Sydney Wray

Opening Scene: For word count purposes, I excluded the very beginning: Lindsey's foster mother kicks her out of the foster house, leaving her to the streets. The following scene is two days prior to the expulsion.

Introduces: protagonist, antagonist, setting (1), tone, core wound, primary conflict, foreshadowing. 

                                                                                - 2 Days Earlier -

    "Lindsey!” For what seemed like the tenth time that day, my name was called from the living room. The television rerun of CSI nearly drowned any lingering noise in the foster house. “Make yourself useful and get me another beer," he said. 

   No one was in the house but us. I was supposed to watch over the three kids playing in the backyard – or really, make sure they weren't coerced into a van by an unsuspecting candy man. The other half were dragged to errand-running with Hellen. 

   With a huff, I dropped my number-two pencil against the rickety kitchen table. Algebra obviously had to take a break. Reaching into the fridge, I plucked a cold bottle of beer and strolled to his reclining chair. 

    My arm extended, but his eyes stayed glued to the screen. The reflection of blue and white danced on his dark eyes. So dark that his pupils were oftentimes nonexistent. Beer stains marked his dirty yellow T-shirt, stretching over a protruded beer belly. Walter’s chubby hand reached for the bottle with stunningly-accurate precision. Right before his fingertips reached his lifeline, I dropped it with a smile.

    The crashing and fizzing sounds startled him, anger flashing across his face. "What the hell was that for?"

    I shrugged, barely able to contain my smile. "Oops." Walter stood abruptly, or as abruptly as his body allowed. 

    I gasped and placed a hand on my heart. "So you can stand!" I looked to the ceiling, shutting my eyes. "Thank you, Lord, for this miracle."

    He glared and raised a challenging finger. "You better watch yourself."

    I raised my eyebrows, enjoying myself. "You better watch yourself." I waved a hand over my body. "If you even raise a finger to me, you'll probably be arrested." I was bluffing, but only to scare him.

    "You're bluffing."

    "I don't think you wanna test my knowledge."

    He smiled and stepped forward. "I don't think you want to cross me." I shuddered as his stale breath of cigarettes and alcohol fanned my face. He waved a hand to the ground, stepping around me and tossing over his shoulder, “clean this up.”

– 

  "Lindsey? Beer."

    I groaned to myself, fed up with the recent beer runs. "No," I yelled back, returning to my book and squinting. I looked up. My eyes hurt. I had only one lamp – an obnoxiously pink,  Barbie table lamp gifted to me when I was ten from some church donation. I didn’t like it then, and I definitely didn’t like it at my current age of sixteen, but I felt at least grateful for having a semi-private lamp I could use at my own discretion. I paused, shaking my head; how pitiful was that? 

    "Lindsey!"

     I threw down my book and stormed down the white-carpeted stairs. I reached the living room. I looked at Walter. "Are you really that handicapped that you can't even take one step into the kitchen and get yourself your own beer?"

     He looked up, shocked by my outburst. "You watch your tone."

    "You're not my father.”

     He stood with a vindictive smile. The TV remote slipped into the crack of the recliner. "Look, little lady, how would you even know what it's like to have a father? Isn't yours, oh I don't know, dead?" 

     A brewing anger rose up my throat. I'd seen enough movies to know the position a father holds. I’d even seen the way Lavender’s dad was with her. "Shut. Up."

     He stepped forward, tapping his chin. "Where's your mother, Lindsey? Do you even have one? Or were you one of those petri-dish type births—" Petri-what? 

     I shoved him. "Don't you dare talk about my parents!"

     He stopped laughing, his sick humor evaporating as he stumbled backwards. "You little," I pushed him a second time. He tripped backwards over the chair's arm onto the floor. 

     It was my turn to laugh while I stepped forward, towering above him. "You don't know a thing about my parents.” And neither did I. 

     I watched him slowly rise to his feet like a jumble of bloated limps repositioning themselves. My spotlight was fading quickly.

    “Next time you want to open your mouth about them—“ a hard slap burned my left cheek. My skin prickled. I held eye contact, desperate to maintain my last shred of humanity. I’d heard somewhere that when encountering a wild, aggressive animal, the first survival technique was to propose direct eye contact. Or was it the last?

     A sick smile stretched his face, the twinkle in his faded eyes reminding me he was in control. I clenched my fists at my side to distract a flood of fear burrowed in my tummy. I weighed my options; he was a (stronger) man, and I was a 5’5” girl with a small frame. 

    The only thing I knew I still had were my words. “You’re a lonely, masochistic drunk that sticks around his old stomping grounds just to feel something again.” 

    He shoved me backwards. I felt my body sail to the ground, the impact scaring me more than it hurt. That time, it was he who stood above me with all the power in the world. “I suggest you don’t cross me again. Do as I say, get me my beers, or you’ll see how much power I have in my old. . . what did you call it?” A snap of his fingers. “Old stomping grounds.” A laugh. “That’s it.” 

   Walter straightened, his lower spine letting out a crack as he made his way back to the sagging throne. I watched him fall into it, fixing his gaze on the television. The front door cracked open slowly, three kids peeking in. They eyed me on the ground, then Walter, then me again. I motioned for them to get out — they shouldn’t see what I was about to do.  But they filed in anyway, sitting on the staircase to poke their heads through the railings like fiercely protective guards.

    I pulled myself up, legs shaking, and walked down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. I turned my face in the mirror and eyed the bright red mark splayed across my cheek. A tear leaked from my chocolate-brown eye. I swiped at it, blinking rapidly. I forced any semblance of stored tears to dry. My heart beat fast — bumbum, bumbum, bumbum. My veins pumped with adrenaline. I tucked my brown, silky hair behind my ear

    Game on. 

    I marched into the kitchen, quietly pulling a cherished member of his arsenal. My audience of eight year olds now sat quietly on the staircase, watching my every move. I was never one to be a role model. I glided back into the room with the bottle in hand, stepping up to him.

    Walter looked up. "That's more like—" I didn't let him finish. I swung my arm to the top of his head and slammed the bottle of beer down. Glass exploded around him, beer dripping from the tips of his hair.

   "There's your beer."

1. Writer your Story Statement

In a story about resilience, seventeen-year-old Lindsey maneuvers the chaotic intervals of New York City foster care – questioning trust, love, and her own worth in a society that overlooks her kind. Through various tremendous losses and a special, unexpected connection, Lindsey unintentionally learns the power of emotional vulnerability. 

2. In 200 words or less, sketch the antagonist or antagonistic force in your story. Keep in mind their goals, their background, and the ways they react to the world about them.

Walter is the primary antagonist who ignites the initial conflict. Boyfriend to Helen – Lindsey’s foster mother, he takes full advantage of government funds, free housing, and forced servitude in the form of beer runs between his spot at the shockingly-new television and decrepit refrigerator. He loves watching Criminal Minds, CSI, and any shows that feed his delusion that yes –  if studied long and hard in the haze of eight beers deep, he could, potentially, be a well-seasoned criminal that outsmarts any law enforcement agent. If a lazy partnership to Helen means a life of free handouts and alcoholic nourishment, then he’s found his resting place. Ions ago, Walter himself was a foster kid that aged out of the system —  hitching his developed anger management to the local bars and attaching himself to anyone willing to lay as a doormat. Walter’s abusive persona is fueled by his decade-long insecurity of rejection and loneliness. 

Lindsey is everything he was and wasn’t; she’s hardened, but carries a persistent notion that she will both survive and succeed in her circumstance. 

The antagonist force is foster care. From page one to the finish, its gripping presence is woven through the characters, setting, and reader.

3. Create a breakout title (list several options, not more than three, and revisit to edit as needed).

The Run

Somewhere, Somehow 

Running from You

4. Develop two smart comparables for your novel. This is a good opportunity to immerse yourself in your chosen genre. Who compares to you? And why?

The Run can be compared with the audience of Jenny Han’s To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Her YA Fiction showcases tasteful interactions between the narrator and her love interest(s), allowing the reader access to the relatability of a teenage mind. The YA genre excuses the young characters to indulge in impulsive behavior, creating irresistible drama. The turmoil in my manuscript reflects the delicious impulsivity of the main narrator, giving the reader  a variety of emotional responses. Han writes in a way that’s very digestible, with easy-flowing events, dialogue, and conflicts. Her readers are drawn to her characters for their authenticity and likeability, imposing last effects. Han is a genius in creating immersive worlds and characters her audience roots for; my pool of readers have expressed similar adoration.

Abby Jimenez constructs emotional roller-coaster fiction, entertaining chaos throughout the entirety of her work – specifically “Just for the Summer.” She writes complex supporting characters and romance that operates in a “slow burn” fashion, rewarding her readers for their patience. For my proposed novel, I create emotional upheaval that aims to leave the reader breathless, as well as respecting my protagonist and reader’s wishes by giving them what they both want and need. Similar to Jimenez, I maintain a healthy balance between surprising turmoil and feel-good scenes, forcing the reader to appreciate the tender moments as they come. Her readers understand complex, mature themes, while also appreciating silly narratives aimed for relief.

5. Write your own hook line (logline) with conflict and core wound following the format above. Though you may not have one now, keep in mind this is a great developmental tool. In other words, you best begin focusing on this if you're serious about commercial publication.

A teenage girl is kicked out from her foster home, meets a boy that challenges her carefully constructed facades, and works to maintain a steady relationship amidst the mercy of a rocky government system. 

6. Sketch out the conditions for the inner conflict your protagonist will have. Why will they feel in turmoil? Conflicted? Anxious? Sketch out one hypothetical scenario in the story wherein this would be the case--consider the trigger and the reaction. Next, likewise sketch a hypothetical scenario for the "secondary conflict" involving the social environment. Will this involve family? Friends? Associates? What is the nature of it?

PRIMARY CONFLICT, INNER CONFLICT: 

Lindsey fights back against Walter – her foster mother Helen’s abusive boyfriend, who influences Helen to remove her from the house. Given a few twenty-dollar bills, she faces the streets of New York City without a home base. This inflicting conflict is the first immediate scene in the story, exposing and feeding Lindsey’s core wound in feeling unwanted.

SECONDARY (social environment): 

Lindsey’s only best friend and confidant takes her in, letting her stay in the guest bedroom for as long as she needs. Sleeping safely, Lindsey awakes in the middle of the night to an unknown figure. Utilizing her survival instincts, she sprays the stranger – Nathaniel, with mace. Their initial meeting is nothing short of dramatic and violent, laying an aggravated terrain for the two of them.

7. Sketch out your setting in detail. What makes it interesting enough, scene by scene, to allow for uniqueness and cinema in your narrative and story? Please don't simply repeat what you already have which may well be too quiet. You can change it. That's why you're here! Start now. Imagination is your best friend, and be aggressive with it.

SETTING: The setting for the majority of the book is in New York City. Scene-by-scene, I include Central Park, coffee shops, a pet store, a high school, a dentist office, NYU, and a Connecticut suburban neighborhood. The uniqueness of New York is the variety of places I’m able to situate the characters and their reactions to each area. The culture supports my protagonist's toughness. 

Much of their time is spent between Lavender’s apartment in Brooklyn and the foster house in Queens. A portion of the book is in a wealthy suburban neighborhood in Chicago, Illinois, as well as another foster home and a Preparatory school.

My characters travel from New York to Los Angeles.