Wattpad Workshop Series

Never worry about how many words you can get down in an amount of time. Some writers write really fast (like me) but they have to edit loads afterwards (uh, again like me!). Others take more time. Anyway, I like what you've done here, especially this moment: but my uncle and aunt weren’t. - You've created narrative tension with very few words. I really want to know as a reader what's happening beneath the surface. Great contrast and tension between the main character and the aunt and uncle. @angelicacristal

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Week 2: Shellia was sitting around in a world of party animlas, drama queens, and snitches. She had to make a move as fast as possible so she chose to move to an apartment in Lansing, not knowing anything about the place or the people living in it. The sun is high in the bright blue sky, the grass is green, and it is time for people to start coming out and about. As she sits there she watches as a few neighbors going in and out of her next door neighbor's house. As a rule of her own she makes nice with her neighbor; saying hi when she see's them outside. Today she heard yelling coming from next door; she tries to ignore it and watch her kids play in the yard but they open their door and the argument spills outdoors. Shellia looks up to see Brooke pointing and yelling at a woman she reconiges from down the street further. "You need to get out of my house now." "Give me my phone and my drink." Brooked yelled back. This goes back and forth for more than five minutes when she sees the blue and red lights. Yup someone has called the police because they heard the noise coming from the neighbor's house. Shellia continues to sit on her porch as her children are out playing. She can't help but shake her head when she hears the neighbor talking with the police; she wants her friend to leave because they are both drunk before noon and the friend thinks she stole her $200 cell phone.

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@TurningThePage You have a feisty and compelling character here. I like the way that her answers hint at hidden depths, like here: 'For now I would be content with a day that no one looks at me with disgust written all over their face.' There is so much going on here that as a reader I cannot help but be intrigued. Your character's world seems complicated, the sort of place where I imagine you have drawn maps and written out the rules so that you as the writer have a good handle on how that world works. The story is leaping through the answers here and you've done a good job of showing me who your MC is. Be a little careful, perhaps, with tiny line by line details. Like the moment when you talk about respect and the teacher deserving it, well, the actual line is a little unclear - did she deserve respect or not, what does your MC think here? When you are creating a complicated world, little line confusions can make it hard for a reader and the reader wants to just be swept up into the world without having to stop for breath, right? Here's the line I'm talking about: Probably the worst thing was just never showing her respect because she did actually deserve it. (Did she actually deserve respect or never to be shown it? See, it's a niggly, tiny thing, but worth being clear)

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@UnspokenW0rd I love the way Jessica answers questions, repeating them back, humming and thinking aloud. I can hear her on the page - bubbly, interested in the world, a woman who has found her feet after tough times. I like this: 'My earliest? Hmm, well, ' because I can hear her saying it, and I imagine us sitting at a table (perhaps having a glass of wine or coffee) and just chatting. I wonder if it's clear enough from a story perspective what Jessica wants that she doesn't already have? Her life seems to be in a very good place right now, but I sense hidden depths. Good work and welcome to the workshop series. I look forward to more of your writing. Some people write every week, others join in when they can, whatever works for you. Ali

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@kimbasue79 Glad you're smiling. Writing and smiling seems like an excellent way to spend the day.

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Part 2 for week 2: The police escorted Brooke back to her aparment down the road and told them if they had to come back out there someone was going to jail. Shellia thought okay that is the end of that. She hate's where she lives and is ready to move out where it is more peaceful. "Come on in kids. We have to get ready to go see grandma." she smiles as her four children coming running in. As shellia was washing their little hands and faces she heard something hit the wall coming from the neighbors house. She jumped a mile out of her skin before remembering the neighbors are drunk and most likely fighting. Fifteen minutes later she was ushering her children out to her rusty blue van she saw the woman from next door come flying out of her crying and right behind her was the man that moved in with her. Shellia didn't want to be in anymore of their business but of course the woman; by the way her name is Hilliary, she walked out to her white road master with the man in tow. "Go back to them sluts you were all in her face anyways." she yelled at him though they were inches apart. Shellia could not hear what he said but everytime he spoke she yelled the answer back to him. Shellia was in her van now and getting ready to back out when Hilliary jumped in her car and sped in reverse and slammed her car into drive as she raced out of the parking lot with the man in the car with her.

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I like the way Anna is humorous, smart, and verbally adept. The distinction between being wanted and being needed is really interesting - well worth a novel to explore!- and as a reader I'm intrigued. I found that the vignette about locking her friends in the cupboard made me feel that Anna was mean and didn't warm me up to her in the way I wanted to. Sometimes when characters do kind things, it's hard to like them. I'd like to see moments when Anna does something kind or thoughtful to make her more into the likeable, feisty girl it seems she is. @MissStyrieGurl

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@angelicacristal There is a great mystery here and I'm particularly intrigued that your main character is so relaxed about not knowing all the secrets and details. I know I would be immediately researching and trying to discover the story behind Bob, the locked box, the letter. You give hints and clues, but, if you decided to write more, you would want to explore those avenues further. I like that the trapdoor is in the character's house - it makes me think that either Bob or Laura lived there before. Is Laura buried there? I can't tell how big the box is, but it seems creepy and like it might contain a body. I like that you're making me ask questions, good work.

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@Darth_Pinkyy Wow, your MC is a dark and cruel man with a deep hatred of women. It's interesting that he wants to be loved so badly, yet knows nothing of love himself. I'm interested that he's so unpleasant yet that as a reader I am rooting for him to change, to grow, to be loved. You do really well with this line: 'if you are going to pry it would be escaping from the lab.' The story is pressing at the edges, waiting to be written. His voice is consistent and although I don't like him, I want to read about him, well done. I find the answer BBQ very funny - a dark humour. Perhaps that's why I want good things for this character. Remember to think with all the character's senses. Even in short answers, there is space for that sort of texture.

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This seems like a good idea. I'm going to interview one of the MCs from my book. :) Sorry if it goes on a bit - at the moment neither me or my characters seem able to shut up.

What’s your name? Theodore Sorin. But I don't like my full name so call me Theo.

Where do you live (describe it)? Well. Ah. Ack. Ayslington. It's a funny place. Tiny and 'quaint' (in the words of my patronisingly cheerful social worker), full of white-washed cottages and peace and old people. It's the sort of village where hippies go to die. Me and Jade decided that the sewers are secretly full of zombies who climb out at night and eat anyone who isn't over fifty. Nobody's tried to eat my brain so far, but it's only a matter of time. I know the place pretty well now through my midnight wanderings. I used to be a sleep-walker but I stopped sleeping, so now I'm just a walker.

What’s your earliest memory? Probably that holiday in Vienna. I must have been about four. I met my grandfather, the one who used to tell me that ice-cream vans only play that tune when they've run out of ice-cream (I believed him until I was twelve) and Uncle Snow, the albino saxophonist, who sadly drank himself to death a couple of years ago. My dad showed me his polaroid camera for the very first time and we spent days wandering the city and taking pictures. He's left the camera to me now. It's in a box under my bed, but I can't bring myself to use it.

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Week 1 Writing Prompt

I just woke up from the craziest dream possible only to find out that it came to my reality. I really hope it's not reality, because if it is, it sucks.

Kill one 3000 year old vamp and they haunt you for eternity.

"You know Alrix, i wasn't so bad a guy before you killed me"

I stopped to look at Ollie in all his glory. He had on the same clothes from the day I killed him. His perfect hair exactly in place, Stylish designer label clothes that looked as if they were tailored for him. everything was exactly as i remember it but i could see through him.

"Great as if i don't have enough shit to deal with, I'm being haunted by Ollie the model. You wouldn't mind telling me if this is just all fake and I'm really just going crazy?"

I stood there feeling myself actually getting angry at what could only be a figment of my imagination. I know people have had imaginary friends when they were kids, but when you see them as an adult there is just one explanation. You gone coo coo for coco puffs.

"How do I know you exist Ollie? I mean how do I know you really are a ghost?"

I watched as Ollie imitated sitting in a chair and placing a finger to his temple as if he was deeply pondering the meaning of life. "How do you know I'm not just a figment of your imagination? I mean you took a pretty big crack to the skull yesterday from that gang banger. What's to say that you didn't suffer some brain damage, but then again you would have to have a brain for that to happen. Or it could be that I am just a manifestation of your guilty conscience, but then again that would require you to have a conscience as well. Do you have one those?"

I decide I had enough of talking with my imaginary guilt ghost and head to the kitchen.

"Hey, Alrix what are you doing?"

"Getting Fruity Pebbles so I can have something to munch on while I ponder the great question of whether I need a neurosurgeon or Ghostbusters. And no I am not fixing a bowl for you, so don't even ask."

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Week 2 Out the Front Door

I step out the front door into the darkness that is early morning. I can see the lawns that look to be black under the moon light. The concrete driveways are greyish silver that runs like veins through the night. The asphalt is so black that it seems to be an abyss insted of a road.

The houses along the street are covered with iron bars that give them a look of being a prison. Each one of them as unsightly as the next with the paint pealing and shingles missing. These house reflect the lack of hope that his community has.

There are no sounds other then that of a dog barking as if it is trying to alert everyone that something is in its territory. The echoes bounce off the houses as if the dog was in some canyon calling out for help. And as crappy as this neighborhood is that may be what the dog is doing.

The sun will be coming up soon to shower this neighborhood with light but if you ask me I think the sun only does it so it can show the rest of the world what true hopelessness is. The truth of the mater is that even in the daylight this place is more depressing then when its hidden at night. At least with the night you can hide all the flaws like dead trees that people have planted in the yards, the graffiti from grangs trying to claim the area as theirs, to the dead bodies that will be found in park that is just one block away.

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Week 6 part 1

"Abandon ship!"

Clenching the railing so hard there is a danger she will leave the imprints of her fingers in the polished brass, she pulls in an uncertain breath of the painful night, feeling ice crystals forming in her lungs. A man hurtles past her, pushing with fierce strength through the crowd of shouting men to the last lifeboat. He is struck by a sailor using an oar to fend off those not permitted into the boat and falls, she does not see him rise again. Her eyes close and her lips move silently. Moments later her trembling chin rises and calms itself, she releases the rail reluctantly, carefully stepping across the slippery deck towards the lifeboat to claim her place.

Groaning in agony from the wound in its side the ship lurches and she grabs an open doorway to steady herself. Her eyes widen as a bundle of clothing inside proves to be a tearful child. Behind her an increase in the roaring of the men tells her the lifeboat is being swung out. Reaching to the child, pleading with her eyes for it to trust her, she forces a smile and a reassurance from frozen lips. The child lifts its arms to her and she grasps it tightly with her free hand.

Ignoring the burning cold and the noise of the dying ship which drowns out all coherent thought, she pulls the child towards the crowd. A white clad sailor grabs the child and hoists it over his head and into the safety of the boat. He turns and looks at her, slowly shaking his head as the lifeboat drops out of sight. She turns back to the icy railing, her hands clasped lightly upon it, her eyes turned up to the glistening stars.

--

Please be gentle, guys. This is the first story I've written since I left high school (mumble) years ago. I know the child motif isn't terribly original, but I've tried to keep all descriptions and feelings brief and just let the characters speak through their actions...

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Ha, well this really has got quite long. And I had to go out somewhere in the middle of posting it. Sorry about that. I want to do an interview with a couple of other characters as it's proving useful, but I won't post those here.

Cont:

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Good grief. I don't really know where to begin on this one, me being the perfect specimen of a human being and all. I suppose... the dumbest thing I've ever done would be falling off that cliff. That was pretty stupid. It was a small cliff, admittedly, but it still makes a good story. Now I have a scar on my head, which is cool because it makes me feel like Harry Potter, and a piece of latex joining my ribs together. Just a day in the life, you know... anyhow, I suppose I should also mention that I've broken various plates, mugs, limbs, devices of all different values and set fire to a technician last time I tried cooking and plenty other incidents I can't think of at present. It all just blurs into one big mush of regret and stupidity. And then... well there's something else but I'm not sure I want to talk about it. Mainly, well... I just don't think I supported my mum enough after dad died. She had this kind of breakdown and now she's gone and I think she's killed herself and I think it's probably partly maybe my fault. I don't really want to say anymore. Shit, this feels like a really awkward therapy session. This is all confidential, right?

Who do you love? God, you're really going all out on me, aren't you? Do you mean, love, like, relationship-wise? Because I can't tell you that. That's private. Anyway, it doesn't matter because I don't think she likes me. She'll probably be gone from here soon. I don't see why she'd want to stay. In terms of friendship and whatnot, I love a lot of people who unfortunately are not here. I had to move and now most of my friends are far away. I miss them constantly. I wish I could go home.

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What’s your favourite food? Skittles. Skittles make everything better. They are my happy pills.

Describe a perfect day. Two conditions: no school, no rain. It's always goddamn raining in this place and I get quite sick of it. But not sun either please - I'm so pale that I'm pretty much allergic to vitamin D. I'd kind of like to see some of my old friends, or spend time with the aforementioned person who I refuse to name (I shall refer to her as Person X), but if I'm on my own, I like to just daydream. On a perfect day, I'll draw, or paint, or go find somewhere quiet like in some long grass or something and read a book.

What do you do when you wake? Go back to sleep, preferably. On school mornings I bash around the house like a drunken zombie and habitually fall asleep standing up. My carer Liz has now purchased some cymbals for this very purpose. She thinks it's comic to crash them in front of my face. I have a cold shower and a strong coffee, stumble out of the house and miss the 267. It's a good life.

In this moment, what do you most want? Well... being absolutely truthful, I want to go back to how I was before. Before all this crap started. Everything has changed so suddenly, so strangely, and, despite what I say to my friends, I am not ok. I just want my old life back. If I could take Person X back with me, well that would also be nice. I don't want her to be a part of all this drama and I hate that she had to meet me now because I'm falling apart slightly. That can't be too endearing. Also I'm scared I might mess her life up too.

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If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Back to my home planet. Just kidding. That would have really thrown you though, wouldn't it, to get to this point in the interview and find that I'm actually a Martian? No, in all seriousness I would get as far away from this place as possible. I'd like to run away to some big city where nobody has to know my name. I like cities. I like the lights. If I were feeling a bit more realistic I'd start with going back to Bristol, back to my home and the people I love. It's the place I grew up in and I miss it a lot. I'm really rambling on a bit, so sorry about that. You could probably write a book about me by now. [input from author: yes, I probably could.] I think we'd better end this interview soon before I say something weird.

And one bonus question: What did you do last time you were in trouble? Hmm, well, last time I saw Person X I said a bunch of really stupid stuff and froze up and I count that as being in trouble. I sort of mumbled some stuff, made a quick getaway and hid from the world. I just sat by the window and curled up in the curtain like I used to do at my parents' parties when I was little. Gah. It's embarrassing. Are we done now? This whole thing is quite depressing. If you don't mind, I'm going to go sit in a dark corner and sing Creep to myself.

Over and out.

***

[Just to say, I reckon the interviewer would have to be someone he really trusts, because I know my characters pretty well and normally he wouldn't be this open about his life. But then it's just for the purpose of a writing exercise so I suppose it's ok. And sorry that took three posts! I seem to have rather a lot to say today.]

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@alissende I was quite intrigued by your interview. Hal has a great, strong voice and it seems like you know him well. I might have to read your story at some point - it sounds interesting. :)

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"Abandon ship!"

He whirls around, looking for the nearest exit. Buffeting his way through the crowd he reaches it first, and growls as he finds the door is locked. Fear of being caught inside propels him into wild action: he rams the door time and again until it is smashed from its hinges. The throng behind him panics and pushes him down on top of the wrecked door, then surges over him. Howling with frustration he regains his feet and staggers after the crowd, knowing what he must do now.

Minutes later he has searched the cabin: what he sought has gone.

As if it were the mightiest of whales impaled by a monstrous harpoon, the ship moans at the loss of its life. The man races along empty corridors, and crashes his way up the stairs to the deck. At the end of the icy deck he can see a crowd pushing to get into the lifeboat. Snarling, he draws in a deep ragged breath and charges at the men separating him from the boat, beating his way though to the front. He claws at the side of the boat, desperation giving him a strength he has not felt in years.

His head snaps back and blood flies from the gash the oar rips along the side of his face. Hands drag him from the boat, he stumbles then slips down onto the deck, unable to rise as the boots trample over him.

The crowd moves away in search of another lifeboat. He staggers to his feet, and looks over the side of the ship, wondering if he should jump into the ocean. Looking down into the lifeboat, he sees the face of the last person to be rescued from the dying ship: his young daughter Amy.

He smiles.

--

Can you always determine a character from their actions?

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@AliceKuipers I'm back with Week 6. I think this is slightly longer than 300 words. 319-ish.

MELANIE

The klaxon pretty much set off the “EVERYBODY PANIC!” alarm. People act like crazy ants in an emergency situation. Running around, screaming and panicking, looking for their loved ones. I’m still stuck on my lounge chair, wondering about what the hell is going on.

I definitely felt the jolt of the ship hitting the rocks, that odd grinding and shaking. And I definitely hear the alarm and the screaming. I’m stuck in shock.

Don’t panic, Melanie. Stand up. Find the others. Kyle and Eric were still in our room, so they’ll be evacuated with the rest of the guests. Adam and Jacquelyn were OCD over the safety instructions. They’re probably safe. I sure didn’t pay attention to the emergency instructions. Stephan was looking for some drinks. But where is he now? He doesn’t know how to swim. Oh my god, is he okay? Stephan wouldn’t panic in a situation like this, but does he know what to do?

My brain is just yelling curse words at me and at everything around me. Okay, don’t panic. Find Stephan. Get to the lifeboats. I stand up carefully, the floor slanted under my feet. Ouch! You stupid bitch! You stepped on my foot!

I run – actually hobble – towards the bar. I don’t see the familiar redhead. My heart clenches. Where is he, where is he where is he? My brain is coming up with these crazy conclusions. Stephan was pushed overboard, got eaten by sharks, kidnapped by pirates…

Calm down! Look, look there he is! By the lifeboats!

I run over to him, shoving away that lady that stepped on my foot. I grab on to his arm. He looks surprised for a moment but then he embraces me. The others are with him, relieved to see me.

“Thank goodness you’re safe. What were you doing?” Stephan asks, talking into my hair.

“Panicking, obviously.”

He chuckles, shaking us both. “Always panicking, Melanie.”

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(Week Six) Character is action

“The ship is sinking, I am sorry.” Jay’s voice, monotone, dead, empty. Very unlike the young kid.

The words don’t really sink in.

The ship is sinking? That shouldn't be possible. But after the damage we've taken with the pirates....

“Everyone!” I stand up and call out to the rest of the white faced passengers aboard this small boat. “Everyone, follow me. In a straight line. Keep calm.” I've found that in the midst of chaos the best thing to have is a clear, exact head.

“Jay, get the lifeboats ready.” Jay’s eyes spark to life when I give him an order, I tell him to jump. He jumps, I may not be the captain but I'm all they've got. “Lillia, hand these out.” I motion to the life jackets that are waiting dormant in their holding. “Michael, you go and grab the children, you know where they're hidden.”

“B-but what if they come back?” I turn slowly, purposefully, tugging on the rough edges of my beard. Proof of the time I’ve spent at sea. “Then we will defend ourselves.”

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Week 7: Character interview

“F-L-O-R-E-S?”

“Correct, Sir. This is my bunk.” The sweeping gesture was meant to be an invitation to look, but it was more like the swat of an annoying fly.

“We’re a detachment of the 4th Combat Brigade embedded with an ANA base here in southern Afghanistan, not far from the Pakistan border,” he continued while bending down to open a padlocked footlocker. He was clearly not comfortable with the reporter’s recorder, with anything pointed at him for that matter.

“Not much to say. We learn to forget each day. The only lasting memory I seem to have is Bagram Air Base. You’ve been there, yes?” He made eye contact, trying to burrow into the civie’s mind to refresh his own fading memory of the U.S. base.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve done here?”

His look turned briefly angry and accusing. He bent down to drag a duffel bag from under his crisply blanketed cot. Zipping it open, he pulled out a fresh fatigue folded into a square. Staring at his nametag, he heaved a reply, “Not speaking my gut at what I thought might be an IED. It was.”

“Who is that?” the reporter asked, pointing at a photo of a young woman in pink prom dress taped to the underside of the private’s open footlocker.

“My baby sis.” His hand brushed the photo as he retrieved a Droid phone. He turned it on to check its screen, turned it off, and returned it to the mesh pocket of his chest’s lid. “She had her quinceanera a couple months ago.”

“Other family?”

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(cont.)

“I think my mother is in Nuevo Laredo,” he said with a shrug. Sweeping a worn Harry Potter book aside, he retrieved his Army issue Body Armor and Load Bearing Vest from the footlocker. His black kevlar helmet looked like it’d been used as an impromptu soccer ball.

“Our pre-dawn meal at the mess was pretty good. You guys always eat that well?”

“Yes, sir. My favorite is the biscuit and chipped beef gravy. After making our beds, it’s the first thing we do. Go grab some grub.” Private Flores cracked a smile.

“I was at the briefing with you guys. Help me out a bit. What should I expect from today?” the reporter implored.

“Best scenario?” he asked in turn. “Nothing. A tedious hike. We get to see our beds again. There’s a large village about ten clicks from here, and we’re doing an interior patrol sweep of it. I’m assigned as your wingman.”

The soldier grabbed his bulging battle-rattle rucksack, plopped it also onto his skeletal framed bed. He pulled out a plastic container from his footlocker and pried its lid open. It contained a stash of candy, mostly sleeves of Bubble Yum gum. He grabbed several handfuls and stuffed them into a pocket of his combat backpack. “Remember, nothing’s more important than staying in your assignment,” he advised. “If you should find yourself in trouble, look for your buddy, don’t be a hero, focus in on your job.”

As Army Private Second Class Daniel Flores crossed his heart and stood to retrieve his M16A4 propped against the barrack’s wall, the reporter excused himself to get likewise dressed.

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Week Six –Interview a character (I used the main character from my last post).

What’s your name? “Burkly, not with an E if you were wondering.” Where do you live (describe it)? “On a boat. “ Describe it? “It’s a boat, what do you want me to say? It floats.” What’s your earliest memory? “I don’t see the point of divulging into my history.” What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? “I’d have to say, agreeing to this interview.” Who do you love? “I love the ocean, that is it. I don’t care much for people, aside from Captain T, but as you know he was killed by pirates on out last voyage. ” What’s your favourite food? “I don’t have a favorite food per se, I like porridge, in the morning. It sticks to your ribs. Keeps you full, gives you energy. A man could survive a lifetime on oats alone.” Describe a perfect day. “I like it when the ocean is rough, it takes up all your focus, and keeps you busy. That’d be the perfect day for me.” What do you do when you wake? “Get dressed, while the others eat their breakfast, I work. When they start their chores, I eat.” In this moment, what do you most want? “To get out of here.” If you could go anywhere, where would you go? “As long as I have waves underneath me, I’m content. No place in particular, though I have always wanted to see the little town in Scotland my mother grew up in. Interesting stories of that place.”

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@MC2superscript That's a really well-done response to the prompt; the only thing I want to point out is that you used "sweeping" twice - once in the first part and once in the second.

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@AliceKuipers Thanks very much, I appreciate the feedback. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes aswell, it helps a lot.

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