You have two choices. Write either a story about growing up, like Mona Simpson did (we also read Reunion, which has this same subject), using two characters who are thrown together by some sort of circumstance. Two characters ONLY (although you can have an "extra" like the waiter or the car wash kid as in Simpson's story). Or use the following prompt to write a story:
Two characters are stuck on an elevator. One is seriously irritating. The other is normal. Write a story or a scene (decide which) in which we are shown how the one character irritates the other.
For either of these, try to give us the details that matter. Use concrete details--the ones that appeal to our senses (see, touch, hear, taste, smell). Characterize your characters by their actions, by the way they look, by the things they say. Show, don't tell. Although "show, don't tell" isn't always appropriate, try to think about it while writing.
I went with the first assignment. I've been thinking of my own tendency to get "stuck in my head" sometimes, and I thought that might provide a good basis for a "coming of age" story. As an added bonus, I was able to put together something that was Halloween-appropriate.
The Jackson Valley Maniac
I glared at the flickering image of Johnny Depp on the screen. “C’mon, I bet it’s a rerun. Please, please let me watch my new tape.” I tilted my head, twirled my blonde hair, and put on my ‘cute’ voice. “I’ll tell Mom you were super-nice to me...”
Lindsay turned around and glared at me over the recliner. “Who’s the babysitter?” I looked downward. “Look, Iris, Mom put me in charge, so I get to call the shots. And right now I’m just in a mood to veg out. You can...,” Lindsay fiddled with an earring, “I dunno, read or something.”
“Fine!” I gave a loud groan-sigh, stormed from the den to my bedroom, and leaped headfirst onto my old DuckTales bedspread. I looked across the room at my bookshelf. Ugh. Either it was stuff I’d read a million times or stuff I didn’t want to read in the first place (what was it with aunts that made them buy boring educational books for kids, anyhow?). I plopped down on the bed and listened to the pounding rain a few seconds before leaping up, annoyed.
Maybe there’s something better to do in the living room, I thought. Beats sticking ‘round here, anyway.
I put my lucky scrunchie in my hair, inched towards the door, and crept, like an enemy spy, to the living room. Not that I needed to bother; the music and shouting voices emanating from the TV more than muffled the sound of my footsteps. I pulled the lamp chain and looked around the immaculate and dimly-lit room. No books to read. I glanced at the side table at the edge of the room, and rolled my eyes the tacky-looking Mall Family Portrait, perched on the table’s edge in its heavy metal frame. But I perked up when I looked just past the portrait, and spied a small stack of magazines on a side table, just waiting to be leafed through.
TV Guide, Reader’s Digest, Newsweek... I was tempted to go back into my room, when I was diverted by a dog-eared copy of Life magazine. Not my thing, but the feature story, “The Maniac Next Door,” illustrated by a black-and-white photo of a crazy-eyed middle-aged fellow, drew my attention. My eyes widened; I felt myself sinking into the musty floral-patterned couch as I read about all the traits that gave away a psycho, the statistics of suburban murders per year, profiles and mugshots of maimers and malcontents.
Oh god, oh god... this sounds just like Mr. Lund, the weird nighttime habits, the cats, the meanness towards kids. I mean, what if something happened and we never knew what hit us because we didn’t listen and...
I heard a crack outside, like someone had stepped on a twig. A cat? Dog? No, it was too big... it was a human. Oh god, a trespasser. I let in a breath of air. I gotta tell sis, she’ll know what to do... I shook my head. She just wants to relax. She’ll just get mad if I bother her ‘bout this. I gotta keep listening, gotta figure out what to do myself. Should I call the cops? I’ll call the cops...
Then I heard the footsteps, clearer and louder, coming closer, ever closer, against the backdrop of the heavy rain. No time for the cops. By the time they come the maniac’ll’ve made his way in and attacked us and pinned us down and gotten us both and... I stifled a scream.
Gotta act now, before he knows what’s coming. Family portrait in hand, I scurried to the entrance, thrust open the front door, cried out, ran towards the menacing figure, thwacked the maniac in the shin. Twack! And thwackagain!
The menace fell backwards, two boxes falling onto the floor, him grabbing his wrist. Would he leave us alone, now?
“Hey, kid! Whatt’ya think you’re doin’?” I looked up... into the face of a sad-looking teenager in a red cap, with a pizza box at his side. Behind me, I could hear Lindsay running up and frantically apologizing to the delivery guy.
After the pizza guy had taken Mom’s money and walked off, Lindsay grabbed my shoulders, turned me around, and gave me a stern look.
“What were you thinking?” I breathed in, then breathed in again, then started to sob.
“I’m sorry. I was so scared! I was reading about maniacs and thought he was a maniac and...”
Lindsay gave me a hug. “Listen, next time you get confused or scared, talk to me before you do anything crazy, okay?”
“Even if you’re watchin’ TV?”
Lindsay smiled and patted me on the back. “Yeah, even then.”
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