Tell the story of a job interview that goes badly. The more your character wants the job, the better the story will be.
Claudia is sitting in the reception area of Flash, Ltd., her posture immaculate, though the way she feels, she should be sitting back with her hands behind her head and her legs up on the glass coffee table before her. Her leather portfolio rests on her lap, in which her resume is tucked; her spiel so perfectly prepared in her head, it was as though she had it mental cue cards, and her outfit is tasteful and simple. She’s even forgone her usual five-inch stilettos for flats, which is quite uncomfortable for her, but she’s willing to make that sacrifice for this job.
Which, by the way, is totally hers. “Nobody is better, smarter or prettier than you,” her mother had told her practically from birth, and that’s been Claudia’s motto ever since.
This exercise is one done in irony. My previous story, generated by the spark word “virus”, did not turn out exactly as planned. This is something every writer has surely experienced time and time again: the frustration of having your own words, your own characters turning against you. But they belong to you! How can they betray you? Well, they just do.
Since this assignment is about outlines, what I will be doing is taking the “virus” story, using the plotline that I originally intended to use, make an outline for that, then write and post the story here! Ties in pretty perfectly, doesn’t it?
Outlines are most common among thriller and mystery writers, for obvious reasons…many non-genre writers use outlines, too…on the other side of the fence are writers who prefer a more organic approach to their craft…If you’re suffering from writer’s block, try changing your approach. Make a detailed outline of the story - or plunge first into the opening paragraph without any idea where you’re going. Either way, the change in routine may be surprisingly effective.
-From The Writer’s Block, by Jason Rekulak
Like I said, I’ve already completed the latter part of the challenge - plunging headfirst. Now it’s time for me to fulfill the latter. So, first, here’s the outline:
- Unnamed town in the province of Ontario, late 1990s.
- Starts off on a bus full of high school kids, including main character, Lillie. Their senior drama class is traveling to a junior high school where they’re performing a show made up of several skits, each containing a valuable lesson
- Setting goes back to the past: to her junior high school and her current high school, as well as some of the elementary and junior high schools that they visit (maybe). Ends in a hamburger restaurant.
Lillie thinks back to junior high, where she developed a virus that made her an outcast and has carried on through to the present, as all the kids on the bus seem to forget that she is there, even though everyone else seems so close. When they arrive at the junior high school where they’re performing, she sees a poster advertising their graduation buffet and remembers her own, when all her friends got a table together and left her to sit at the “leftover” or “reject” table.
Turns out the same thing happened just recently, as she is about to graduate high school and also got bounced around from table to table, with no one seeming to really “want” her. So she declines to go after all but is furthermore disappointed when no one seems to care that she’s not going anymore.
At this particular school, there are two shows instead of one, so the group goes to lunch at a hamburger restaurant. They all gather tables together in a pattern that effectively cause her to end up sitting alone. And that’s when she decides that they are the ones with the virus, not her, and that she should stay away from them.
Now, here’s the story…after the cut!
In fourth grade, I caught a virus. I don’t know where it came from, or how I got it, but all I know is that it made everyone stay away from me.
Okay, not everyone. Mostly the kids at school. Everyone else seemed immune to it.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when they started to stay away. I guess it began with looks of disdain, then whispering, then an unkind word or two hissed or shouted in my direction, but from a distance.
The virus was so bad that people had trouble sitting next to me, so they’d move. If they didn’t think I was far enough away, they’d throw things at me to keep me at a further distance, or left notes in my desk and my locker advising how I should stay away. Because whatever I had was catching and they wanted nothing to do with it.
By eighth grade, the virus went into remission, so a few people had no trouble being around me. They actually didn’t mind me being around more than once, or sitting next to me, or even being in their homes, because I was no longer contagious. There were more than a few who thought I still had it, so they continued to stay away, even though I didn’t. Not anymore.
But by the end of the year, the few who hadn’t stayed away started to back away, slowly, receding far into the distance until they’d fallen in with the rest who’d stayed away all along. After that, I stayed in my room, safe within my womb, under quarantine, because it was clear: the virus had come back.
[Author’s Note - I will be using 12 paragraphs]
Frame 1 – Our First New Year’s Eve!
Us at Nathan Phillips Square. Seconds after midnight. Shiny party hats, identical smiles and half-full plastic champagne glasses (mine in my left hand, camera strategically held in the right, outstretched arm caught slightly in frame). Captured mid-torso. Me, low neckline, emerald silk; him, pea coat chic. Cheeks pressed together, our eyes in happy slits. Behind us a black canvas is alight with streaks.
What makes a good opening line? It depends on the story. Editors of suspense thrillers often hold manuscripts up to an “Airport Test”: If you were browsing through an airport bookstore, picked up a paperback and read the opening line, would you buy the book before boarding your flight?…Draw up a list of five favourite novels and review their opening lines. What drew you in? A beautiful metaphor? The hint of danger? Try duplicating the effect in opening lines of their own. See where they take you.
- From The Writer’s Block, by Jason Rekulak
Here are the opening lines from five of my favourite novels.
1. "They shoot the white girl first." - Paradise, Toni Morrison. (Obviously, I wanted to know what was going on - why did they shoot the white girl? Why did they shoot her first? Who else were they going to shoot? And who were”they?”)
3. "A long time ago, I disappeared." - Caucasia, by Danzy Senna. (Where did this person go? Were they kidnapped or did they run away? Was the disappearance metaphorical or physical?)
5. "Brooklyn-born I don’t have no sob stories for you about rats and roaches and pissy-pew hallways." - The Coldest WInter Ever, Sister Souljah. (I chose this one mostly because of the tone. The personality and attitude of this person - conveyed so boldly in less than twenty words - was an instant attraction.)
And now, here is my own opening line…with the story that follows after the cut!
“There’s a bull loose in the building!”
Penelope takes a deep breath, says a silent prayer, squeezes her eyes shut, and steps forward with her right foot. Then the left one.
She pops her right eye open. Then the left one. At first, she keeps her gaze directly on her feet, rather than the numbers, which are just above her scarlet painted toenails.
I’ve done all the right things. I’ve eaten all the right foods.
But as Penelope pinches at her midsection, she already knows she’s going to be disappointed. Especially with the way her jeans fit her yesterday - ugh.
Let’s just get this over with.
Finally, Penelope raises her eyes to the digitized numbers on the little LED screen.
Lisa catches him just in time. He’s got a bundle of matches grasped in each fist from the large box in front of him on the kitchen table. There’s a scarily determined, concentrated look on his face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lisa snatches the miniature sticks out of his fat, sweaty hands; most of them snap in half, but Matt’s face is expressionless, as though nothing’s happened at all. “Don’t you know that if you get in trouble, I get in trouble?” She dumps the wet, broken remains back in the box and slides the lid closed. “Where – how did you even get a hold of these?”