In a form as short as this exercise, usually around five hundred words, it’s often hard to come up with any drama, and it’s easy to go for a punch line. So you’d think with a prompt like:
- Character: Fisherman
- Object: Scarf
- Genre/Tone: Historical Comedy
it would be easy to find the humor. But both Megan and I took “comedy” in the historical sense of “having a happy ending” but not necessarily having a lot of jokes.
I think both our stories have some potential for further development. But the thing I particularly learned from today’s exercise was that drama really does arise from making a character take action. I was tempted at almost every sentence to make Bakala a passive character, but I’ve been working on making sure my characters are always doing something, and that those actions have consequences – at least, I hope it’s clear that the consequences follow his actions. I realize I didn’t exactly connect all the dots.
That’s what exercises are for: learning something new, not creating something perfect.
What have you been learning lately? Have you tried this exercise along with us? Let us know in the comments! And above all, keep on writing!
The sea beat against Bakala’s boat. The sun blinded him to anything in the sky, and the reflection off the water blinded him to any features below, but he knew the storm had cast him far out of sight of any land. After three days of wandering over the waves, he was as cured by salt and wind as the fish that he would bring home.
The storm had taken all his tackle, had broken one of his oars, and had knocked a hole in his port side that made his boat sit a few inches lower in the water than he liked. He had no way home, and no food to eat. He had only the scarf his wife had woven for him, and he wrapped it around his shoulders wondering if he would ever see her again.
Bakala held the scarf against his cheek. Somehow, it was still soft and smooth, though his tunic had stiffened to the point of cracking in the sea wind. He used the scarf to catch his tears, and he wished that the swath of cloth could turn into his wife herself, but he knew it was impossible. He tried talking to it, telling it how much he loved his wife, and how much he wished to see her again. But the scarf refused to respond. Still, the light of the sun made the scarf almost seem to glow, so he wrapped it around his arm and held it high in the sky. He called on the gods to see the beauty of the scarf and to bring him home to his wife again. But only silence responded.
As his arm and voice grew tired, he sunk to his knees in his boat. The wind continued to batter his upheld arm, but he held it upright, refusing to give up, refusing to let hope die. Riding the wind came a seagull, which alit on his hand and began pecking at the scarf. Bakala waved his arm, but the bird was persistent. After a few pecks, his grip slipped, and the seagull caught an end of the scarf in its beak. Bakala grabbed at the remaining end with his other hand, but he was so weak that he could not pull the scarf back from the seagull. They wrestled there on the sea, tugging back and forth on the scarf, throughout the afternoon, until a crack like thunder frightened them both and sent the bird flying away.
As Bakala tumbled back into his boat, clutching his scarf to his chest, he took a breath of the sea air . . . and smelled sulfur as well as salt. His boat rocked more than it had the past few hours. He turned and looked behind him to see a tall ship approaching. The sailor in forecastle lowered his long musket and waved a hand. “Halloo!” he called.
“Halloo!” replied Bakala.
When he arrived home with only the scarf, and no fish, and no tackle, his wife chastised him. But Bakala smiled and was happy anyway.