Once month I attend a generative “Community Writing” drop in group run by the Pioneer Valley Writers Workshop. Sometimes the prompts they give us are quirky and a bit chaotic and send me in unexpected directions. Once in a while they’ll give us multiple prompts to choose from and I challenge myself to write something that includes all of them, and that’s led to some of my best writing. Other times I ignore the prompt and just plug away at my work in progress (WIP) in the companionable silence of the group.
Last night, one of the prompts was to take a character from a WIP and write an inner monologue about what they want most and what is in their way. I didn’t write an interior monologue; I wrote an interrogation. This is something I often do as a way of getting to know my characters better. I’ll sit them down and ask them questions, sometimes friendly and sometimes more like a “bad cop” giving them the third degree. I don’t know ahead of time exactly what they’re going to say, but their dialogue comes to me as I’m typing.
I was surprised when several people in the group (including the woman running it) found this a new and intriguing idea. It seems like such an obvious thing to do, but I guess we all have our own quirks.
Last night I had another character sub in for me to ask the questions. Here’s what I got:
[In the story so far, we’ve met Melissa, a woman in her late 20’s estranged from her father and living a hand-to-mouth existence. Her father dies unexpectedly, leaving her everything, and he was much richer than she’d ever imagined. Roland was her father’s executive assistant and is now acting as her bodyguard. This conversation takes place a week or so after her father’s death.]
Roland sat down opposite Melissa and asked, “How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “You know. Okay. Fine”
“No, I mean how are you really doing? It’s a huge shock, being yanked out of your world and into this one, unprepared. You hear about people who win the lottery and their lives fall apart and they go into a major depression. It’s just such an upheaval. And you, this…” He waved his arm, taking in the absurd luxury of the apartment. “…this is a lot more than the lottery.” They sat in silence for a moment. Then Roland said, “There’s a lot you can do now that you couldn’t even dream of before. It's important that you think about what you want.”
“To fix the world, I guess.”
“What would that look like?”
“Ugh.” She picked up a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I’d want to make people not be so mean, but that’s not really possible. I’d want to get rid of our fascist president, but the assholes would only vote him back in again.”
“Are there things you can do to push back against him?”
“I mean… There’s a handful of billionaires who’ve been bankrolling the right wing and funding disinformation everywhere. I could use some of my money to support progressive causes. Progressive candidates. Progressive lobbying.”
“That’s entirely possible. In fact, we can get started tomorrow. Set up a foundation or a PAC and find someone to manage it, someone who shares your values and your passion.”
“Good. Wow, hearing you say that actually makes me feel better.”
“So what else?”
“I mean, housing. There’s a housing crisis. We should build lots of low-income housing.”
“Also something we can start working on.”
“And I need to start looking into everything Dad’s company has been doing. Undo some of the evils. Stop raping the Earth. Pay fair wages.”
“Those are all things to help the world. Other people. They’re good things, and I can see you’re passionate about them. Now I want you to think about the day after tomorrow. Think about next week. You’ve got people setting up a foundation, and you’re hiring lobbyists, and you’re building low-income housing. What about something for yourself?”
Melissa laughed, a single derisive Hah!
“I’m serious about this. Self-care is important. Think of something you can do just for yourself.”
“That’s so wrong.”
“Wrong to take care of yourself?”
“Wrong to be thinking about ways to pamper myself when there’s so much…” She waved her hand toward the fourteen-foot-high wall of glass that looked down on Central Park. “People are dying out there.”
“You won’t be neglecting that. You’re setting up a foundation, remember? Philanthropy. It’s what rich people do when they want to make the world a better place.”
“I hate… This is gonna sound fucked up, but I really hate being rich. I hate being the one percent. There needs to be a wealth tax, a way to take back some of the wealth that people like my dad stole from their workers.”
“Stole?”
“Paying poverty wages to the people doing the work. Stripping resources from the third world.”
“You and Warren Buffet.”
“I might like to meet that guy.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Cool.”
“Now what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What would you enjoy doing when you’re not saving the world? What feeds your soul?”
It took her a moment before she said, “Hanging out with my friends.”
“All right. What do you usually do together?”
“Eat. Talk. Maybe cook together. Play games. Plot the overthrow of the patriarchy.”
“You’re crying.”
Melissa rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “None of them are ever gonna be comfortable with me again.”
“You shouldn’t assume that.”
“You met my friend Celina. Can you imagine her coming here for dinner? Filet Minion served by a full-time private chef on gold-plated dishes, with silverware that’s real silver? Can you imagine how fucking alienating that would be for her?”
“So we should get you a more modest place, to start with.”
“You think? This place is an obscenity.”
I don't know if this bit of dialogue will make it into the finished manuscript or not. We'll have to wait and see.
Image credit: IllustAC Free Stock Clipart
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