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I’ve just started listening to Ken Follett on BBC Maestro, and this is (sort of) taken from a task he sets at the end of the section on developing ideas.
Take a scene in a book (your own or someone else’s) where not a lot is happening. Find five ways to improve it e.g identify things that could go wrong, complicate matters or raise the stakes.
Pick one.
Write the changed scene.
Post it in 450 words or less.
I’m not at all sure I’ve fully adhered to the brief, but this scraping of possibilities from my current wip is the best I can do, before I leave the country 😉
Scene:
Need for a wee had Lucy check the time. Half ten. She’d been lying in her bed for more than two hours. Not moved since she’d taken refuge. Since hearing the click of the street door lock and being glad she’d never been persuaded to give him a key. That last scene had forced her to recognise he had coerced her – coerced with false kindness and counterfeit caring — to a point where she was no longer confident she recognised herself. Was only certain she didn’t want to be – could never be — the person he was trying to mould her into. She’d taken refuge, needing a safe place to plan her escape, and her bed – not the one used for paying clients – was her safe space.
Had been, until guilt — he’d spent so much on her and given so much time to entertaining her — led her to offer an invitation. That another mistake. In hindsight that when he’d got cocky. Proprietorial. Started telling her what to do. This morning’s scene a textbook example of domestic violence and she — Edinburgh’s most sought-after call girl, who’d always prided herself on her understanding of men — had become a victim. Not that he’d ever hit her. But this morning, she read the desire to do so in his eyes. What had saved her was his need to get to the airport in time to catch a flight to the States. He’d learnt late last night his father had had an accident and his mother needed him home. Lucy knew she’d been gifted time to erect some sort of defence. Escape She didn’t intend to lie in bed waiting until he returned.
Five folk to ask for help:
It could not be Ed, her landlord and long-term protector. Ulfric had already warned her one phone call and the FBI would turn their attention to Ed’s finances. Of her initial business partners, Chris was dead, Baz happily married and Arch strictly out of bounds since turning down her suggestion they marry.
Which left Luke, whose unsuitability rested on the fact he was a DI in Lothian’s Drug Squad, and thus, until she convinced him of her innocence, would be duty bound to arrest her. Along with several of her clients.
How Luke changed things: [352 words]
As Lucy dried her hands the doorbell sounded and, as if in answer to a prayer she hadn’t yet uttered, the intercom screen showed Luke.
But Luke appeared to have undergone some sort of epiphany. Or at least taken some sort of happiness drug. He couldn’t stop smiling. The glossy gold tin of Christmas biscuits he handed her didn’t account for it either. Instead of talking, she listened. And continued to read his face.
As he did hers. And he knew her well enough to know all was not well. ‘Has the corporate Christmas feasting begun already?’
‘You saying I’m getting fat?’
‘Rich food, late nights. I try to avoid them – ‘
‘So they’re not responsible for the fat cat grin?’
No, but you are looking … under siege. Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine. Do I have to offer coffee before you open those biscuits? Or are they another sort of sweetener?’
‘Coffee would be good. As for sweetener … I’ve a favour to ask –’
‘You can come straight out and ask it, Luke. I know you said no more sex a while back, but if things have changed –’
They – that – hasn’t. Thank you. But leads me to what I wanted to ask. Fran finally said Yes.’
‘To marriage?’
’Of course, marriage. And, before you ask, it’s what I want. Have wanted, for more than four years.
‘But I’m hardly a fit candidate for a bridesmaid.’
His grin warmed her cool amusement. ‘Not that. I need a witness. Baz’s parents were more than willing, but Sarah’s picked up some sort of virus. Is too ill to travel.’
‘And Baz can’t do it?’
‘I didn’t ask him.’
Curious as she was, the sudden shuttering of his expression warned Lucy not to ask. But why not do it? At least check out this long-time-wanted Fran.
‘I’ll be honoured, Luke. Thank you. Who’s Fran’s witness?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
Nor had Luke any sort of clue at all, any forewarning that by involving Lucy in his wedding he’d escape the need to arrest her but only because within the following fortnight she was dead.
This is from my novel. It’s 1937. Hester is shortly to leave school and has asked her father if she can have flying lessons. He’s said no, it’s too dangerous. That’s the novel’s inciting incident. The is the next scene, told from her father’s pov.
412 words
In Worcester Cathedral, Hester’s father Frederick Longley gazed at the vaulted ceiling above the nave. His hat would have been warmer on his head than in his hand but all week the thought of this building had been held dear. The structured ascent of cathedrals: succour for an irreligious soul. Worcester’s east window, five graduated lancets, beautiful and rare. The chill didn’t matter.
He’d left Hester and Dora in a side aisle looking at tombs. Hester’s expression above the marble faces of dead nobles had been thin. How she’d bristled in the tea-room, but she’d probably read some report of an aviator in a newspaper. Even so, turning her down from something she wanted left some guilt.
There was regret for the cathedral too, the garish black and white floor tiles laid by Victorians who’d believed them an improvement. Too much confidence, the Victorians – rather like Hester. He walked towards the choir, took the chancel steps in one stride, raised his eyes again. Here was another reason for this visit, the blind arcade above the choir stalls, the row of arches fronting a solid wall. In most choirs such an arcade was a single line but at Worcester a second course overlapped the first, decoration on decoration, the masons’ self-assurance –
The act of looking up. Those messes of crumpled wood, wires and linen. That’s what Hester hadn’t understood, how survival could be touch-and-go. He should have explained it better, that after their crashes the pilots might or might not survive. But what a subject for afternoon tea.
In the cathedral there wasn’t much time before some official came to usher him away – before choristers arrived for evensong – but the chancel’s painted ceiling still waited. Angels and saints, absurd but beautiful. And then the long transepts to look at, the high windows. Space and light: that vital relationship. His own religion.
Ten minutes later he found Dora and Hester, yet among the tombs. Dora smiled. ‘I think we’ve had enough of dead people.’
‘Then how about a turn round the green?’ he asked. ‘Hester?’
On the green Hester, long-legged, strode ahead as if she were thinking them both numbskulls. His Hester, who dashed across tennis courts, delivered strong backhands, who in winter could cover a lacrosse pitch, stick battling in front, hair and ribbons streaming behind. This idea of hers to learn to fly. She’d once thought to become a horsewoman then discovered horses were dull. Her enthusiasms passed like summer clouds.
Hope this meets the challenge. It is approaching the end of my book Saving Grace, and has spoilers (in the event this thing gets published!). Pervious feedback said this scene felt too easy/convenient. Now, she panics and resists. I show her conflicts as she starts to make comparisons.
Untitled
While he drove, Michael told me about how he worked as a countant in his Dad’s counting company – my son-in-law, Fay’s husband, a boss. I’ll remember to tell that to the next snotty beggar who looked down their noses at me.
He said how Fay and Roland gave their kids a happy childhood, him and his sister Lucy.
‘Sister? I’ve got a granddaughter?’
‘That’s right,’ he said. I had two grandchildren. Whatsmore, Lucy, had a little boy called Oliver, while he and Christina, his wife, they had three kiddies: Rory, Simon and Imogen.
My head got fuzzier while I tried to take it in: a daughter and a son-in-law, two grandchildren and one-two-three-four, yes four, great-grandchildren, all hid away like them boxes in the attic while I went through life not knowing. They coulda walked past me and I’d not have known, same as I’d not known Michael. They mighta been one of them looking down their noses.
‘Sorry, am I going too fast?’ Michael pulled his car into the side of the road.
‘Nay, lad, your driving’s fine, but … happen your mam might want to see me, but what about these others? It isn’t fair to lumber them. It might be better if she came to my house someday instead. It’ll give me a chance to smarten up.’
I tried to unfasten the belt round my chest. There was a bus-stop over the road, it might take me home … except this buckle thing wouldn’t budge.
Come on you stupid thing!
Michael took my hand. ‘Hey, where’s this coming from?’
I couldn’t meet his eyes, lovely as they were. Instead I found the off-brown button sewn on with black cotton that I’d been fiddling with. ‘Well, look at you, then look at me. I’m from another world than yours. One where my usual seat’s on a bus. A seat covered in wipe-down plastic, not swanky leather. I live in a house as damp as yesterday’s weather. I buy bent tins and charity frocks. Kids in my world, they’ve mouths like a navvy with a stubbed toe, and they chuck muck at windows. When your kiddies see what their dad’s brought home, they’ll –’
‘Understand.’
He gave my hand a squeeze. ‘They’ll realise what their granny was spared. They already know she was found wrapped up cozy in a place she would soon be discovered, and that she was raised by loving parents in a good home, which is the only true difference between you and us. We’ve had all the luck in the world – the same world as yours – and you’ve had none. Until now.’
He said the last bit as he set the car going.
448 words
This was a great prompt @seagreen. Unfortunately, this month I have been swamped with obligations from another part of my life and was unable to write anything at all (for the monthly comp or in general).
You have my apologies too. I also had a busy month, but mainly I have to confess that every time I turned to the prompt I hit brick walls. I admit defeat. And it is a fine prompt. One good thing from my point of view though is that I had another look at my short story from the Random’s anthology Stalking Leviathan. I had some critique that the ending was too abrupt so I started at the end and am now “finding 5 ways to improve it”. Sadly, too long for here.
Apologies for being late back to this and thanks to everyone who entered (as well as those who didn’t enter but found the prompt useful). I’ll get onto the business of judging later today and post results by this evening ☺️
I confess to not having written much these past few months and my writerly fixes are, for the most part, coming through my involvement with the Den. When I set this prompt, I think I knew it might be tricky – time-consuming, too – but I’m afraid I allowed the need to give my own writing a bit of a shake to get in the way of my common sense.
Do I regret posting this prompt? No. Not in the face of the fabulous entries it garnered. Hopefully, you all gained something from the exercise. I love all the stories – would read all the novels – but why on earth did you have to make it so difficult to judge?
Sandra – Lucy’s POV was a new angle for me. I saw a different side to her. Vulnerable. Less sure of herself. Her interaction with Luke is warm and natural and just perfect, really, and I’m actually more than a little sad that she’s about to die before getting the chance to know her better.
Libby – There’s something very engaging about Frederick Longley. I know absolutely nothing about lancets and chancel steps but I know how I feel when I run my fingers over the carved wooden pews in St John’s Kirk in Perth and I imagine our awe is something similar. There’s a lovely, old-fashioned feel to this and I wish now I’d made the word limit greater so I could read what happens next.
Janette – I don’t know how you teased Grace out of your mind and onto the pages, but your insights are strong and the voice is wonderful. I found myself a little teary when I read this through the first time.
There’s no question in my mind that you all deserve to win, but I’m passing the baton for November to Janette.
Alex – I know exactly what it’s like to have life throw a spanner in the works, so no apologies necessary.
Ath – Oh wow! Stalking Leviathan seems so long ago… *dashes off to recharge the Kindle so I can check which story you mean*
Congratulations @Janette . I loved this excerpt. It feels so realistic. I could really hear her voice too in your brilliant dialogue.
I enjoyed this prompt @Seagreen . At first I thought I wouldn’t have time to enter the comp this month but being able to work on something I’d already written gave me fresh energy. My piece still needs a bit more work but the exercise you gave us was very helpful and one to be remembered.
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