“If you create round characters,” said Dr. Gambone, my creative writing professor, “they may not do what’s expected of them. I’m just warning you. They’re manifestations of your subconscious mind. Let go. Relinquish your hold on them. Let them make the story – a plot borne out of character. Breathe some life into them, inflate them, let them become people that you can know.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes. Brilliant as my professor is, it didn’t seem feasible that I, control freak extraordinaire, would develop a tribe of imaginary friends to draw into my assigments for Intro to Fiction Writing E-25. Dubious, I read the two chapters on characterization, and began taking notes. At the beginning of the class, we were instructed to pick out a notebook that suited our individual needs, and carry it with us at ALL times. Kathryn assisted me in this arduous task. I wound up with a very Harriet the Spy-like red leather bound piece, pen contained neatly within, and I began to observe. Notes from the coffee shop, notes from the office, notes on the train. Conversations from the supermarket. Bizarre names overheard at the bar.
Then it happened.
While reading business publications for work the other night at the kitchen table, I pushed my glasses up and rested my eyes on my palms. What the hell? Behind my eyelids, I could see a small girl in an octopus costume. How bizarre. Later on, as I grew more tired, my inner monologue seemed to be stemming from an ex-disco queen, languishing on a couch in sweatpants while smoking a cigarette. While reading an old art history essay from Wake on a particularly splotchy Picasso pen-and-ink, a character in my head began to consider the painting, touching the spots under the glass while moving her lips quietly to herself – OCD, of course. She’s about fifteen. Now these three have taken up residence in my head. They can’t live together – how could they? But they’re currently homeless. I have no idea what to do with them, but they’re coming into their own and won’t stay put for long…here we go.
Plotline suggestions are more than welcome.
#663 When your roommate goes away for the weekend
13 hours ago
2 comments:
last night i had a dream that the puerto rican mob hacked a plan to steal money from japanese people. somehow i got involved in the whole thing because my brother and his best friend were kidnapped. the mob would host parties for japanese people while henchmen went to their homes and stole piles of paper money that oddly looked like printed money instead of the real thing. anyway i was running downtown trying to find a police officer and then he didn't believe me. i began crying because i was at my lowest point (see: screenwriting). before i could continue my film noir sequences i woke up.
novels selling millions of copies have been founded on worse characters that this. You are off to a good start. Keep it up!
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