Did you see them? Or did they go unnoticed?
photo by Jenny Downing
The person in the car behind you. The people at the table beside you.
Unless you’ve spent all day in NaNoWriMo cavern (welcome to the world), there are people all around you with stories that need to be explored.
Maybe their lifestories but maybe not.
Maybe the way she smiled at him reminds you of how your newlywed characters react to each other. Describe her smile on your character’s face.
Maybe the way he dressed made you think of your character searching frantically for work. Describe his struggle.
Her unruly children, his gait, and their argument. Each one could be a launching point for your creative work.
Inspiration and stories are everywhere around you, if you’re willing to look for them.
PRACTICE
Notice the people around you with stories that need to be explored. Turn the people you watch into characters and explore their stories.
Then post your practice in the comments and comment on a few other practices.
I’m not doing challenges now, NaNoWriMo is enough of a challenge right now. But I did write the following recently loosely inspired by something I saw.
“Oh
dear Lord, what should I do?” Lucy wondered. She watched the tall dark-haired man across
the street as he held on to a young girl’s hand and hurried her along. The girl’s long dark braids bobbed up and
down on her sleeveless pink shirt. She
could see the ubiquitous Dora smiling broadly at her from the girl’s purple
shorts. The girl’s shirt and shorts were
an odd contrast to the man’s traditional garb and large white skullcap. Even from where she stood, she could see the
little girl’s silent tears, the man’s set face.
The little girl was half walking, half running in an attempt to keep up
with the man’s long strides and purposeful gait.
Lucy
turned this way and that, but no one else seemed to be paying any
attention. And that in a town not known
for its lack of reserve. “What do I
know?” she muttered to herself.
“I’m only visiting in the neighborhood. Maybe people know them and this happens here
every day.” But she didn’t manage
to convince herself. She still worried.
She stared
at them as they crossed the street and passed right in front of her. She followed them a bit uncertainly, not
quite sure what she should do. Was this
‘kosher’? Should she say something? But then she remembered what life was like
with young children, and how annoying they could choose to be at the most
embarrassing moments. She remembered
times when she had been flushed and embarrassed, flustered by the untimely
interference of some well-meaning stranger.
What did she know?
Lucy
spotted an old, dusty car parked on the side of the road in front of them. Odd in this upscale neighborhood. As they approached, the car suddenly revved
its engine. Startled, Lucy glanced at
the car and noticed another traditionally dressed male inside. “Oh my gosh! A getaway car! What do I do now?”
In a
panic, Lucy looked around to see if there was anyone around. Just a moment ago there had been quite a few
people, where could they all have disappeared to? Oh dear, what should she do. Relax, she told herself. She saw the man and child pass the parked car
and continue on their way and calmed her racing heart. Too soon?
The dusty car pulled out of the parking space and began to drive
by. He slowed down as he passed the man
and child. Wait, was he stopping to pick
them up after all? Oh no! Lucy stopped in her tracks, her heart
racing. What to do? She pulled out her cell phone, prepared to
dial the police, write down the license plate, do whatever was necessary,
though she wasn’t quite sure what that was.
No need, she belatedly noticed the car had its signal lights on. As soon as the man and girl cleared the
intersection and continued straight ahead, the car made its turn. Pshew, close call.
Lucy continued
to follow them. Suddenly, she could see
the little girl pulling away. Was that a
struggle?
“Let
go of my sleeve!” she heard the man say through gritted teeth.
The girl pulled some more on his flowing sleeve. “I
said stop pulling on my sleeve!” The
girl looked into the man’s eyes, whimpered and stopped pulling.
“Oh
my gosh!” thought Lucy.”That poor child seems to be petrified of
him!” Lucy quickly opened the phone
in her hand and dialed.
“Phillip?”
“Talk
up, honey. I can hardly hear you.”
“I can’t
talk any louder.” Lucy shielding her mouth with her other hand. “I’m following someone.”
“You’re
what?!?”
“Quiet,
Philip. They’ll hear you.”
“Who’ll
hear me? You on speaker?”
“Just
talk quietly.”
“What’s
going on, Luce?”
“I’ve
been trailing this man for the last few minutes.”
“And
why would you be doing that?”
Lucy could
hear his mounting exasperation. She had
to make him understand. And she didn’t
want to lose sight of the odd looking pair in front of her.
“He’s
in this flowing traditional garb, and he’s pulling along this crying little
girl, who’s dressed totally different from him.”
“I
should hope so.”
“I’m
serious, Phil! He looks a little bit
fanatic, she looks so modern. And she’s
so little. Maybe five or six. It looks
really suspicious.”
Lucy could
hear Philip sighing over the wires.
“Luce, you remember when we were in Disney? When Ronnie wanted to go on the Pirates of
the Caribbean for the third time and everyone else wanted to head for Space
Mountain? Do you remember how we dragged
him through the park with him screaming and yelling? Every time he managed to slip out of our
grip, he’d run back in the direction we’d just come from.”
Lucy
smiled. “Yes, I
remember.”
She saw
the man pull on the little girl’s arm again.
“But, Phil, this is different.
This isn’t Disney, and he really does look suspicious.”
“Well,
what do you suspect? That the guy’s from
the Taliban and he’s planning to use the girl as a suicide bomber?”
“Don’t
make fun of me, Phil. I’m telling you,
it just doesn’t smell right to me. Maybe
he and his wife broke up ’cause he got all traditional and she stayed
modern. Maybe he’s kidnapping their
little girl.”
“God,
Lucy. I don’t know what to tell you
anymore. I can’t figure out if you’re
simply over-indulging in an already over-active imagination or if this time
you’ve gone totally over the edge!”
Lucy
blinked back some tears. “That’s
not fair.”
Phil
softened his tone. “Honey, you still following them on the street?”
“Yes.”
“So
how about we try to apply a little logic here.
Do you really think that someone out to kidnap his daughter would be
dragging her along a public street for…how many minutes now? Don’t you think he’d have planned something a
little less conspicuous?”
“You
are so frustrating! Why do you always
have to be so logical?”
“You’re
kidding, right?”
“I’m
dead serious.”
“Well,
so am I, Lucy. Look, one of us has to
try and stay a little logical. And
besides, if you really think he’s dangerous, I don’t want you following him. If
he’s really dangerous, then it’s a job for the police.”
“So
you believe me?”
“I
believe that you’re following this guy.
I totally believe that you think he’s, well—dangerous. I just don’t understand why you are following
someone you think is dangerous.”
“Phillip
Brown, you can be so frustrating!”
“And you can be a real trial! But God knows, I love you, Lucy. Life is never boring with you.”
Lucy
smiled softly. “I love you
too.”
“So
listen to me, hon, I mean it. If this
guy really is dangerous, I don’t want you on his tail. And if he’s not, then Lucy, why are you
wasting your time?”
Lucy felt
her steps slowing down, and saw the gap between her and the man with the child
begin to widen.
“You
think I’m silly.”
“Lucy,
I think you have the warmest heart of anyone I know. And I think you’re smart enough to draw your
own conclusions. So I’m going to leave
you to it and get back to work. Just
keep me in the loop. Bye,
babe.”
The phone
clicked shut.
Lucy
stopped. She could see the man and the
little girl in the distance. She slowly
closed her eyes, calmed her racing heart and replayed Phillip’s words in her
head. Then she opened her eyes. She knew exactly what she should do. And she did it.
Great job, Mirelba. I love the husband’s concern and logic.
This is awesome… thank you for sharing this. I have never thought of this way ever before… This is awesome
Well, turned out rather longer than I had expected, but this is a direct reflection of what is happening right now. This will definitely be my state tomorrow, so kindly excuse the roughness of the piece—it’s a bit of raw emotion, I suppose.
The air was sweet and heavy with the constant heat and the burning incense sticks, but the mood was far from festive. I sat on the edge of the white sofa, tapping out random tunes on the tiles with sock-covered feet. I was sitting in my Grandma’s house on a religious holiday, when I should have been dressed up and at the mosque, congratulating everyone. But incense sticks weren’t burning because of the festival. Incense sticks were burnt for two reasons in our family—celebration or grief. This time, it was grief.
The last time incense sticks had burnt was two weeks ago, and then, nobody had been quite sure whether it was in mourning or in celebration. It had been a great religious festival, and I had gone to mosque in all my finery, but I had met my second cousins and cousin aunts and had hugged them, biting back the congratulations that were customary for the occasion and instead offering them condolences.
This was hitting a lot closer to home, though. Last time, Grandma had arrived at the mosque and, although she had sat in her black abaya and scarf, she had hugged and smiled us all, and only after the program was over had she dashed over to the airport and taken a plane to the small town where her oldest living relative had lived.But then, things were different now. It was completely different when your Grandma’s ancient aunt who, to be honest, really deserved the peace death would bring her, died slowly of a five year old illness in her sleep, and when a young woman, not yet even thirty, died.Especially when said young woman had been battling cancer for over three years, and had even gone into a marvellous recession briefly, only for the cancer to come back with a greater vengeance. It was completely different when the young woman was your Grandmother’s niece, and when her mother had left her for just a week to come back to her third-world home at the insistence of family, who were afraid that they would have an illness due to exhaustion and grief to deal with as well, and when the woman had gone into a sudden coma while her mother was away.It was completely different, which was why I was sitting on the sofa in the empty sitting room, dressed in black, waiting for consolers to come knocking. The rest of my Mother’s side of the family was inside, in one of the rooms, praying. I knew what was happening; I had known them long enough. My Grandmother would be sobbing quietly as she spoke to her other daughter, in New Jersey, far from where the tragedy had happened. My Grandfather would be reading from his little prayer-book, face emotionless. My Mother would be trying to control my younger brothers, wondering if she, as the family’s resident doctor and oncologist, could have done anything. My Aunt and cousin sisters would all be praying over water, conversing quietly on the phone with sympathisers and distant relatives.I couldn’t take it. I had never been able to; never been able to understand why we were doing what we were doing, never been able to deal with the silence and the tension in a place where societal constraints kept me from comforting anyone with anything more than religious platitudes and where, due to the presence of so many elders, I would not even be able to accept phone calls or inform people what had happened. The only thing I would be able to do would be to pray, and while I might have been able to take that in the past, now, with conflicting religious beliefs, this would only drive me to frustration. With everything else on top of it, I would not be able to stay silent—and when I was frustrated, I either made inappropriate jokes or I lashed out in anger. It was safer to stay out here, under the pretence of preparing prayer books and Qur’ans and setting out mats and fruits for the people who would soon arrive.Everything had been done. All that could be thought over had been thought over, a hundred thousand times. All the condolences I could offer had been offered again and again; all that remained were the ones I wanted to give but could not. Surrounded by prayer mats and books of Du’a and the calligraphic Arabic posters that were my overly-religious Grandma’s doing, I had prayed all I had been able to pray, and then some. I couldn’t pray for myself, but I could force myself to believe for another soul’s peace. But there was a limit. There was nothing more to do.I pulled my knees up to my chest, placing my feet on the sofa, and hid my head in my arms. I was tired. I was exhausted; exhausted from not doing what I could do and being forced to do what I could not; sick of trying, and failing, to pray; worried because I had an exam the day after tomorrow and fifty thousand words to write and it was considered rude to bring Chemistry books to mourning homes—not that I would have had the presence of mind to understand moles anyway. Just as I made the decision to start running through the electrochemical series mentally, the bell rang sharply. I jumped up.I took a moment to reach the door, ensuring that the incense sticks were burning and that all the Du’a books wee there. I did not have to put on a suitably mournful face; it had been there for quite a while. I straightened my black clothes and walked to the door. I was in no way ready, but there was nothing I could do about it.’I’m sorry,’ I thought, wondering if she could even hear me. ‘I hope Grandma’s praying enough to make up for my lack of prayers.’
Sounds like writing this was cathartic for you. Thanks for sharing your raw emotion.
Great writing inspirations. I just watched a couple with a small child interact at the vet with their dog and I was fascinated. The dad was obviously thinking he was doing his wife a big favor by being there and felt she should be helping him wrangle the child and dog. It could be the start of a great character sketch. Thanks!
That does sound like an interesting scene. Glad to help, Amy!
It’s been forever since I’ve practiced with all you fine folk! Too long. I think this is just the practice for me to jump back into as I mull over my trip to Serbia and get back in the swing of things.
****
His blonde hair had been stroked by a mother, once. That was before the virus had come and stripped his body of it’s memory. After the meningitis had had it’s way with his brain it then stripped him of what was left; relationship, hope, a future.
The burden of his care had reduced him to the status of orphan. I wonder if his mother cried when he was taken to the institution. Did she go with him and watch as he was placed into the white metal crib that is now the extent of his world? I hope she didn’t.
His innocent blue eyes still hold hope, lighting up whenever anyone gets close enough to be seen. Little hands reach out through bars, grasping, looking for what’s been lost.
Five healthy years before the sentence fell. His body is still flexible, able to sit with supportive hands, able to reach. Unlike some of the others on his floor. They could tell stories, if they could speak.
Once they could move, still smiled, but slowly, over time, they’ve turned to wood. Like real boys gone unloved turning back into the block of wood they came from. But this isn’t a fairy tail, no good fairy coming to break the spell, just day after day of the same bars.
Of course there is one nurse, maybe she is a bit of a fairy, singing and kissing as she tends to needs. But the hands are so few and the needs so great it’s not enough to stem the tide, not enough to make up for what was lost.
Blue eyed boy with the golden smile. I’ll hope with you for a while and pray this isn’t the end of your story.
This hurts me because I know it’s not fiction. Thanks for sharing, Beck. I’ve got tears in my eyes.
Thanks for listening Katie. I’m praying that somehow I’ll be able to find a home for him, maybe even mine. I think about him everyday. I know there are hundreds of stories like his and I think the least we can do is to hear them.
Good for you! I look forward to hearing updates. 🙂