Writing help please


If anyone out there in blog land has a suggestion for my writing predicament, I would greatly appreciate it.

The problem is that there are a few characters in my book who are somewhat insignificant to the movement of the plot, but they do serve a purpose, so are therefore necessary.

When I introduced them, I didn’t give them names, or identifying characteristics, other than stating basically that they are old.

In my mind, there are three old women, but the number doesn’t matter.

Ok, so the real dilemma is that another main character is about to be introduced. I want her to have a confrontation with the women, but I’m not sure how to convey the scene without detailing the old women.

UPDATE* I wrote this, then I played around with writing the part, so I’m just
going to post both. Let me know what you think.

Bedtime story: I’ll think of something


I can’t write. I’d call it writer’s block, but I’m not writing anything, so I can’t exactly call myself a writer. Anyway, bedtime stories usually come relatively easy, so I thought I’d try one.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Kara. This girl was exceptionally gifted…gifted at lying.

When her friend accidentally broke her mothers favorite vase, Kara said, “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to tell her”. When her mom got to the room, Kara explained how she and her friend had seen the vase moving, then it fell over and a mouse ran out.

When she forgot to take the trash out, she told her parents she had hurt her wrist and didn’t want to tell them cause they would worry.

As she grew older, “I’ll think of something” became stories of why she didn’t make it home on time, what happened to her homework, why she was wearing different clothes coming home than when she had gone to school, etc.

Of course, her parents, and teachers, even her friends were quite annoyed by her consistent lying. She was good at it though, and therefore it was hard to prove she was lying.

In fact, despite the lies, she fell in love and soon became a wife.

As any married couple knows, it’s not always the way the fairy tales would have you believe.

The first time he hit her could have been an accident. He said he was sorry right away, and he explained how he was just pretending like he was going to slap her, when she turned her head into it.

The next time was a little more clear, and, after all, she did kind of deserve it.

She didn’t understand why she was becoming too stupid to do the laundry right, or make the right food for dinner.

Now, huddled on the floor, she prayed the bleeding would stop, but knew it wouldn’t.

Look at this mess you’re making! Why can’t you just do things right so I don’t have to keep showing you?

I’m sorry. I don’t know.

Well, you better start thinking, cause it looks like we might have to go. I think there’s a new one on Robinson. You speak a word of this and I’ll kill you.

Can’t you understand, I don’t want to hurt you? I love you. You are just so damn difficult sometimes.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Book


This is another page or so in the book that I’m blog writing.

David stopped talking. Something had touched his hand and sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. On it was a spider, unlike any he’d seen before.

It was small and black, with a green line down its back. He was about to brush it away, when it bit the tender spot between his thumb and pointer finger.

The pain was immediate and aggressively started spreading through his body. David saw that the spider was still on his hand, still biting him, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed as the spiders venom coursed through his veins.

The women at the fire intently watched the spider, but none of them moved to brush it off.

It didn’t matter long. David’s body, suddenly freed of paralysis, began convulsing and the spider fell off and disappeared into the woods.

Manifest


As David moved closer to the women and their small fire, he was suddenly, almost sickeningly reminded of his mother. Odd, he thought, but he didn’t allow himself to reminisce. His constant attention to the present moment was the only thing that mattered.

The women were chanting something, but he couldn’t make it out.

In unison they looked up at him.

You’re tired, and hungry. Say a few words, and we will give you some food before you head on. Even young travelers must rest, one of the women said.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how…or what to say. I don’t know if I believe. I don’t understand…”

Shhh child. There is no set way. Some pray to God. Or to many gods. Some talk to the woods, or the moon, or even their own spirit. Our world is too full of evil to remain silent. One must speak. To anything, anyone with power to make a change.

“I don’t know if anyone is out there who could somehow stop it, but our world is in trouble. The outcasts are moving again. They kill. They do much worse. They spread. They killed my mother. My friends. I know I’m just a kid, but I escaped. My mom said there are reasons for everything. So there must be a reason for me.

I don’t know how to stop it. How to fight them, but I will find a way. Let my heart have courage for the battles. Let my mind be sharp. Let my words become honey, sweet to even the most hardened ears and minds…”

Although David didn’t notice, the women had been watching the oil in their pot since he had begun speaking. As they watched, beads of oil had risen in a line and moved toward the center of the pot. When he said those words “let my words become honey” the oil had changed into honey. Strangely shaped honey crystals were forming along the sides of the pan.

“I must become more than I am now. Please, unlock my potential. Please show me who I’m meant to become. Please help these strangers who’ve helped me. if something can, it should.

This is Baker speaking. Enough for tonight. If anyone is actually reading these, you don’t have to. I’m writing a novel on WordPress and it seems like I’m only doing a couple of pages a week. Anyway, I’ll post these in the “book” category, and I’ll try to put book in the title if you want to skip, but its easier for me to write a bit at a time. Night.

Bedtime Stories: A Different Kind of Toy Story


Once upon a time there was a girl. She had very few toys to play with because her family didn’t have a lot of money. The toys she did have, she loved. She would take them everywhere she went. When … Continue reading