Fiction Exercises

Part One Beginnings:
Exercise 1 - First Lines:

1. As Steven finished packing his lunch - turkey on wheat and carrot sticks - he saw on the table the lunch his wife forgot.

2. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting.

3. Gina skated through a yellow light, rolled a stop sign and slid into a parking spot just as Steven was getting out of his car.

4. Gina waved from the gate and walked through the door. A week in Puerto Rico with the girls would do her some good.

Exercise 2 - Second Sentence:

1. As Steven finished packing his lunch - turkey on wheat and carrot sticks - he saw on the table the lunch his wife forgot.
In her downtown office, Gina opened her door, pulled out her chair and noticed her hands were feeling unusually free.

2. Gina skated through a yellow light, rolled a stop sign and slid into a parking spot just as Steven was getting out of his car.
"You might want to roll up your windows," Steven called as he crossed the street to her. "It looks like rain."

3. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting.
"Hi Lido," Steven muttered as the dog jumped at his leg. Gina's dog had failed puppy school, barked at friends and foe alike and jumped on anything that moved. In short, Lido was difficult to love.

4. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting. Steven looked at the note, trying to wrap his head around the idea that just this morning she had been energetic and full of life. Now, she was plugged into a million different machines that did god-knows-what. The car hadn't even stopped to look for someone in the crosswalk.

5. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting. Now, instead of house hunting, Steven and his wife would be bailing out his brother and hiring a lawyer. Steven know that John was an idiot, he'd always said so. But he didn't think he was dumb enough to line his own pockets with the association dues.

Part Two Characterization:
Exercise 10 - That Sort of Person:

1. John was the sort of person who never offered to bring anything to Christmas Dinner

2. Steven was the sort of person who always gave the best birthday gifts - generous, observant and well-planned.

3. Gina was the sort of person who put out too many snacks whenever she hosted a party, and still worried about running short.

4. Elaine is the sort of person who gives excellent directions.

Exercise 12 - Props:

Steven's Briefcase:
4 file folders - each labeled with the client's name and contact information
Business card holder - 1 side his own, the other side filled with other contacts
Toothbrush
Breath mints
Leather folder - black with tan interior
Legal pad
3 pens
Blackberry - black
Wallet - black leather

Gina's Purse:
2 receipts - 1 for lunch last week, 1 for shoes yesterday
Gum
Mints
More Gum (she often forget and buys more)
Lip balm
Lip glass
Kleenex
Phone
Sun glasses
Pen
Sharpie
Highlighter
Photo of herself and Steven at a party, both smiling
Notebook with cardboard front and back cover

Part Three Point of View, Perspective and Distance:
Exercise 20 - Distance:

1. In Minneapolis a clear sun rose, finally lifting the city from the cool, dark slumber.

2. Standing in his crowded two bedroom, Steven placed turkey on bread, sliced diagonally, and put the sandwich into his lunch bag.

3. Steven allowed his mind to wander as he went through the automatic motions of packing a lunch.

4. Steven's mind rehashed the details of his fight with his wife as he methodically packed his lunch.

5. "Why aren't you listening to me?" Steven mimicked her angry, high-pitched voice as he slapped together a sandwich.

Exercise 23 - The Reminiscent Narrator:

As an 8 year old, I had never been adventurous. The youngest of three, I had seen what happened to those who lived dangerously. Glory, sure. But they also suffered a lot of pain. As an observant child, I understood that the best way to avoid this pain was to simply be careful. I dutifully avoided climbing trees and swinging too high in an effort to avoid getting hurt.

That is, until one day, when I decided I had enough of being cautious.

There was a monster hill two blocks from my house. Only the bravest people rode their bikes down it, and even then, their brakes smelled hot when they reached the bottom. Riding home from a nearby park, I passed the hill. Normally I would have taken another route, past the hill and down a safer street.

That day, I stopped at the top of the hill and looked down. My stomach did flip-flops as I inched my bike closer to the edge of the hill. Then, for a reason I cannot remember, I picked up my feet.

Immediately I wished I had not. The regret was so complete that I don’t even remember the first few feet of the hill. I knew from the moment that I put my feet on the pedals that I was in over my head. Lawns and trees whizzed past my peripheral vision in a blur. I couldn't make myself look up, rather, I stared at the road just inches in front of my bike.

The handles shook and wobbled. I could not make them sit still even though I pushed my elbows out and gripped them tightly with my hands. I rode the brake hard, trying to slow down to a more reasonable pace.

Then I hit a rock. Because I wasn't looking out, I didn't even see it coming. I heard the pinging noise it made against my tires. I don't remember how I hit the ground, but I must have been thrown from the bike. I looked down at myself and saw blood dripping from both of my knees. Pain scorched through my elbows, and I saw red drips hit the sides of my yellow t-shirt.

I wanted to cry. But I was so far from home and feeling so alone and I didn't. I picked up my bike and stood at the side of the road. No cars came. No one came out of a house. My mother did not race down the street to save me. That was when I realized that I was alone, and my pain did not constitute an emergency for anyone else.

Slowly, I walked my bike home. My injuries stung when the wind hit them. By the time I got home blood had dried to my shins and forearms. I was nearly done cleaning my sores in the sink when my mother walked into the bathroom. And when she pulled me into her chest, I let out a childish, wailing sob.