hear it, but the sound pierced his ear holes. Hot breath seeped out of his nostrils as he grabbed his arm claw. He used it to knock the phone off the hook and pressed the speaker button.
“SD,” he groaned.
“Super Dino! Super Dino, the Hawk Heathens are terrorizing the dog park again.” It was the mayor. It was always the mayor. He couldn’t do anything without Super Dino’s help, and without Super Dino, he could kiss re-election goodbye.
SD’s body ached, his bones were tired, and even more so, his spirit was broken. The king of dinosaurs was done. The city was plagued with petty crime and even more petty citizens. There was no appreciation anymore, and certainly no vacation days for a superhero. SD never asked for this, though he may have enjoyed it in the beginning; the adoration, the merchandising deals, even a cartoon in his likeness. The money was pouring in, but what good was money when you had no time to spend it, and even more so, no one to spend it with.
“Super Dino? Are you there? Hello?!” The mayor was frantic.
SD fantasized hanging up the phone, hanging up his superhero status, and running away. He could go to one of the islands inhabited by dinosaurs, but they weren’t like him. They were prehistoric; barely considered sentient, and they certainly didn’t have the high intelligence SD had. Maybe he could escape to a tropical island, nap on the beach and listen to the lapping waves.
Or, he could answer the phone, like he always did, and continue to save the humans who created him. Even though he would never be one of them, he would never fit in, it was the closest he would ever get to love. The only solace he had was the sound of a cheering crowd, no matter how fast it dissipated.
“Super Dino!! Please!” The mayor yelped.
SD painfully pulled up his sore legs, lifting his heavy head into the air. “I’ll be right there.”
Character: Super Dino
Scene: Secret lab in a toy store.
Conflict: He wants to relax but there are too many bad guys.
Submitted by: My almost 7-year-old
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Tip Tuesday: Write What You Know
I used to hate this advice, especially as an angsty teen fantasy writer. The advice was condescending. The whole world was telling me I knew nothing. How could I? I was fifteen. I barely experienced life. What did I really know? Homework? Cruddy class schedules? The truth is, if you’re writing from the depths of your soul, you know a lot more than you think - even if you’re just an angsty teen.
If you looked on the outside, I had a great life. Two parents who loved me, a roof over my head, dogs I begged my parents for, and even a few close friends. But let’s grab that trowel and dig deeper into the dark underbelly of life. I was hiding a secret, a secret I would hide until my mid-twenties. I was suffering from crippling anxiety and panic disorder. If I was smarter, I would have used that to influence my work. Or, I could have examined the dynamics of my own family; a schizophrenic aunt and undiagnosed mentally ill uncle living under the clutches of my manipulative, also undiagnosed, grandmother. I could have explored the journey of a man who once had dreams and ambitions of his own, but whose mind slowly disintegrated into madness, having never left the nest of his unstable mother.
Now, as an adult, I explore dysfunctional family dynamics in most of my work. It was a big part of my life, and continues to be, even after some of those family members have gone. It’s shaped so much of who I am, but as a teenager, I was so in it, I couldn’t necessarily see how cathartic and real it would have been to put it in my work.
As a fantasy writer, the greatest gift you can give your readers is to be real. Yes, take us to this fantasy world, but ground me in real emotions, real relationships and conflicts. Take inspiration from the world and how it affects you and those around you. Everyone deals with trauma differently, and it’s important to instill these differences in your characters. Dive deep into your psyche and find things everyone can relate to: feelings of unworthiness, fears, disappointments, etc.
Everyone, no matter the age, has the power to write what they know, to write what they feel. Don’t rob yourself, or your readers, of that rollercoaster of pleasure and pain.
Motivation Monday: You Are a Writer
Even if you don’t think so.
Okay, full disclosure. This is advice I have trouble taking myself. If you’re anything like me, a self-deprecating unpublished author, you too, have trouble with this.
Here’s the truth, you write. Whether it’s poems, short stories, screenplays, novels or something else altogether, you write. Not only do you write, but it is a core fiber of your being. Writing would be one of your islands of personality. So why can’t we call ourselves writers?
Well, because we feel like posers, and most of us hate ourselves. The truth is you… we… are writers. Published or unpublished, we write. We love it. We live and breathe it. Don’t be ashamed to say it.
Keep speaking it into the universe. I am a writer. Because you are, even if the almighty gatekeepers haven’t recognized it yet.
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