FIRST ASSIGNMENT: write your story statement.
Life often gives us the same lesson over and over until we finally learn the lesson we are meant to learn. For Mari, it began at age three when her baby sister died and her parent’s divorced. Her mother neglected and abused her and her older sister for six years before finally abandoning them on their father’s doorstep. Mari struggles through relationships, abuse, alcoholism, and addiction attempting to understand why her mother can’t love her and what is wrong with her.
ECOND ASSIGNMENT: 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.
Mom has many faces; you never know what you will get. Silly Mom; carefree, happy. She skips in the rain puddles and dances to Sinatra. I love silly Mom. Sad Mom; withdrawn, depressed. Her eyes are dark and sunken. She refuses to eat or leave her room and starts to smell from not bathing. She cries all the time. I ache for sad Mom. Wheeling, dealing Mom; Let’s make a deal. She’ll make sure that I pay up front, yet she almost certainly won’t hold up her end. She makes me feel like it’s my fault she can’t follow through. I despise wheeling and dealing Mom. Bitter, cruel Mom; lip curled back, eyes sharp and pointed. Whatever comes out of her mouth will be mean and she’ll intend for it to cut and hurt. She’ll be violent and cruel for no reason, and she won’t be sorry. She finds joy in my pain. I fear bitter Mom. Tender, loving Mom; kisses my forehead, tucks me in. Cradles me in her arms and sings lullabies in her beautiful soprano voice. I miss tender Mom.
Secondary Antagonist – The Nothing
From a young age, Mari feels an emptiness inside her that sits in the center of her being. It seems to suck everything good and light into it. The Nothing pulls and tugs at her until it consumes her. Engulfing her in depression and endless sadness. She succumbs to it, being sucked into a deep pit, clawing at the sides while being pulled downward into endless darkness.
Secondary Antagonist – Daddy
Mari is Daddy’s little girl and wants only to please him, yet they are at odds with where her life should go. Daddy’s conservative Christian ideas are continually pushed on her as a young adult, both at home and at church. Mari begins to question and push back. She dreams of traveling, having a career, being something more. Daddy insists that she must settle down and marry. She resists and rebels against him. Losing everything in the process.
Secondary Antagonist – Nick
Mari’s high school sweetheart and first love, Nick’s personality resembles that of Mom far more than anyone realizes. Their on again, off again relationship tears at Mari over and over, forcing her to relive her childhood pain in real time.
Secondary Antagonist – Dimitri
Mari is naïve and immature when she meets Dimitri who is suave and manipulative. She is raped and gets pregnant at 17. Due to her childhood abuse and the culture of her family and church she doesn’t recognize that this is not her fault. She feels the only way to save face with her family is to marry Dimitri.
Secondary Antagonist – Liam
Liam is a rebound from Nick, and Mari’s biggest mistake. She meets him while trying to run from her pain from Nick and from Mom. He introduces her to cocaine and speed. Which starts her down a dark road that will take years for her to recover from.
Secondary Antagonist – Benji
Confused and reeling from the abuse she suffered from Liam, and still recovering from the drug addiction, Mari returns home to her family. She meets Benji and reluctantly marries him. At first, she thinks that it is love at first sight. Once they are married, she realizes immediately that it is a mistake. She stays in the marriage to ensure that her children are cared for and have financial stability. She becomes more and more unhappy, unstable, and miserable.
THIRD ASSIGNMENT: create a breakout title (list several options, not more than three, and revisit to edit as needed).
Possible Titles:
Undesired Inheritance
Secrets: Hiding Mother’s Scars
A Field of Yellow Flowers
FOURTH ASSIGNMENT: - Read this NWOE article on comparables then return here.
- 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?
A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown – Her story begins with the death of her mother which then sends her life into turmoil and chaos. Cupcake’s life becomes one disaster and traumatic event after the next propelled by the poor decisions made by the adults in her life. Driven to a life of addiction and alcoholism that nearly kills her, she thinks that she is worthless and has no hope. She finds recovery and a voice. Her writing style is forward and in the moment. As a fellow sufferer of trauma and addiction, I could relate and sympathize with her and her story. Cupcake’s book draws readers who can relate to childhood trauma, addiction, homelessness, and recovery. Her story is inspiring.
Educated by Tara Westover – Tara describes her struggles with culture, religion, and mental illness and how they shape who we are. As she becomes a teenager and an adult, she begins to recognize the sickness that she has been swamped in not only from her religion but also from her family's mental illness. Her struggle to learn how to live in a normal world while coming from an abnormal upbringing is touching and relevant to anyone who grew up with parents with mental illness. Her story also demonstrates the power of culture and religion and the many ways they affect our lives and personalities. Those who read her book are either looking to heal from similar trauma or love someone who is dealing with the pain of a broken childhood.
My writing also draws from the culture, religion, and mental illness that affected me while growing up and into my adulthood. These factors form our belief systems about the world around us, and ourselves.
FIFTH ASSIGNMENT: 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
Core Wound: Growing up with a mentally ill mother who neglected and abused her and her sister, Mari fights an inner emptiness that threatens to swallow her whole.
A lifetime of abuse and neglect leaves Mari torn between hating her mother and longing to be loved by her.
Hook Line: Torn between love and disgust, growing up with a neglectful and abusive mother, and conservative, religious father, Mari tries understanding herself and searches for the love she never felt from her parents in all the wrong places.
SIXTH ASSIGNMENT: 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.
I was late getting out to the school bus to go home. I ran down the hallway hoping that I could catch it.
“Mari!” Mrs. Gentry, my teacher, called after me.
Oh no! I thought, turning around trying to catch my breath.
“Mari, did you turn in your math assignment today?” Mrs. Gentry asked sternly.
“Um, I think so? I’m going to miss my bus; I have to go Mrs. Gentry. Can I check tomorrow?” I asked hopefully. My stomach filled with dread as I thought about the long, cold walk home if I missed the bus.
“It’s important to turn in your assignments on time Mari. You are responsible for your own work; I expect that it will be in my box tomorrow morning.” She instructed.
I shook my head and turned on my heels bolting for the double doors that led to the yard where the bus picked up. My face grew hot and the pit in my gut grew deeper when I saw that I was too late, the bus had already left. I went inside to the office to try to call Mom.
“Ring, Ring, Ring.” No answer. I dialed again. “Ring, Ring, Ring.” Still nothing.
I handed the phone back to the secretary, “Thank you,” I told her holding back my tears.
I walked outside and pulled my sweater around me. It was starting to snow, and it was cold. I started out across the back field because it was the shortest distance to home. The snow was deep, going up above my knees in some places. I was only wearing a sweater, cotton skirt and baby doll shoes without socks. My feet were numb, and it felt as if my fingers were going to fall off. I thought about earlier that morning when I had rummaged through the large black plastic bags that Mom called her “laundry system” in an effort to find something clean to wear. I wished I had taken more time to find something warmer. The only part of my body that wasn’t cold was my face because of the hot tears that continuously ran down my cheeks. Finally, I stumbled into the back door pulling off my shoes and turning them upside down to dump out the excess water and ice. I ran through the kitchen.
“Hey! Hello Sunshine! You look frozen! Come sit with me by the stove!” Mom’s syrupy voice startled me.
I stood there, melting snow dripping from my dress. Mom was looking happy today with her red and blue flannel all buttoned up, her hair curled, and her bare feet resting on the open oven that was on with her wool socks warming on the top rack.
“Well, don’t just stand there drip, drip, dripping everywhere silly! Come dry off!” Mom motioned for me to come over to her.
My face grew hot, I could feel the tears starting again, “Mom? Why didn’t you answer the phone? I called because I missed the bus?” I asked confused and angry.
Mom threw her head back and laughed, “You walked all the way from school in this weather? No wonder your nose is so red!”
I couldn’t stand it; I ran to my room. Pulling off my wet clothes I started screaming. I made no audible words, I just yelled as loudly as I could. I threw myself onto my bed and beat my tiny fists into the pillow.
Why doesn’t she care? I could have frozen to death, and she thinks it’s funny! I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!
My bellowing dissolved into sobs.
Why doesn’t she love me?
It felt as if she enjoyed it, denying me the love that was so rightfully mine in the first place. The way she sneered at me, mocking my tears and my pain. While I supplicated at her feet, pleading and petitioning for the slightest hint of affection from her.
I tried squeezing my eyes shut tight. I thought about being dead. Not about actually killing myself, more about wishing that something horrible would happen to me that would end in my demise. I just didn’t want to exist anymore. The emptiness and sadness set in; the hollow Nothing at the center of me sucked me in. It was relentless in its pursuit of magnifying my pain. I must have cried myself to sleep.
file:///C:/Users/marig/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.jpg 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?
I clutched the pint-sized vodka bottle in one hand, while I puffed on my cigarette with the other. As I took a deep pull from the bottle, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the burn of the liquor as it hit my gut. I let out a sigh and took another.
Ahh, there it is! At last, silence.
My yammering brain finally shut up; I was in my happy place. Here there was no punishing criticism flying at me nonstop. I was not the unloved child searching for meaning in an empty and insignificant existence. I felt no sorrow over the loss of my dad. The anger and rage that usually consumed me was extinguished. Here, in my happy place there was nothing, only oblivion. It wasn’t the same as the emptiness that the Nothing created. That stole everything from me and left me a hollow shell of pain and anguish. This was the absence of the Nothing, it was the lack of everything. And I loved it.
I am going to drink forever!
I told myself.
Sun broke through the curtains in my bedroom, and I sat up with a bolt.
Oh shit! Where am I? Where’s the baby?
Frantically looking around, I could see David in his crib reaching for and playing with his feet in his footed pajamas. I breathed a sigh of relief. My clothes from the night before were in a pile in the corner, there were soda cans scattered everywhere. I pulled a t-shirt over my head, glanced down, and noticed a pair of men’s boxers with leprechauns on them.
These aren’t Nicks. I whispered, Oh shit! What happened last night?
I thought hard, but I couldn’t remember anything past Nick handing me the third can of Pepsi. I swung David over my hip and headed downstairs. Lucy and Marissa were asleep on the living room floor, along with some of their friends. I stepped over them to get to the kitchen. As I made David’s bottle, I looked out the kitchen window, there were dishes all over the front lawn. I set David down and went into the living room,
“Hey, guys? Wake up! What the hell? Why are there dishes all over the lawn? Also why do I have leprechaun boxers in my room?” I stopped and started coughing, “and eew! Why does my breath smell like cigarettes?” I yelled at them.
Lucy sat up, groggy and irritated, “Because you ran up and down the street, throwing the dishes, screaming that you were never going to wash dishes again. Then you went into the neighbor’s house and came out with his boxers on. I seriously don’t know if you left your clothes in there or not. Then you came back here and insisted that you smoke. After trying to light the stupid thing backwards for fifteen minutes, we finally helped you light it.” She scowled at me and lay back down, pulling the blanket over her head.
I stood staring at her in disbelief, “No,” I shook my finger back and forth, “No, none of that happened, you guys are playing a joke on me.”
Marissa shot up from where she had been pretending to sleep, “Oh my god Mari! You so did! I’m going to my room to sleep!” She stormed upstairs.
Nick came stumbling down the stairs, “Hey babe, you were on fire last night,” he chuckled, “Did they tell you?”
I snapped my head around, “Don’t you start with me!” I glared at him.
My head was screaming at me again. Telling me how stupid I was for letting myself get out of control. Reminding me that I am a mother and I have responsibilities, I can’t be acting like this. Asking what if Amanda found out? She would kick us out and then we would have nowhere to live. I went into the kitchen and rummaged around the empty bottles from the night before. At last, I found a half full bottle. I tucked it under my shirt, picked up my baby and went upstairs to drink away my noisy head in peace.
FINAL ASSIGNMENT: 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.
We had this horrible green velvet sofa. It was the only constant in our lives because Mom loved that stupid couch. She told me once about how she and Daddy had saved up for a year and half when they were first married. The oversized crushed velvet sofa was the first piece of furniture they had purchased as a married couple. The olive-green chesterfield springs to life in nearly every one of my childhood memories. Beginning with Annalise and I giggling and laughing on the soft new cushions, morphing into that awful day our baby sister Haley died as we watched the babysitter pace back and forth in front of it. I can still picture Mom perched on the edge of it in the small two-bedroom house we called home before our world was torn to pieces as she repeated over and over that the doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding in Haley’s head. Then came the endless march of the infamous green couch, and us.
First, to the farmhouse with its endless cornfields and the barn filled with cows, sheep, and chickens. There was a giant willow tree that stood in the front yard, Daddy made a paddle swing for us that hung from one of the highest branches. A small creek ran down one side of the property with wildflowers growing along the edges. We played in the creek and along the bank for hours at a time, pulling the heads off the snap dragon flowers, trying to make the snapping sound the way that Mom always did. Several acres of corn crops lined the opposite side of the house. Daddy ran the tractor and let Annalise and I take turns riding alongside him. It made me feel as if I were on top of the world. Corn rows seemed to go on forever, even now the sight of a corn field and a sunset brings tears to my eyes. Behind the farmhouse stood a large barn and a small corral. About halfway between the farmhouse and the barn was a tattered old chicken house. Mom would give me a small bag of chicken feed and I would wander around chasing the chickens attempting to make them eat the food I was throwing onto the ground. Not realizing that I was actually scaring them away by running towards them.
Then we left, and with us we took that stupid couch. There was a giant plate glass window in the front of the house that looked out onto the cul-de-sac. Mom positioned the old green velvet couch directly underneath the window. I loved to sit on the back of the couch and look out the window, resting my face on the cool window.
“Mari? Are you going to sit there all day?” Annalise asked me.
“I’m waiting for Mom to come home.” I replied.
“You’re probably going to be sitting there for a while.” She said sarcastically walking away.
I was undeterred. I rested my cheek again on the frosty glass. Feeling the moisture from my breath as it created a fog circle. I didn’t move or flinch. I felt as if I did, somehow it might prevent Mom from returning. The sky began turning dark, I saw headlights come up hill. My heart quickened as the car turned around in the circle and headed back down the hill. My shoulders dropped back down; I relaxed back into my previous position. My stomach growled and rumbled. I pushed the thought of hunger away. I had learned that if you ignore the hunger pains for long enough, they just go away. Unfortunately, the fear, loneliness, and empty feeling doesn’t go away regardless of how much to try to avoid it. I continued to stare out at the street until I drifted off to sleep leaning up against the window.
When Mom finally took us to Daddy’s and left us on his front porch that cold, blustery March morning; it wasn’t Mom that I missed, it was that horrid old green chesterfield. After all it had been with me since I had been born. It had been more present in my life than just about anything else.
