The Junior Narrative introduced the short story structure. It focused on the elements of conflict, exposition, and resolution. Parachuting off that, the Senior Narrative allowed students to include dialogue and create realistic, interesting characters.
Dialogue was an important element in the short story because it essentially revealed the relationship between the characters and progressed the story line. Dialogue had to be believable, and with a 5-6 page limit, it had to serve a purpose. In order for students to pull off their dialogue, they had to come up with their characters and plots first.
My process probably began the same way as everyone else: the Character Questionnaire. I had a leg up though. I already had a vision of writing about two characters I had recently come up with, whom I named lovingly as Act and GM. Through the Character Questionnaire I had a chance to puzzle out their personalities, their histories, and their motivations. But I wasn’t satisfied. Something about their story wasn’t really ticking for me.
I had another pair of characters that I was working on too and using the Character Questionnaire, I eventually got to know them as well and named them Coraline and Valerie respectively. I freely drew out multiple drafts of their short conversation and even got as far as a plot map for them. I knew their conflict, their motivations, and their resolutions. And yet their story still wasn’t ticking for me!
It happened that during Coraline and Valerie’s story, I was also writing other stories on the side. Story telling is my way of blowing off steam, and so I made up a short story about a dreamer and her imaginary friend. I took that short story and ran off with it. Because these were one-time characters I had just created, I sped through my never-ending questions for them. Who are you? Where did you come from? What do you want? What are you like? Where are you right now? I worked through 3 different drafts, all with various shades of personalities and endings.
It was the roughest part of my work, but what you see below is the fruit of my never-ending, ticking dissatisfaction.
Count on Me
When I opened my eyes, I figured it was a dream.
All I saw was white space. Looking around from the safety of my bed, I watched random items drift around, above, and below me. Schools of high school textbooks, clouds of loose papers, the gentle somersaulting of a dresser, and a passing window. I leaned away from the edge of the bed, wondering if this was how astronauts felt way up there in outer space. Way out of their depth.
All of a sudden, I felt something smack me in the head. Whipping around, I realized the culprit was a wooden pencil, now lazily wandering away from me. A little angry, I flicked it viciously. It spun like a top away from me, hurtling straight into the path of the dresser. The poor pencil bounced off its mirror, bounding off some other direction.
I watched as the dresser passed by and noticed my reflection in its mirror. I looked mad for sure and a little tired too. Dark eye shadows were forming under my eyes. My pajamas were limited to a t-shirt I had worn the past 3 days and PE shorts. I was missing a sock.
Before the dresser passed by, I heard a voice come at me from behind it, drawling and arrogant.
“I bet you would even hurt a fly, you bully.” The dresser slowly revealed the figure of Mister Top, dressed properly in a black tuxedo and top hat. He elegantly sat back in my desk chair, long legs crossed. He was somehow managing to hover upright, though one small push could’ve sent him flying off to nowhere.
“Sure would,” I replied, grimacing at the sight of him and his polished dress shoes. Seriously, who needs shoes that sparkly? “You here to mess with me again?”
Mister Top really liked showing up in my dreams, either to scare the fudge out of me or just pelt me with awful insults. You couldn’t even call them insults. They were just. Facts. (Don’t look at me like that. Flies are super annoying)
“Top,” I continued before he could say anything back. “I’m not in the mood to do that whole ‘what ho! en garde!’ kind of stuff, so could you just leave me alone?”
“Someone’s had a bad day,” Mister Top commented as I pulled the covers over me. I closed my eyes and tried to will myself awake, but it wasn’t really working. Maybe because I knew that, even if I managed to wake up, it would just be another morning. Another tired day.
“Yeah. If you can call me being an asshole a ‘bad day,’” I said, opening my eyes. Then a thought occurred to me. Sitting straight up, I squinted at him. He looked a little uncomfortable at my fierce squints. “Mister Top, how do you do it?”
“Do what, may I ask?”
“Be okay with being an asshole.”
“I-I say!” He spluttered, dramatically acting flabbergasted. He even put a hand over his heart in shock. But once he saw I was not amused, he dropped the act. He chuckled at me, shaking his head. “My dear, it’s simply a part of my personality. It is the way I am and the way I will always be!”
“Okay, but what if I don’t want to be an asshole?” I asked.
“Well, I’d say you have a journey ahead of you. One might call it arduous, back-breaking, even impossible! A leopard does not lose its spots after all.”
“That’s…that’s not encouraging,” I said.
“I didn’t mean to be,” He replied. He crooked his head, his eyes brimming with curiosity. “It’s nothing to get bent about. As the saying goes-’be yourself!’”
“So is ‘treat others how you want to be treated’ which doesn’t exactly support your whole ‘I’m a jerk and I own it’ attitude.”
“True, sayings can be contradicting,” He said, smiling with amusement. “But I’d like to know first- what caused your change in heart? You weren’t complaining about this last month.”
“Uh- um, well. You-you know,” I stuttered out. “Something.”
“Pretend I don’t know.”
“Pretend you do!” I scratched the back of my head, huffing. Mister Top only folded his arms, waiting for an answer. “I wanna make friends, okay?! Go ahead and call me a loser!”
“I’m not implying that you are a loser. It’s just that this is the first I’ve heard of it.” Mister Top shrugged his shoulders. “Although a kindergartner would have learned this by now…”
He threw himself to the side, narrowly missing a pillow aimed exactly at his head. His chair twirled away while I snickered. He glared at me before assuming his original position, minus the chair.
“Real nice of you,” He grouched. “I’m sure your ‘friend’ would have liked that.”
“I’m not trying to be nice to you!” I scoffed. “You’re different anyways, so it’s fine.”
Mister Top bristled, looking ready to snap back, but then he stopped. His head tipped to the side, lips crooked with amusement. He had come up with another idea apparently. Mister Top leaned forward.
“Say, if things don’t turn out well, then you know what they say-”
“There are other fish in the sea,” I cut in, rolling my eyes.
“Exactly,” Mister Top said, smiling. He raised his hands up as if that was a clear-cut victory.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling my heart sink in my chest. All Mister Top was saying was give up. That if I messed up, then it didn’t matter. I wasn’t at fault. And that didn’t sit right with me. But it’s not like I knew how to argue with that. Every time I tried to think about it, every time I tried to talk to her, all I could hear was white noise, all I could think of was static.
I went to Mister because he always had something to say. The good, the bad- if I asked him something, he’d tell me what he thought. But if he had nothing but bad to say, then I had nothing but bad to think.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, pulling my knees to my chest. I buried my face in my arms. “Better safe than sorry.”
“W-Well, I didn’t mean not to try-”
“You said it was impossible.”
“Well, yes, but faith can move mountains-”
“It’s fine. Let sleeping dogs lie- I get what you mean.”
“That’s not- I didn’t-” Mister Top sighed. I peeked up from my arms, curious about Mister Top’s change of heart. He pulled off his top hat and ran a hand through his hair, looking hassled.
“What? What did you mean?” I asked.
“It’s not- impossible. Not really,” He said, crossing his arms. “What can I say- throw caution to the wind? Burn that bridge when you get to it? Really…”
“My point is,” He ran a hand through his hair again. “changing yourself for someone else is impossible. Really! There’s no use in pretending either. A leopard doesn’t need to paint new spots.
“But if faith can move mountains, then hard work can change hearts. Put some effort into it…” Mister Top trailed off, placing his top hat on his head. “You were asking for advice on how to change, but that’s fundamentally impossible.”
“I’ll be a prick forever then? Perfect, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m not saying every part of you is going to remain! Just- to rephrase it, the basic foundation of who you are isn’t going to change suddenly, not soon enough for you anyways. The only thing you can do is watch yourself.”
“What?”
Mister Top rubbed his eyes. “…We all make mistakes. If you say something you didn’t mean, or you overstep yourself, then apologize. Make up for it. Facing the music is better than hiding in the sand.”
“…Then why did you say it didn’t matter?” I asked.
“I didn’t say- when I said ‘other fish in the sea’ I meant that there’s always going to be someone out there who won’t mind your prickly words,” Mister Top explained. “I wasn’t trying to say ‘give up.’”
“Could have fooled me,” I grumbled to myself and then I said it louder.
“I only wanted to reassure you- before you could chase circles and second-guess yourself,” Mister Top shook his head.
“One step too far, Top,” I said. “I wasn’t really- well, I guess I was thinking about that. But I just wanted to know how to start.”
“And now you do,” Mister Top said, smiling. Then he frowned. With a look of concern, he pointed at my face. “Now- I’m also sure that last month you weren’t sporting those shadows under your eyes.”
I turned away, trying to cover my eyes. “It was- I just stayed up late, that’s all!”
“Yes, of course, and for what were you staying up late?”
“You know… homework.”
“Yes, of course. Homework. And for what were you staying up late?”
“…you… know… games…”
“Yes, of course. And for whom were you staying up late?”
“…Just thinking about stuff, that’s it!” I crossed my arms and squinted at him hard. He raised an eyebrow. We shared a staring contest for a while, me pouting and him smuging. But in the distance, there was the sound of beeping. My alarm for school was going off.
“Saved by the bell,” Mister Top said, shaking his head. “Fine, but just remember what we talked about.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Face the music, no sand. Fish in the sea, burn bridges,” I said, waving my hand. “Your library of idioms never ceases to amaze me.”
“There’s no need to mock me… Have a good day.”
The Narrative Unit also took on a new project known as Citizen. The project for English was based off the famous book Citizen by Claudia Rankine. The book writes about the struggles of black people in America. In order to truly immerse the reader in the struggle, pain, and everyday scenarios for a black American, Rankine write every essay in 2nd person, addressing the audience as ‘you.’ English students studied these essays and, for the project, chose a topic to write about with a perspective we didn’t have. For my topic, I chose religion. I never understood how people use religion to cope with the stress of their life. It seems too shaky for me. A person close to me however dutifully attends church every Sunday for 10am mass and leans on God whenever they are in pain. I interviewed them and came to know their struggles in the past, how they were introduced to religion, and how they came to rely on it.
The Lyrical Essay you can read below is based off that interview and that person’s experience (as a requirement, the identity of the person is to remain anonymous). After writing the essay, I think I understand a little better how people rely on religion. The amount of relief and the determination to live on that religion gives is something I have to admire.
The Sky
In your dreams, there is only darkness. Like a persistent fog, it wraps around you, suffocates you. There is no way to see through it, past it. Like running a never-ending staircase, the road is bleak, fraught with pain. And even when you wake up, pushing the curtains aside, the heavens agree with you, reflecting a heavily cloudy day. As if it were a rainy evening, the clouds smudge themselves persistently across the sky. On a day like this, you wonder if even He, with all His power, could look past the dark.
But there is no time to pay attention to pain and hurt, now there is work to be done, bills to be paid, children to care for. Taking a deep breath, you mutter a prayer absently on the exhale, trying not to question if this time it would really work. If He would do anything.
Turning from the window, you leave the room. You leave it feeling
oppressed,
compressed,
depressed.
Living like this day to day, dreaming of darkness, waking to darkness, the light in your eyes, the light in your mind, you wonder if there’s an end to this road, this staircase, this darkness. Looking through a film of tears,
looking down at hospital white,
looking up to the perpetually cloudy sky.
Thinking of family and work and family and work like a loop, a cycle that persists because you persist, and there’s a dull ache in the back of your head, behind your eyes, aching all over your body. Aching in your arms from the constant burden, aching on your feet from the constant up and down.
You pray for help. All your life, you prayed and hoped and endured, knowing that someday there would be a sign, an end to the dark and the pain. Like every staircase ends, like every road stops, there had to be an end. Soon. One day. Someday.
There is no end, is there? And you stop the cry before it could echo in your head, in the darkness, at the bottom of the staircase, at the beginning of the road, before it can destroy you, oppress you, compress you, depress you. And you continue walking, climbing, moving, closing your eyes from the darkness, your feelings, your faith in Him. But there is still that ache in the back of your head, a small voice crying out, its wail piercing. Screaming that He hasn’t done anything, that He won’t do anything.
That no one will do anything.
And suddenly your vision swims, the darkness blurs. Did you hear that, did you really hear that? You look up, into the sky, into her eyes, and they are clear and they are determined, they are shining. And there are no clouds, there are no lies, just a quiet sincerity, a firm kindness. She says it again.
And when you dream, and when you push aside the curtains, slowly it is getting brighter and there is a light in your eyes, in your mind, and you think, you know, “He can.” And years later, when you sit down with your children and they don’t know what to do, you say this:
“Sometimes they put you really down to the earth, and you bump your head in the rock, and you wake up and you say, “Oh my God, what did I do wrong?” This is the test. You need to… get your act straight. Just can’t blame for anything… All you need to do… do your part! He do His part…. And your part is very important. You have to do it. You don’t rely on other people [to] do it for you. That is important.”