Writing Outside Your Comfort Zone Part II
After a few false starts I came up with the page below. Not perfect, but it got me interested in the voice and the story. So who knows? Maybe I’ll turn it into something one day. What did you write? Paste excerpt or link below!
Let me tell right off that what you know about werewolves is probably crap. We don’t howl at the moon—not involuntary anyway. There’s actually a family story that goes with this. And, according to my mom, the reason werewolves bay at the moon at all has to do with my great-great-grandfather Charlie (of course, he’s on mom’s side of the family; anything good is because of her side of the family). It’s a long and boring story and I might share it later, but if not, consider yourself lucky. Anyway, right, so we don’t howl at the moon. We don’t eat the heads of live chickens either. First of all, that’s just disgusting. I mean have you SEEN a chicken whose head gets chopped off? It has to be done just right or the poor thing flaps around all headless and bloody and gross. And second, why tear into live chickens and choke on those feathers and intestines when you can eat ones from the supermarket that have been cleaned and and degutted? Cooked is my preference, but if you like them clean but raw like my brother Jeffrey, knock yourself out. So how did that rumor even get started? According to my mom, the fault lies with Stella, my great-great-grandmother (can you guess whose side of the family?). I’ve heard this story a million times and the short of it is that poor Stella was trying to win a bet when she was a teen wolf, bit off the head of a live chicken, some gypsies saw it and years later here we are. According to dad, it went nothing like this. Yes, she bit off the head of a chicken but that’s because this was during the Great Depression and the family had no food and when she saw the chicken, she couldn’t help herself. I don’t know. Either way, I feel bad for Stella.
What else is a load of bull? Oh yeah. I saw the movie Teen Wolf when I was a kid. My parents thought it would help me see I wasn’t alone (but hello? Michael J. Fox is an ACTOR!). Anyway, at first he’s not too keen with people finding out he’s a wolf (wonder why), but then he turns into one during an important basketball game and his team loves him because he helps them win. OK. Sooo many things wrong here I don’t even know where to start. But let’s go with the obvious one. There is no way in hell—no matter how many games and trophies you win—that high school kids will think you’re uber cool and want to hang with you when they see you’re really a werewolf. Even if everyone claims to love one another and spends the days skipping and holding hands, ain’t going to happen. In fact, if you ARE in one of those kumbaya schools and turn into a werewolf during gym class, let me congratulate you because you will be solely responsible for changing that school’s image into a typical we-be-hatin’ high school.
So what is true? Well, we do have to keep our identity secret, for obvious reasons. The “change” does occur close to puberty (what a fun convo that was). And female werewolves are super beautiful. Ok, I threw that one in there. You caught me. Just wanted to make it easier for you to picture me. In truth, we’re as pretty or yak as the next kid, which really sucks because you would think that being a werewolf would come with some kind of advantage.
So I had to write horror, and bare with me that it is…horrible.
Her eyes widened as the long, thin finger traced her cheeks. The creature’s eyes were large and yellow with the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. It’s adam’s apple bobbed as it gulped and then spoke in that strange language she could not understand.
The bruises on her neck and stomach had not come from tumbling after a race, but from the strange experiments the creatures had performed on her. She didn’t remember any of them, blacking out as they carried her body and woke up with a bright, white light shining over her face, blinding her eyes.
I kind of cheated. I did start some historical fiction, but I’m posting something else that I wrote last night. It is not my standard science fiction though so maybe it qualifies? Still rough and doesn’t quite have all the punch I want it to, but this was a good exercise for me. Thanks for the challenge.
“To the casual observer I appear calm, peaceful as I sit here in my chair. My hands rest on my lap, one folded over the other, every part of me at rest. My shoulders, neck and lips are relaxed and my eyes gaze out the front window as I watch the clouds drifting by. Yes, at a glance I seem tranquil.
Inside I am a raging animal, running full speed ahead trying to escape my fear and anger. Thrashing, flailing, arms lashing out at anything that comes too close. The echos of my rage reverberate through my very bones and I feel an intense need to crush or shatter something. While trembling inside, I slowly, languidly stretch my fingers, then my arms, finally standing up and walking into the kitchen. The dishes must be cleared away, appearances must be kept.
To the casual observer I appear calm, dutifully caring out my responsibilities, but inside I continue to weep and wail as my soul slowly dies, trapped by convention and expectation.”
I really like this descriptive style. Do you see this going somewhere? You should! It’s really good.
I like it, Rachel! Paints a cool picture. Would make for a good movie.
Thanks, I was afraid it was a bit generic, but that could be good because I can build any kind of story I want around it. I was starting to look at a realistic fiction set in the 50s and wondered how Mrs. Cleaver really felt inside. The more I’ve thought about it today the more I’ve come to realize there is a powerful story here. I have filed it with my idea list.