We often think that to create conflict we need to show major conflict or fight scenes. For example, a car chase, an argument between lovers, a fistfight, or the threat of a nuclear explosion. Or we think of conflict as some kind of internal suffering: depression, longing, or pain.
But the truth is that if events and emotions were the only elements of conflict in our stories, we'd have some pretty flat stories.
Conflict, in good stories, is not always about spectacular events or painful emotions. Good conflict is about values.
Conflict is at the heart of good fiction. Our characters have to face opposition in their pursuit of a worthy goal to keep us interested. It's conflict that shows us who they really are. Let's look at how to develop good conflict story ideas from values.
What is a Value
When you hear the word value in this context, you might think of “family values,” or in other words, morals. While morality is crucial to storytelling, morals aren't what I mean by value.
Let's simplify it. A value is something you admire, something you want. If I value something, it means I think it's good.
Here are some examples of things you might value:
- Money / Wealth
- Friends
- Your little brother
- Getting good grades
- Organization
- Justice
- Compassion
- Ferraris
- The Environment
- Productivity
- Power
- Humility
Think about a few of your favorite protagonists. What do they value?
For example, Elizabeth Bennet, our heroine from Pride & Prejudice, values honesty, humility, intelligence, kindness, and her family (am I missing any?). The source of conflict with Mr. Darcy was on the basis of these values. She thought he was dishonest, prideful, rude, and worst of all, he “ruined the happiness of a most beloved sister.” She believed he acted against her values.
Types of Conflict
Once you know what a character values, you can decide how to put that value at risk for strong character development. There are different types of conflict.
One is external conflict, meaning that something outside the character gets in the way of what they value. If a villain tries to stop the superhero, that's external conflict. If a terrible storm keeps a character from reaching the person they love, that's external conflict.
Win Pride and Prejudice, when Mr. Darcy convinces Bingley that Jane doesn't love him, he's creating external conflict that gets in the way of Jane's happiness (even if this is a secondary conflict in the novel).
Another type is internal conflict, where the character is at war with themselves. Elizabeth Bennet holding onto her own pride is an internal conflict—she has to overcome something in herself to find love.
When Good People Create Conflict
You don't need a villain to create narrative conflict. Most conflict comes about between two positive values that conflict.
In our example of Pride & Prejudice, looming above the whole story is the value of marriage and love. Mrs. Bennet wants all her daughters to get married. The daughters want to get married too, but only if they're in love… and preferably in love with someone wealthy (another central value in the story).
Marriage, love, and wealth are all positive values. They're values most of us would agree with! However, figuring out how to adhere to all of those values at once is incredibly difficult, and in Pride & Prejudice, we get to watch the characters try, fail, and then finally succeed at achieving all of these good but conflicting values.
There can even be conflicts within a single value.
All of the Bennet daughters value love, but what does love even mean? Does it count when the object of your affection isn't respectable? Is foolish passion still love? What if you love knowledge and books more than people? What if you make a marriage of convenience and end up loving your lifestyle but not your spouse? Is that okay? Those are all conflicts raised within the single value of love.
How To Create Conflict in Your Story
To create conflict within your own story, ask yourself the following questions:
What does your main character value?
Do any of his values potentially conflict?
How can you reveal the conflicts in those values?
Do any of his values conflict with themselves?
How can you delve into the complications of that single value?
A Note About Villains
While your story may not need a villain to have conflict, it's always fun to have one. A villain is a character who has the opposite values as those of your main character.
For example, Batman values justice and order. Joker values crime and chaos. Frodo values his friends and the peace of the Shire. Sauron values power at the cost of relationship and beauty.
To create the perfect villain, figure out what your main character values. Then, twist those values into some hideous shape and set the characters loose on each other.
Who are some of your favorite characters? What do they value and how are those values tested? Let us know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Write a short scene showing one of your character's values. Then test that value, either with another positive value or by negating that value.
Write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the practice box below. And if you post, please be sure to comment on a few fellow writers' work too.
Emilee’s lips moved but Jim couldn’t hear what she said. He leaned over and put his ear so close to her mouth that he felt her breath.
“No,” she said.
“No what?”
“All.” Her sentences were impossible to piece together.
“I know it’s scary, Em, but you’re in good hands. We’re going to take care of you.”
“Die.”
“Look at me. You are not going to die.”
“Promise?”
Jim hesitated. He had a personal rule never to make promises he couldn’t keep,
especially not to patients about treatment. After all, Emilee would die someday
and it could easily be on the operating table that afternoon. “Promise.”
Great way to show two positives , honesty and compassion, clashing. Good job Katie!
Well said, Jeff. That’s what I was thinking.
Short and to the point. Excellent!
I loved that! Are you an author by any chance?
I believe in extra-terrestrials. Not that there is life on other planets or worlds beyond our own. That’s a given. It’s like saying you need lemons to make a lemonade. People know lemonade is made up of lemons. What I’m saying is I believe aliens are here, on Earth, flying around in circular craft.
I usually look up at the sky, hoping that one day I’ll see that elusive silver disc.
Maybe it’ll be close enough for me to see it in detail. I’ve heard many stories, including one from my aunt, where they saw a colorful star-like object in the sky. That says nothing. I want to see one up close. Heck, I want to see the aliens. So fascinated by little gray men that I can’t help buying every book on alien abductions I lay my hands on.
Just imagine you’re in bed and wake up in the middle of the night. Your
bedroom door is closed but you see the doorknob turning. The door slowly creaks open and peering through the small opening is a large pear-shaped gray head with two large almond shaped eyes. I can’t possibly imagine what alien abductees have been through. I’d imagine it’s scary, but nonetheless a revelation in and of itself. Something most of us would never get the chance to experience.
But there is something sad in all this. No matter how much I believe
aliens exist, whenever I ask a friend or family member, they try to shoot me
down. Last time I brought up the topic of aliens and flying saucers, a friend of mine shook his head and said it could be anything. I found a video on YouTube
which shows a disc shaped object hovering over the Mediterranean sea and when
the camera zooms in you could see two figures with large gray heads and black
eyes. Eager to convince my brother and his girlfriend, I show them the video.
But my brother jumps to another website showing a drone fighter used in
Afghanistan and makes the claim that the disc is not a flying saucer but one of
the drones.
“How about the aliens?” I ask him.
“Anyone could’ve Photoshopped the image.”
He doesn’t convince me. Even though the video could be one of many
hoaxes, out there somewhere, aliens are flying the skies and making their
presence known to a select few. How I’d like to be able to see one of them someday.
As a big X-Files fan, I really like this.
I love the concept of aliens (Except if they go all XCOM on us)
Nice practice, Marc. So what’s the value? Aliens? Or the belief in aliens? And the negation of the value is his friend’s lack of belief?
You got it. It’s belief in aliens, the excitement at the thought that aliens might be here. The negation is the narrator’s friends saying otherwise. I came up with this on the fly, right after reading your post so it doesn’t go too in depth as to why the narrator has those values. It’s also lacking more action, which I tried adding some in the end.
Interesting. Belief or faith, in other words, is an interesting thing to value, especially in our skeptical culture. I wonder how this would change if the character valued the aliens themselves, and the belief in them was a given. So rather than, “I believe in extra-terrestrials,” it would be, “I love extra terrestrials.”
There were only two sounds: the persistent high buzz of the half-dimmed lights dangling from the chrome light fixture and the repetitious sloshing of the dish-washer droning in the kitchen.
I sat on the fading, tan couch with feet tucked to the left. My right elbow braced my weight against the threadbare arm of my current dais. Book in hand, I was stoically poised for the long, afternoon read. I was a monk in meditation.
Five minutes into my trance, the door connecting the kitchen to the garage met the refrigerator for the eighty-third time. Trust me, I’ve counted the dents. A young, squeaky voice rattled along the walls and crumbled my resolve. Consoling the child whose friend wouldn’t share a stick became a priority.
Time dissolved without notice, and as I was chopping onions for a stew, I looked up and saw the scarlet book spread open, face-down on the couch, soaking in the feeble rays of electric light. I smeared a tear with the back of my hand and resumed my work, not knowing when another monastic moment would find me again.
Nice job showing the conflict between what we value and what must be done.
Wow, beautiful. Very poignant, and I know a lot of people can relate to this feeling.
Thanks. I hope I can one day give them hope that they are not alone.
This is funny, Jason. Poor guy. He just wants solitude and contemplation, and he’s stuck in the messiness of modern life. It’s a little hyperbolic (monk in meditation, the tear), although I’m sure that was the point. 🙂
My life is one cliched hyperbole after another, Joe. And the tear is from the onions. Maybe.
Duh. Don’t know how I missed that. Very funny, señor.
He stood looking at the gun, staring at it silently. He didn’t want to fight this battle this way, but there was no other choice. There were people’s lifes at stake, people that he cared about, especially Krista.
“I can’t even be sure this is the right guy. Maybe you got it wrong. You know, you helped me.” He said aloud as he shifted from his silent reflection into a nervous pace.
His target didn’t see him. Outside Governor Douglas was relaxed in a lawn chair out back with a half of can of Coke watching his two little girls attempt to do cartwheels, courtesy of their new friends at school.
“Watch me, Daddy.” Tara said.
“No, Dad. Watch me” her sister yelled back as she tried to wriggle in front of Tara to get her father’s attention. “I can do it better”
Inside Governor’s Douglas house, Alex was still pacing. Something had to be wrong. There was no way that this man could have been dangerous as the omens had said he was. Perhaps he needed to check them again.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out the all too-familiar wreath made of bone. He sat down and crossed his legs and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he began murmuring the chant.
Moments later, he awoke on the Other Side. Once his consciousness settled, he saw the last person he wanted to see, Hypno.
“:I can’t do it” Alex said resolutely, “I won’t.”
Very nice, Charles. So the value is the people he loves (and wants to protect), on one side, and compassion on the other side. Two positive values put into conflict. Very nice.
This part was backstory: “There were people’s lifes at stake, people that he cared about, especially Krista.” In a normal scene, you’d want to get rid of that and show it instead. But for the purposes of this practice it’s fine.
Great job! 🙂
Loneliness. It could happen to anyone.
Lately, it had overwhelmed me. Weighing me down. Barnaby’s warmth is
the only thing keeping me sane, I know, but it’s just not the same.
Today, though, I have dragged myself out of bed, tugged on my
clothes, and opened up to the crowded world.
“Our new friend is coming over
today,” I say, “So, we have to be good.”
He answers with a toothy grin and a
wagging tail.
A rapid knocking and he jumps about my
feet excitedly.
“Hi,” I say, only a bit nervously,
as I pull open the door. “Come on in.”
“Thanks for inviting me over,” is
the reply. Dusty flip-flops on the newly-mopped floor. Shiny
hot-pink fingernails.
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back and
closing the door. “I’m really glad to hang out with you.”
“Oh.” A sudden hint of disgust.
“What’s that?”
“That’s Barnaby.” I reply with an
affectionate glance. He offers his lolling pink tongue and
enthusiastic wiggling.
Then, “I don’t like dogs.”
“…Oh.” Hesitantly, I glance down
at the huge brown eyes that just can’t understand, and I give up.
Wow, that is a great way to leave it, just introducing the conflict and knowing that things are not going to go well from there.
Awesome. Conundrum central! Man’s best friend must prevail.
I really like how you introduced the conflicting character. It gives you a sense that she might be a bit disagreeable. Nice job!
All alone in the vestibule of the Papal palace, the Duke of Barcelona was sitting on a richly decorated french divan.. or fauteuil.. or whatever those buffoons called a chair. The power of the Vatican was unabashedly flaunted all over the room, everywhere there where colourful tapestries, ceremonious arms and glorious statues, as if to awe visitors into the greatness of the kingdom of God. Personally, Ramon did not believe that an all mighty deity would bother with all those boring decorations, but he wasn’t the one who was going to tell them that!
Since it did not seem like he was going to be granted an audience for some time still, he decided to take the time to review the mission that took him here, to this most holy of cities. His royalness, King Sancho Jimena of Aragon had asked him to go to Rome and plead for the military and religious support of the Pope in his war against the Muslim emirates that plagued his beloved Spain, a war that was bringing so much hope that some nobles had started to call it the ” Reconquista de Hibernia ”. The Duke knew that his mission was of the utmost importance, because without that support, the war would fail and any hope of ever being free from the heathens rule would be lost forever. But if he managed to succeed, then Spain would once again be free and united under a real Castillian king!
Spotting the arms of Frankfurt on a tapestry, he immediately thought about the flaw in his King’s plan, the Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire, spotting an opportunity to expand his power, had been sending envoys all over christian Europe, shouting far and wide that he would take care of the Muslim menace if only the puny castillian Kings would accept his help. If the Kaiser managed to bring enough nobles to support his claim then his King and his allies would have no choice but to bow down to his authority and then everything would have been for naught, instead of being Moorish, Iberia would be German!
As that black cloud hung over his mind, a page arrived and told him that his Holiness would see him now. The big curved doors of the courtroom swung open and as Ramon entered he crossed a man in rich black and gold robes. « Why, hello there dear Duke! My Kaiser will be glad to hear that you seek the council of the Pope as well.. » The man said, before slowly leaving the room. The smile on his face sent a shiver down Ramon’s spine, what had just gone down here? Was he too late?
This is complicated! So the value in the first paragraph is wealth, and then it’s negated by phoniness. The value in the second paragraph is freedom. Then, it’s negated by lack of freedom. Would you say that’s right? I wonder if it would be more powerful if you just focused on one for this scene?
Possibly, what I was trying to do is establish that wealth and power meant nothing to the character if they took away his freedom, the wealth of the church made it vulnerable to decadence and the ambition of the Empire established it as a possible actor of that decadence.
Nice. I like that.
I sat at the bar, nursing my third beer of the night. The television on the far wall was showing some football game between two teams I wasn’t familiar with. Patrons sat at most of the tables talking animatedly about their weeks, or their love lives, or whatever came to mind. Waitresses slipped between the crowds, expertly keeping their drink trays horizontal, not spilling a drop. Music drowned out almost everything, creating a miasma of noise that made it hard to think.
I looked at the bartender, a tall brunette dressed in a red t-shirt with the tavern’s logo on it and tight-fitting jeans, smiling as she took orders from the customers who shared the bar with me. Her long dark hair was pinned up nicely, exposing her neck in a very attractive manner. Some of the guys sitting at the bar around me were staring at her too, some with thinly disguised lust and others just wanting their beer.
As she took an order from one of the guys who was leering at her, she leaned in so she could hear him. She laughed, poured two glasses full of beer, and placed them on the bar in front of him. He said something else and she had to lean in again. His eyes darted to her chest before moving back to her eyes as he spoke. She smiled again and said something in that matter-of-fact way that I was intimately familiar with from my time trying to pick up women in bars.
The “that’s sweet, but I’ve got better things to do than go home with you” way.
I downed the rest of my beer in one gulp and stood up. I waved to her and her startled smile lit up as she noticed. The love in her eyes was evident as she waved back, even to this misguided man. I put on my coat and walked out the door.
She would be coming home to me when the night was over. And home was a much better place to work on overcoming this pointless jealousy than actually sitting there and watching her work.
That smile had been all the evidence I needed.
I really enjoyed this, how you totally fooled the reader. Great!
Thank you! I really appreciate the feedback.
I like. It could go so many places too. In fact, I was kind of imagining that brass chime sound and the start of a Law & Order episode. Enter frantic husband who’s wife went missing after her shift…of course it’s almost always the husband and an insurance scam…
Joe, I *love* this post. Along there with the different parts of story (action, dialogue, etc) which adds new insight into my writing. Thanks!
Firelights cracked through the sky like gunfire. Jessy looked at the side of Wayne’s face and in the reflection of the blasts, there was something sinister about his high cheeks. She covered her shoulders with the dainty evening shawl she’d bought from Woolworths especially for tonight.
‘That’s pretty impressive,’ Wayne said, slipping his arm around her waist.
She wanted to say no it’s not, that it’s too loud and I’ve never liked firecrackers since one lopped off my neighbours’ little finger. That they remind me of war and arrogance and men who carry their guns in their holsters because they need everyone’s jealousy.
But instead she took his finger in hers. ‘Mmmhmmmm.’
She averted her eyes from the blaze by trying to focus on the food in front of her. It was a man’s picnic – a hulk of chicken in the middle of the red and white checked table cloth (that was a nice touch, she had to admit), a tomato and cucumber in case she wanted to make her own salad and a six pack of Castle. In his haste not to miss the opening, he’d forgotten to bring the wine along, and the two plastic cups lay on the frayed edges of the blanket.
‘Wow, look at that one!’ Wayne said, pointing at the gaudy sky.
She glanced up and then quickly back down. It hurt her eyes so she closed them and leaned against Wayne’s chest. There at least he couldn’t see that she wasn’t watching. If he knew how she hated this, he’d be gutted. Her aversion would be a personal assault against Wayne, a vote of no confidence in his taste, his personality and his ability to seduce not only her but any member of the female race. So she shut her eyes and let the lights flicker against her eyelids as she pretended that Smudge was sitting on her lap on the rainbow patchwork quilt her grandmother made for her when she was six.
I love this Zoe – I think you expressed some innate male/female conflicts really well.
Thank you, Juliana!
Thanks Zoe. I’m glad this helped. 🙂
I love how you’ve shown the conflict between masculinity and femininity here. I think it’s interesting and clever to think about those as values, since so much of it is about cultural norms. Men value explosions, meat, inspiring envy in other men, beer, and seducing women. Women value daintiness, salads, cats, grandmothers, and… the feelings of their men. 🙂 So much conflict in so little space. I love it.
Thanks a lot Joe! Haha, the salad/meat conflict still rages in our house… although I’m finding an inroad through roasted vegetables!!! 😉
I do love roasted vegetables. 🙂
Cory knew the bathroom needed to be cleaned. She also knew that once she started the bathroom she’d notice the baseboards that needed cleaning, the dirt on the walls and the carpet that needed vacuuming. I’ll get back to that she thought, can’t forget to take the salt dough ornaments out of the over.
She looked disappointingly at the swollen dough. She’d hoped to make beautiful handmade ornaments as gifts this Christmas. This was now looking unlikely. She surveyed her “to do list” for the day, grab a coke, chocolate bar and some gummy bears. She began typing y..o..u.. then pressed enter once the auto-fill completed her destination. Maybe after this, she though, I’ll take a nap.
Cory knew the bathroom needed to be cleaned. She also knew that once she started the bathroom she’d notice the baseboards, the dirt of the walls and the carpets that needed vacuuming I’ll get back to that, she thought… can’t forget to take the salt dough ornaments out of the oven.
She looked disappointingly at the swollen dough. She’d hoped to make beautiful handmade ornaments as gifts this Christmas. This was now looking unlikely. She survey her “to do list” for the day, gabbed a coke, a chocolate bar and some gummy bears. Settling into the office chair, she begins typing y..o ..u then presses enter once auto-fill completes her destination. “Maybe after this I’ll take a nap.”
Excellent post! I would go further to say, think about what values are changing in your characters. You need Pre- and Post- values. Then, prioritize the values, which values does your character think are most important at the beginning. Contrast this with what they think is most important by the end of the story.
Just to let you know, I just love the name of your website. It’s so cool!
Thanks Danielle!
Joe Bunting
joebunting.com
Just found this site recently and worked on your advice about values. Very helpful and this is what I came up with.
Zander Cole valued his freedom. He valued his freedom so
much; he knew he had to fight for it. Enlisting in the Army at Seventeen, he
was so ecstatic and could not wait to get his first deployment. However, when
he came home with the news, his father did not share his excitement. His father
had plans for him and Zander knew that. But Zander did not like those plans. He
felt he needed to do this. This was what he was put on this earth for. As he
arrived home after enlisting, he ran through the house and called everyone down
to the living room for a meeting.
“Everyone, I have an announcement.” He stated as his mother
Sharon, father Martin and sister Zara, sat on the leather couch in the family
room.
“Oh, what is that son?” Martin asked as he raised a curious eyebrow
at him.
“I’ve just been accepted in the army!”
“Congratulations son!” Sharon
said with a warm smile.
His sister Zara rose from the couch and hugged her older
brother, “Congrats bro! When do you leave?”
Zander would not answer them until he got approval from his
father as well.
“Dad, why are you so silent?” Zander asked.
“After everything I have done for you, this is how you repay
me?” Martin asked with a bitter tone.
Zander cocked his head at him.
“Zander, how did you get permission to join? You need at
least one parent’s consent and I did not allow this.”
Martin glared at his wife.
Zander gulped hard, he hoped this would not turn into a huge
argument.
“I allowed it Martin.” Sharon
informed him.
Martin tossed his hands up in the air. He grabbed the papers
from his son and began to tear them up.
“You are not joining the army! You are going to U of M in
the fall. You are going to be a doctor!” Martin demanded.
“This is what I value dad. I value our freedoms. I feel I
must fight for them. You know I have always supported our troops ever since I
could understand. This is what I want. You cannot control me anymore!”
“I have worked twenty years to save every penny, so you
could make something of yourself. How could you do this behind my back?” Martin
yelled.
“Because I knew this is how you would react.” Zander replied
back.
“Yeah, well, now you are throwing all of that away. I worked
so hard to set money aside for you and Zara! At least Zara used it wisely.”
“That’s right, daddy’s little girl, who is always the
princess around this house. What is she sucking your dick?”
Zander’s father smacked him hard across the face as Sharon
walked in the foyer.
“How dare you use that kind of language in this house? Out,
get the hell out!”
“I guess so!” Zander smirked.
Zander grabbed his Army gear bag and tossed it over his
shoulder. He hurried out of the house. He saw his sister hurry to him, but
Martin held her back.
“You’re not even going to let me say goodbye to my big
brother?”
“No, he is throwing his life away.” – Martin looked harshly
at Zander – “If you leave, I will disown you!”
Zara looked at her parents and Zander. She shrugged her
shoulders. Zander came back in and Martin grabbed Zara. He held her tight.
“You touch her and I will press charges Zander!”
“I have a right to see him go!” Zara said.
“No you don’t! You better take a good look at him, because
he is never allowed back here again!” Martin said.
Zara broke free from her father and ran after Zander.
“Hey bro, here, this will always protect you. Hold onto it tight.
Never let it go.”
She handed him a black jewel bag.
“What’s this?” Zander asked her.
“It will you protect you and always bring you back to home.”
She said with a bright smile.
He opened the bag and pulled out the rosary, made from true
mother of pearl beads strung with black silk string. The sun’s rays caught the
beads and glistened with a magnificent glow. Her and their mother made it for
him. They always knew he was troubled by bad spirits. They hoped the rosary
would help him find his true way home.
Zander smiled at his sister as she grabbed his hands and
closed them together.
“Remember this Zander, “The angels grant thee, the angels
rescue me, angels please set me free, free me from my hard day, free me in
every way, as I lay down to sleep, the angels guard my keep.”
“Thank you sis.”
Zander held his tears.
Zara did too.
Zander looked back at the house and gulped.
lonliless sucks BIG PENUS
Zoey’s cracked pale lips moved but Natasha couldn’t make a word out of it. So, she leaned in closer. Zoey’s mouth formed the words, but no sound would come. In order to grasp what actually she is trying to say in her drowsy state of disarray, Natasha leaned in closer so near to Zoey’s mouth that she could feel her respiration.
“No”, she said.
“No what?” Natasha asked.
“Him” she mumbled in a weak voice.
“Who?” Natasha asked absentmindedly only to regret what she asked. Because suddenly it hit her. Netasha became perplexed. She hesitated at the thought of it. She was suddenly in a state of confusion. She was unsure how to break the news to Natasha, her patient and an old friend, who went into a comatose for four years, surviving miraculously to a massive brain injury after a car accident.
She wondered how hard it might be for Zoey to hear that her husband abandoned her in the state of coma and went off with another woman.
This was excellent, succinct advice. I’ve been working on an idea for a novel in my head for quite awhile and this has been one of the major sticking points for me. I haven’t yet felt that I had sufficient conflict built into the world I’m creating to give the whole thing legs. This has helped shape my idea of what conflict should be, and that it doesn’t necessarily have to be overt melodrama to work. Thanks!
Camille’s enthusiastic hands shot up to her forehead to
emphasize her disbelief in the news she had just delivered. To stress the gravity of the announcement, she
followed up with a melodramatic pause.
Her theatrical demonstration was acknowledged only by the soundlessness
of the room.
Annoyed, she rolled her eyes as her arms forfeited their zest.
They drooped heavy with the weight of disappointment to her sides. His dismissiveness
still stung a little, even though she knew better than to take it personally.
Her eyes widened with suggestion as she heaved a loud,
pathetic sigh.
Silence.
She began to grow restless with the disinterest that floated
aimlessly on the other side of the room. The information bubbled inside of her with
an uncomfortable pressure, similar to the highly compressed contents of a confetti
cannon before the trigger is pulled. She couldn’t contain herself for another
moment. Excited anticipation rose from her fidgeting feet, defied gravity, and finally
exploded from her fervent mouth.
“DID YOU HEAR WHAT I JUST LEARNED,” she blurted, rather than
asked, considerably louder than she had intended to. She couldn’t help that she
was passionate about politics, although everyone else her age seemed to be.
“Hmm?” Her boyfriend reacted flatly, unconcerned. He didn’t
look up from the computer screen.
She recognized Holt’s complete disinterest in what she was about
to tell him, but she hadn’t the time to clamor for his attentiveness.
Especially not now that so much unnecessary silence had ensued.
Camille reconsidered her eagerness. At this rate, it wasn’t
likely she even had the time to explain the story in the first place. She chuckled
to herself under her breath for only just realizing this logic, then she took one
last moment to evaluate the possibilities.
He had wasted enough of her time, she concluded.
And with that, but without further explanation, she grabbed
her bag and marched out the door. A purposeful sense of determination was the
only thing on her mind; Holt’s inattentiveness a vague memory of the past. A past
that, to her, already felt like it belonged to somebody else.
Now, all of her focus needed to be rooted in the future. Her
future.
Samuel sat in his kitchen looking across the several nick-nacks he had found or made over the years. A wooden spoon he had made by the river, a basket formed of twigs, and a table he had spent several weeks figuring the exact values for. After finishing his tea and walking to the door his pet ferret Jack jumped atop his shoulder and pressed his furry face against Sam. Jack knew it was time for their daily walk and was very excited. Sam threw on his overcoat when the sound of falling trees overwhelmed the atmosphere. With terror on Sam’s face he blew through the door and leaped off his porch. Sam and Jack raced through the forest and bush until reaching a horrid site.
Flames roared as smoke soared. A putrid scent filled the air as heat like the aired deserts blasted Sam and Jack. Giant creatures trek across the land coveted in ash while stopping for nothing other than to push trees down in groups of three. Trees fell with great sound only to stoke a great inferno of terrible measure. There were none who could put it to an end.
Sam turned around to run to the nearest city and warn of the danger when a dark figure approached out of the wood.
“Can I help you elf?” His coarse voice created tension in an already gloomy atmosphere. Sam took steps backwards only to trip upon a log, falling on his back he looked up to the giant centaur.
“Who are you?” Asked Sam with a shaky voice.
The centaur chuckled as he rose a dark ax to the smoke filled sky.
“I am Terimal the great!”
We run across the beach, laughing and yelling. Asha catches up and pushes me over.
“Tag! I got you Shaw!”
She collapses on the sand next to me, both of us giggling hard. Up above is a beautiful, infinite stretch of blue. My twin turns to face me.
“Wow… pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I reply, still looking upward.
Suddenly, a stream of water collides with my face. I jump up and shake the drops out of my eyes, spluttering in shock.
“Gotcha!” Asha sticks out her tongue, daring me to strike back.
“Well, if that’s the way you want it,” I say, grinning mischievously and summoning a huge wave, “Come and get some!”
A mass of water flies out of the ocean and soars right toward her, as if of its own accord. She screams with delight and transforms into a small gull. A moment later she is flying over the water.
Tears sting my eyes as I remember the happy memory from our childhood.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to bring her back.
Thanks, this helps. Writing conflict is my greatest challenge. (I’m really good at dialogue, though.)
Taylour pulled up to the Krispy Kreme in a hurry. She needed to satisfy her inner cravings for calories as she had a long day of lawyering ahead of her. As she drove up to the window, she handed the bored teenager acting as the cashier a $20 to pay for her order of $8.25. She quickly took the box of glazed donuts and creme stuffed, put them on the seat next to her, and then extended her hand to receive the change from the cashier.
The reach through the window was awkward, and when the change was handed to her, the three quarters slide off the dollar bills and onto the ground. Clink!
She heard one of the coins roll under the car, but when she pushed opened the door, she felt it bang against the tall cement post that was positioned to protect the building from being run into from inexperienced drivers blinded by their need for sugar.
“I hate those posts!” she said out loud, and then realized that the teenage cashier was still looking at her. Obviously Taylour was going to be her entertainment this morning.
Taylour decided to pull the car forward enough to clear the post, and then she tried again with the door. It opened wider this time, but now the quarters were out of reach behind her. She heard the girl at the window chortle at Taylour as she contorted her body behind her. They were mere inches from her fingertips, but no matter how she twisted and turned, Taylour just couldn’t reach the coins.
Honk! Honk! The car behind her showed its displeasure at having to wait a few seconds for this obsessive patron to get her change, and then Taylour heard a door open and close behind her.
Still reaching, this time with her right hand on the ground to give her more leverage, she thrust herself out, and with a yelp, she fell out of her car and onto the greasy pavement.
A masculine hand reached out, gathered the coins together, and then handed them to her.
She looked up, embarrassed, and then froze as she recognized the person trying to give her the change.
“Uh, good morning, judge.”
“Ms. Dixxon, I believe these belong to you.”
Hon. Davidson surpressed a grin as he helped Taylour up. She dusted herself off, wiped the hair from her eyes and then nodded sheepishly as she took the change.
“Thank you, sir. And let me apologize –”
“No need to apologize, Ms. Dixxon. The value of a dollar is not what it used to be.” He wiped his hand across his mouth as if to hide a smile. “I know how difficult it is to make ends meet as a small-town lawyer. Every penny counts!”
He turned to go, and then said over his shoulder, “I look forward to seeing you in court later this afternoon.”
Taylour couldn’t get back into her car fast enough. Her tires squealed as she sped out of the parking lot.
It took her a half hour to climb the stairs. I watched, spider black from my black window, death with a view, in its spider eyes, all eight of them. I measured her from right across the road we shared. Now. she paused, as much as a drunk can pause, on the porch. She teetered, I could tell, by the way she tried to cling to things that weren’t there; then at last found the trunk of the potted palm. Now was my chance.
The pistol was in my wet and nervous grip. It was not the season for long coats. Though I was never adverse to pastiching the traits of the famed murderers. My hand shook as I attempted to slide the pistol into my pocket – again; again; gone from view.
I don’t remember whether I left the door behind me open, or not. My mind was all on her, my teetering drunk. I crossed the road (and, dear fellow murderer, had no idea whether I checked for traffic or not ). Why did the chicken cross the road? To kill. To kill.
Upon her porch, my drunkard had attained the supernatural brilliance of her kind – and though I was noiseless, a spider at the final loom – about to end her, send out a silver thread and render my prey dead, dead, end her – she turned. Her eyes were dark – porch light gone – and dared crack her face to smile – at me!
“Oh, Tony! My gad -” the rest, incomprehensible. Some blather that like scared or scarred, skis, skies, tease or tees – then the wicked bitch ambled to me and threw her arms around me and tried to- well; you know – and then tried to again! Her breath was already death, I winced, the murderer winced from her gin and vodka breath!
I wrestled free from her supernatural strtength, and all her joints were fluid in trying to draw me back into her arms. I felt a clawing, flawing strong paw on my coat sleeve – and was forced to pull away a second time, as she muttered something about “my god, shoulders.” I stood far off from her at the end of the porch, in the darkest shadows. She at once tried to lumber after me.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Blurry speech.
“Just stop there. Not a move more and, my darling,” note well – this was said with a caustic pitch of sarcasm. “Darling, I want you to know something.”
“Oh gad!” She teetered and wavered and found her palm tree again. “There’s no time for talk!”
“I beg your pardon?” I reassured myself that the pistol was still in my grip, in the sweaty warmth of my pocket.
“No time for talk. I feel like dancing – GAD you’re handsome, Charlie! Come a little closer- strike up the band, C sharp, band man!”
“It’s Tony; and no.” I was more adamant with a second, “No!”
She seemed dumbstruck. At length, she got it out. “Why not?”
“Because!”
“Because why?”
“Not ‘why!’ Just because – and because, you must understand-! Is, because, I came here to kill you, tonight!”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh gad.” She leaned like all of Pisa against the locked door to her house. “Gad.” Then, the horrible hag straightened right back up. “Well, Tony. To hell with C sharp. That would be G minor!”
(Rough first draft, with apologies… from Karma Ray, who was locked out of her FB acct).
This book is named” The Outsiders”
Ponyboy is one of the main character, he is a smart person, I don’t know his character trait…! Ponyboy values his buddies. He don’t want to keep hating the Socs and have peace. No more label between Greasers and Socs or fight.
I know my writing isn’t good but I’m out of ideas for more. It took me about 8 min to think sooo……O_O…..
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Andrew clenched his fists and leaned over them in a weak attempt to hide the shoe on his face. He had lost control, he had almost killed his friends, his family. The night had dragged on for what seemed like hours before he attempted to sleep. He moved his stiff legs and shuffled from the desk chair to the bed, the sheets cold, he slipped between the covers and curled into a fetal position trying to gather whatever warmth he could.
He listened to his breath, in and out before actually letting himself relax into the bedding. The constant thoughts of what could happen next clouded his mind as he pried his eyes open over and over again not letting himself sleep in fear.
In fear, fear of what he can do, fear of the result, fear that he might wake up and everyone he loved would be gone and it would be his fault.
Painfully he released his mistake but it was too late, the door opened and footsteps came closer to his form, Andrew had left the light on. The light had alerted a certain person that a certain boy was not getting the sleep he so desperately needed. The footsteps stopped and a hand was placed on his head.
“I know you’re awake” His soft voice made Andrew stiffen, without a response the intruder opened the sheets widely letting the cold air hit his exposed skin and climbed into the bed. Adding another warm body to the bed. Andrew despite his mental protests leaned into the heat.
He was thankful that the body was warm.
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Great, you do not know how helpful This is. This is exactly what I was looking for, I was not sure what makes conflict but you perfectly explained it with exact detali, great. Thanks Joe Bunting.