Hello sweetie! I’ve hit a bit of *gulp* writers’ block in my current WIP. I wrote a bit of an overview, mostly data relating to the characters. The problem is I’ve been working for so long on this, first as an omnipotent novel, then as a play for a class, then in 1st person, and now it’s back to being 3rd person!
This is the story of something ridiculous. All stories are, by their nature. If I tell you that this story is true, you’ll believe it, even though I took out the “um”s and “likes”. If I tell you that this is a love story, you’ll look for people in the act of falling in love, even if they don’t act on it. If you don’t like the love that is presented to you, you’ll look for another outlet, another pair to ship, or a different nature of love. If I tell you it’s a mystery, you’ll seize every detail for evidence, look for who murdered who, and treat the entire story as a puzzle to solve. Maybe you’ll solve it before my characters do, but maybe you won’t, because it’s a mystery only science can solve, or you get caught up in the story or character relations.
This is all a bit vague. But it’s a mystery, it’s supposed to be vague. Yet in practice, mysteries are hard cut. These are the facts, work with them. But this particular mystery, well. It gets solved by scientific data. And then there’s a murder. I would like Ebola to be in there somewhere, but this is America. It is a cesspool, but advancements have made it so that an American chosen at random has an almost certain probability of having Ebola.
Let me tell you a story in the vaguest terms possible. The protagonists are a high schooler and her teacher. The villains, well, that’s part of the mystery. But of all the characters, three are destined to die, two characters are evil to varied degrees, two are of Russian descent, two are latinx, one is greek, two are mixed race, one is Chinese, and two are white. Five, if you count the Russians and the greek. Four are bilingual and two are trilingual. Two are not present. One is a photographer. Two are carpenters. Two are in high school. One is vegan and one is vegetarian. Most of these things overlap.
Personality-wise, four are introverts and two are extroverts. Two are creative, two are logical, and two are both creative and logical. One is much more risk inclined than the others. Two are moderately risk-inclined, one is somewhat risk-inclined, one is balanced between risk and security, and one is quiet.
Plot-wise, only those of latnix descent explore their ancestry, and is basically the motivation of the main characters. Allan was brought up by her white mother, and knew her father as a kid. Her parents separated years ago. When she and her mother moved to Oakland they began a cycle of poverty that is barely alleviated by infrequent child-support checks.
But her father wasn’t her mother’s husband. He died years ago, months after Allan was born. Her mother won’t give her clear answers. Why did she leave her husband? Why did her husband seem to love her? She begins to suspect. Maybe she is the bastard child of the White Ass, but maybe her father is dead.
A short excerpt :
Getting melanoma is not a good idea. Forcing someone else to get it is inhumane. Yet 521 seniors were forced to cluster onto open bleachers as six teachers and nine students performed a memorial service for a history teacher who died, quite naturally, in a car crash.
“I honestly didn’t know her very well,” said Pireto Klemente Davila, Spanish department. “But I know how many of my students liked her, and the history department, you like death.”
The onlookers gave a collective intake of breath, with the exception of Emma Allan Packyard, previously trying to decide if it was Dr. Thomas or the judge, who looked up at the unmournful mention of death.
Pirteo was looking at her. She smiled in approval.
“Mr. Davila, why would anyone like death?” asked Principal Chalmers.
“Uh, I meant, when people die, it’s easy to mourn the dead person, but what we should do is celebrate. The person, the difference she made, instead of being sad. Even Hitler was saluted while being cremated, instead of a mandatory vegetarian diet for nazis in the days after his death.”
“Mr. Davila, everyone.” Charlmers gestured for Pireto to sit.
Allan started clapping, then quieted, seeing that no one else did. She wondered why, since all the other presenters received applause, even the students.
I’m not being very descriptive, am I? There’s no heart in this data. So ask me a question. Ask me anything! Ask of me what you expect to see, so I can either prove you wrong or enhance it in my novel. Tell me what catches your attention, and what doesn’t. Thanks for your help!