"Too Much" Assignment

In a paragraph of no fewer than 300 words, describe the premise for a story called "Too Much_______" (you fill in the blank).  Then list at least six plot turns for the story.

Too Much: Free Time

Hadlee Erikson is just a regular college senior. She’s getting anxiety over the fact that in less than six months she’s graduating and moving into the real world. She’s stressing over the fact that her LSAT scores probably weren’t as good as they should have been. She’s freaking out over the fact that she has some major life decisions that she’ll have to make and to top it all off, she might’ve just killed someone.

Actually, she knows for a fact that she just killed someone. Despite the fact that she’s clamping her eyes shut, she can still hear their cries as she stands over them. She didn’t mean to; she didn’t want to. Tears are streaming down her face as Hadlee turns and sprints away from the worst decision of her life. She keeps shaking her head as she runs; she wants to forget. She can’t forget. She tries to block it out. She can’t block it out. Flashbacks of everything keep popping into her head. She’s going insane. She stumbles and she thinks that she falls. She isn’t sure…and then everything goes black.

Hadlee wakes up and she isn’t sure what’s happening. After checking her phone, she realizes that its ten days ago…ten days before everything happened. Ten days ago she was just a regular college senior, minding her own business with regular college senior responsibilities.

Hadlee stays in bed for another hour before even deciding to move. She turns over and tries to close her eyes but the flashbacks keep coming. How did she end up back in bed? There were questions that needed to be answered and she sure as hell wasn’t going to get any of them by staying in bed.

Before she can get out of bed, though, there’s a knock on her apartment door. She hesitates…and the knock on the door happens again. Who is it and what will happen…?

6 Plot Turns:

1.     Each chapter will be a date. So, for example, the opening scene starts with the premise. The reader will be introduced to the climax/highest stake immediately. There will be no background shed onto the situation…it simply just happens.

2.     The second chapter will be the start of the flashbacks; each chapter will get the reader closer to how Hadlee ended up killing someone/some people. Chapter 2 opens with Hadlee entering her senior year at Princeton University. She struggles with keeping her social life, academic life, and life in general together. In addition to that, she finds out that her favorite teacher has been switched with her most difficult teacher.

3.     Hadlee is given an assignment from her said most difficult teacher (Professor DeFino….?). It’s unlike any assignment that she’s ever been given before (I’m not sure what the exact details are yet…along the lines of something she’s never had to do before; exceeding her limits, etc).

4.     Hadlee meets someone/is paired up with someone who changes her life, and it won’t be for the better. I’m thinking his name will be Lawrence. Lawrence puts her in awful situations (some for the assignment; some because he likes to torture her).

5.      Hadlee tries to get away from Lawrence/get her assignment partner switched. She’s faced with the reality that she can’t get away from him.

6.     She’s kills someone. Duh.

Outline Assignment

OUTLINE a story in 2 pages based upon a single image. You may choose one of your own, or take one from the list below.

--three-legged dog
--waitress with a nametag reading "Irene"
--two men and two women sitting at an umbrella table by a swimming pool

She sat all alone at the corner booth. She was counting her tip money. It wasn’t any more than she made yesterday but at least it was something. She didn’t necessarily need the tip money; she had lived a long and healthy life…but she wanted a little change in her pocket for something special.
                She didn’t know what that something special would be but she knew it was coming. So far she’d saved up a little over a hundred dollars. She’d only been working at the diner for a couple of weeks. After her son moved out of the house, she decided that she needed to do something to keep herself occupied.
                She’d been going to this diner for years. It was right outside of town, just close enough where she could walk from home but if she wanted to, she could drive. She had an old beat up Volvo. That Volvo had been with her to the ends of the earth and back. It was her longest relationship. It had taken both her and her son to multiple towns and schools and occasions and houses. That Volvo had met just as many people as she had and then left those people all the same.
                The diner was also a constant in her life so naturally, she chose to go back. Her favorite item on the menu was the French onion soup. She had it at least once a week. Her son’s favorite was the cheeseburger. He’d left her to go to college, which was something she never thought that she’d be able to afford. She honestly couldn’t afford it but her son had worked extremely hard and gotten enough scholarships to help her. She thanked both her son and god every day for that.
                Travis: her beautiful son; that’s whom she thought about now as she was counting her tips. She missed him. She knew that she was saving this money up for him. She knew he’d never accept the money but she thought that maybe there was some way that she’d be able to repay him for what his scholarships had given him. It was a weird thought: having her son, and his scholarships, support himself instead of her supporting him. Wasn’t it a mother’s job to support her son?
                She couldn’t think about that now. She knew that it wasn’t her fault.
“Irene!” She jerked her head up from the table at the sound of her name. She knew the voice but she wished she hadn’t. The voice came from across the room, by the door. A shiver went up her spine. The one person she had tried to forget stood in the doorway.
She and Travis had been running for so long that she wasn’t sure how he had found her. Thank god that Travis wasn’t with her. If she made it out live, and there was a real possibility that she wouldn’t, she would warn Travis immediately.
Ashton stormed over to where she sat in her little corner booth. Her eyes scanned the entire room; first for witnesses and then next for exits. Her elder son stomped over to her and slammed his hands on the table.
She had had Ashton when she was only fifteen. She was raped by an unknown man and although she tried her best to care for her child despite every circumstance that said she shouldn’t, he soon got too big and too old and overpowered her too easily. She became terrified of the child and feared that he would follow in his father’s, whoever he may be, footsteps.
She put the boy up for adoption. He was still considered young by certain standards but for her, she couldn’t support him. She thought that he would be okay but as soon as he was old enough to think and fend for himself, he had come after her.
She doesn’t blame him for feeling abandoned. She doesn’t blame him for anything…but she’s extremely unsure of where his violent tendencies had stemmed from. She knew she hadn’t taught him anything of the sorts.
Her fear came from the fact that she knew that chances were that his violent tendencies came from his father. She had opened a case but to this day, it hadn’t been solved. For all she knew, he could be dead or worse, Ashton could know who his father was.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” His voice bellowed. It wasn’t loud though. It was low and intense and threatening. She kept her eyes downward. She prayed someone noticed that this was wrong. She felt drawn into herself. She felt small. The corner booth didn’t feel as comfortable as it just did five minutes ago.
“I asked you a question, bitch.” She didn’t know what to say. “Answer me!” She shook her head. No.
“What? You can give me up but you can’t talk to me? That’s cool, that’s cool. Where’s that little shit-head angel of yours? What’s his name? Trevor?” She glared at the wooden table. Ashton knew Travis’ name. He knew it.
“You know his name, Ashton.” She wasn’t shocked to hear her voice. It didn’t come out strongly; it didn’t waiver, either. She just said it.
“What did you say to me? Huh, mother dearest?” Suddenly she had an anger bubble up inside of her. 
“Ashton, don’t make believe that you didn’t just hear what I said.” Her voice was steady this time. She finally started to look up from the table. When she did, she wished she hadn’t. Her breath had caught in her throat. Ashton’s hand was clutching the knife on the table.
Her eyes flickered over to the door but he shifted his weigh to block her view. She glanced over to the counter where her boss was sitting. How had he not noticed anything out of the ordinary yet…because he was playing the crossword in the newspaper. Of course he was.
She slowly moved her eyes back over to Ashton. He was crouching low, like a tiger ready to pounce. Someone could easily mistake him just leaning over the table, casually having a friendly talk with an old friend. His large torso hid the knife.
She tried to keep her breathing even and she slowly closed her eyes. She was ready for whatever was about to come.

“Irene…” 

20-Minute Stories Assignment

Write THREE stories in the course of an hour, spending exactly 20 minutes on each, without taking a break between them. AND DON'T CHEAT.

One:

My body hurt. I couldn’t remember why. It was just sore all over. There was something different about this soreness, though. I felt as if I’d just been walking for too long. I needed to sit down…and then not move again.

That seemed nice.

I was tired. I’m not sure from what, though. I always feel like I don’t have enough time in the day anymore. Is it weird that when I’m less busy, I’m worse at managing my time? That didn’t seem right.

I was slipping. I kept forgetting things and I let things slip all the time. How is this happening?

There’s a leaf blower blowing leaves (or something) outside of my window. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. It’s giving me a headache. How many leaves are there to possibly blow? It’s making me want to close my eyes and curl under the covers. I don’t even know where the sound is coming from anymore. It’s coming at me from all angles. It’s consuming. I don’t understand how one thing could be so obnoxious.

Silence. Finally. Peace.

Today is Halloween. I hate Halloween. Someone just scared someone else outside my window. This is why I hate Halloween. I hate to be scared. The only reason I used to like it when I was little was because I got the candy. Obviously. I never even had a good costume. I’m so bad at picking out costumes.

I’m creative but not in an artsy way. That’s weird, artsy didn’t even autocorrect. Does that make it a real word? I guess so.

I feel like I’m floating through life. I’m not sure. This post resembles my life. See how floaty it is? Ah, float-y autocorrected…that means it’s not a real world (sorry float-y). Anyway, read back through this. I dare you. Okay, not really. But look how inconsistent I am. I don’t have a real direction to go with here. I think the same goes for my life.

Actually, that’s not accurate. I have plenty of direction. I’m just scared (see how I’m tying this back to Halloween all of a sudden?). Okay, let me explain. Have you ever been a college senior before? Well if you haven’t, you’re in for a rude awakening because eventually you have to get something known as a job. Finding a job is scary because you have no idea what you’re doing.

Looking for a job is weird. You’re supposed to have learned all of these amazing things over the last four years but then you go to read these job descriptions and it looks like you should’ve graduated from Princeton (which is now ranked the top college in the United States) with a degree in being a mega-smart person.

I don’t know. I’m sort of exaggerating (but not really). I think the anxiety is getting to me…either that or my third cup of coffee is finally kicking in. Either or. I’m sure there are other people who know what I’m talking about…but I just feel so alone in the process.

I’ve been to career services and I’ve been talking to companies and I’ve been contacting my assets…but I just feel as if I’m going no where fast.

It’s only been 15 minutes. Well, 15:50 if you wanted me to be exact. I’m just so tired. I’m always tired.

I can’t tell if I’m tired or if my body is tired. It’s a little bit of both. I think it’s more my body. It’s definitely my body actually. It’s been taking a beat. Literally. The boxing is taking its toll.

Two:

            There was something strange about him. I definitely caught my eye. I wasn’t sure what it was, though. He wasn’t someone I’d usually give a second look and he wasn’t someone I’d bring home to my parents, that’s for sure. I never had anything intelligent to say to him. He made me tongue-tied and I always felt like a fool.

            I was a fool. It was silly for me to think of him. I didn’t even want to think of him. It just happened. I didn’t want it to happen, that’s for damn sure.

            I grabbed my jacket and slammed the door behind me. My shoes were laced tight today. It was going to be a long one. I pushed my headphone’s ear-buds into my ears and cranked the volume up as high as I could stand it. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I felt a jolt go up my knee. I ignored it. It was nothing. It was my nerves trying to get the best of me.            

            I wasn’t fast anymore but today I wanted to be. I didn’t want to think anymore, especially not about him. I pushed myself forward. I turned up Treemonth, the steepest hill. I didn’t think, actually I knew, I wouldn’t make it all the way up the hill but I didn’t care. I just needed to push. Keep distracted.

            Halfway up Treemonth, there was another street, Dillard. I turned right onto it. I ran farther and farther away from my apartment, from him and from my thoughts. At the end of Dillard, I made a left onto Ashton.

            I wasn’t even sure where I was going at this point. The point was to just go. Ashton was done. Left onto Barth. Barth was short. Left onto Croton.

            I’m not sure where I am anymore to be honest. Good. Mission accomplished. Now I have to think to get home. Good, more thinking. My legs ached. They hadn’t done this in a long time. I wasn’t sure what was going to give out first: my lungs or my legs. They both seemed fine right now.

            I turned around to make my way back to my apartment. He was gone from my mind. I had cleared it all and wiped the slate clean. I shook my head, just for good measure.

            What was I thinking? I was being so silly. I’m okay now.

Three:

            Perfection didn’t exist. She knew that now. She also figured out that there was more to life than your reputation. Her pride got in the way most of the time. She wasn’t proud of that.

            There were plenty of things that she wished she had done differently…but she never regretted anything she did. She had a strict “everything happens for a reason” policy. That might sound contradictory to some, but to her, it made perfect sense.

            Despite her reservations, people seemed drawn to her. There was no specific reason for it: she wasn’t prettier or nicer or more popular or better at sports. She was just unapologetically herself.

            When she was little, someone she looked up to once told her that phrase: always be unapologetically yourself. She wasn’t sure what that meant at that time but she was starting to figure it out.

            In her 21 years of age, she had faced more obstacles that a normal 21 year old would face. She would never go into specifics for you, though, because she didn’t want your sympathy. Like I said, her pride usually got in the way of most things.

            She was relatively good at most things. She enjoyed excelling at things. It frustrated her not to be good at something, even if she was trying it for the first time. Like I said, she was a perfectionist.

            It was until after she graduated college, and the real world finally hit, that she realized everything wasn’t so cookie-cutter. She never expected it to be but she was raised that hard work got you far…but then again, so did politics.

            She learned both sides of the trade: when things went for her and went they didn’t. You can imagine how she felt when things didn’t go her way. When they did, although she was overjoyed, she was also confused. She didn’t understand why those things worked the way that they did. She knew it wasn’t personal but she also knew it wasn’t fair.

            She had picked the right profession: defending those who had been wrongly accused. She wanted to make things as fair as possible. Once in a while she had cases where her defendant was rightly accused, but for the most part, she was defending innocents.

            She enjoyed her work and she put her heart and soul into it…but she knew perfection didn’t exist.

First and Third Person Assignment

In no fewer than 400 words total, write the same scene twice: once in first-person point of view, and once in third-person.

It’s easy to hide what I’m feeling. Actually, I wouldn’t exactly say “easy” but when you don’t tell anyone the full story, what else do they really have to go on besides the way that you’re acting? Exactly. I had my time of mourning and trust me, I used it well. There comes a point where you just can’t cry anymore. I didn’t believe that it existed, but it did. I got it out of my system and now when I smile, I don’t feel as if I’m faking it. It might not be as genuine as it used to be; it might not be as wide; but it’s there and it’s mine.

            I looked up from my notebook, not realizing how long I’d been writing for. My watch read 4:05. That was at least 45 minutes. My professor once told me about the 15-minute rule: you write non-stop for 15 minutes, no matter what. So, even if you couldn’t think of anything, you just kept writing. That’s what I was trying to do…but I guess the 15-minute rule got the best of me today…I can’t believe 45 minutes had already passed. I looked back down at my spiraling script. I hadn’t written about the accident yet. I was almost too afraid to write about it. The line between what was real and what I’d told everyone was starting to blur. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep it straight, though. I liked the blurred version that I told everyone else…it didn’t hurt as much…but it also wasn’t the truth, at least not the full truth (do you swear to tell the full truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth?). Nope.

Third person:

            Amalie didn’t look upset anymore. It wasn’t just her facial expressions, though; it was the way in which she carried herself as well. Her slouch was gone and her smile was back…it didn’t quite reach her eyes yet but a smile was there nonetheless. All she’d done for the last 45 minutes was scribble furiously into her notebook.

She never let anyone see that notebook…no one could blame her, though. After the accident, all she did was carry around that notebook. She would write in it all the time, even during class. No one knew what Amalie was writing about. No one bothered to ask, either.

She was still hurting. Everyone knew it, Amalie even knew it, but again, no one wanted to remind her. 

Dialogue Assignment

Write ONE of the following scenes TWICE: The first should be constructed ENTIRELY WITHOUT dialogue (and without simply describing what someone says. Ex: "He told her how mush she meant to him"). The second should be constructed ENTIRELY of dialogue (no description/exposition, and the dialogue SHOULD NOT describe the action. Ex: "Oh, look what you just did!"). Your total response should run no less than 300 words.

--ordering a meal from a menu in a language foreign to the person placing the order
--clipping a grandfather's toenails
--passing an ex on the street

Ordering a meal from a menu in a language foreign to the person placing the order:

Without dialogue:

            So far the only thing I’ve been able to figure out on this menu is “le diner” and “le dessert.” I mean I think that means dinner and dessert. I hope that means dinner and dessert. I’m going with it means dinner and dessert.

I don’t know what “la nourriture” is, and I don’t know what “manger” is either. I told her not to pick this place. I don’t even know what French food tastes like. Obviously I don’t know what any of this means.

            I peek at Shelby from behind my menu. She seems perfectly content with whatever manger is. If I ask her what any of this means, will she think I’m stupid? Most likely.

            How obvious will it be if I use Google translate on my phone? Also, will my phone decide to talk to me if I hit translate? The pressure is on.

            Okay, here’s what I’ll do: close my eyes and point. Bouillabaisse. That sounds fine. I just hope it doesn’t have any fish.

With Dialogue:

            “What do you think you want?” Shelby looked over at me intently. As if I knew.

            “What’s good here? You picked the place. I’ll follow your lead.” I’m stalling.

            “Oh, come on. I’m sure you’ll be able to pick something. Why don’t you read over the menu in full at least one time and then pick something? I’ve been watching you and all you’ve done is skim. I know you don’t know what you’re reading but it couldn’t help to learn something new right?”

            “I was looking for pictures…and I’m too hungry to think about learning right now. That’s what school is for.”

            “Menus don’t usually have pictures. At least not fancy-adult restaurants like this one. And technically, this is for school.”

            “Well, they should. That’s not very smart on their part. How am I supposed to know what I’m eating?”

            “Just Google it.”

            “Oh.”

Conflict Assignment

In no fewer than 300 words, describe the central conflict of a story you might construct, based on the character described below.  Keep in mind Maass' principles of compelling conflict: it must be meaningful, immediate, surprising, not easily resolved and it must happen to a sympathetic character). 

A 65-year-old widower who lives alone in a small coastal town.

When she was 53, she lost James to a shark attack. They were fishing just off the coast of Atlantic Beach, Rhode Island, when he slipped and fell into the water. She couldn’t recount the latter events now because they were just too painful. Her memory had become selective with age. Sometimes, like now, it was a gift. Other times, like when she was buying her new house, it was a curse. She’s always loved Rhode Island for its views and beaches but due to her selective memory (or was it memory loss? She couldn’t remember), had forgotten it was the same state where she’d lost her husband.

            Now Anna sat on the beach overlooking the sea and wondered where the last 12 years of her life had gone. Their, she and James’, children had all grown up and moved out of the house. They had families of their own now, too. She didn’t mind. Of course she missed them but she never minded being lonely. She wasn’t lonely now though. She had the waves and the salt-water smell to warm her heart. Anna, who was finally starting to feel at ease for the first time since she’d moved into her house, started to let her eyes close. The peace was coming to her and she felt a smile creep onto her lips.

            Anna was just about to fall asleep when she started to hear splashing coming from the shore. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t remember seeing people on the beach with her earlier but then again, she didn’t remember much these days anyway. She wasn’t concerned.

            But then the splashing turned violent. It wasn’t the splashing you’d hear when someone was simply running through the waves. It was a big whooping sound…like a giant hand slapping the water. Anna lifted one eyelid slowly; she wasn’t sure that she wanted to see what was making the sound.

            She wished she hadn’t opened anything. Lying in front of her was a huge shark. Before she had the chance to scream, move or do anything, something caught her eye. There was a scar on the shark’s left side. The scar reached from its mouth to its gills. She’d seen that scar before. She knew how that shark got that scar. Anna screamed. Her memory was working now. All of those years that she pushed the memory away but it started to resurface. She saw her husband fighting, losing, being dragged away from her forever.

Character Assignment

Assignment: In 300-400 words, make someone up.

 His name isn’t important; he doesn’t even go by his first name anyway. He doesn’t like it. It reminded him of his ex-girlfriend; that’s what she used to call him. He didn’t want to be reminded. He didn’t need to be reminded. His name doesn’t fit him right. He doesn’t look like his name. That’s why his name isn’t important. It isn’t even him.

            He’s tall…but then again, everyone is tall to me. I’m short. One day I asked him how tall he was and he said he was 5’10”. I thought he was 6’2”. He laughed at me as if his height was common knowledge. He reminded me of Jordan, which is another reason why his name isn’t important. They had the same muscle build: big. They also had similar personalities: always smiling, always laughing and always making you feel good about yourself. He usually boosted your ego instead of the other way around. He deserved to have his ego boosted, though, too. They’re facial structure was similar and their voices sounded the same, too. If you took Jordan and his older brother Devin, you’d get him. He was them and they were him. That’s the only way I can explain it.  

            He differed from Jordan, though, too. Jordan didn’t have any tattoos. He did. He had a lot of tattoos. I didn’t understand how he could endure that much pain. I didn’t like needles and he didn’t either. He said it was because the things that he tattooed were important. I told him so was my family but they’re not tattooed on my arm. He knew I was right.

            He was older and he treated me like a little sister. It was nice having family away from family…even if it wasn’t a real family member. He always looked out for my best interest and he was my protection. He taught me everything I know.