Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Fashion in Character Development

January 10, 2012

When creating characters, it’s important to remember that how they dress will effect how other characters treat them. Generally, the better they are dressed, the more latitude they have in conversation. With the right accessories, one can say anything.

. . .

“My word… That one there, the brunette in the middle, I’d say she is the most attractive. It’s not that she possesses any particularly striking features, or that she’s an eight and the others are sevens… I suppose what I’m trying to say, what’d be most accurate, is that she is, by far, the least ugly.”

“…That’s my daughter, Fred.”

“…Aptly named, I daresay. She looks like a Fred.”


“…Fred Flintstone.”

“…Who did you say you were again?”

“Uncle Phineas.”

“…You’re Monica’s uncle?”

“…Surely, I’m someone’s uncle. This is the, erm, Christening, is it not?”

Fred’s father glanced sideways to the giant banner, which read, Fred’s Bat-Mitzvah in huge purple letters. “Well…”

“Ah, I almost forgot,” said the man, extracting a thick envelope from his jacket. “Could you take this? I couldn’t find the proper table – there seems to have been some drinking.”

Taking the envelope, Fred’s father said, “Enjoy the party.”


…Before Swine

September 22, 2011

Have you ever seen chicks feed? If you put out enough food, they’ll eat until their stomachs burst, literally. I learned that in fifth grade. We raised chickens from eggs until they weren’t cute anymore. I didn’t see the point in it, growing up in urban suburbia, but when I got older I realized: that’s how men are, only not with food.

I had a number of boyfriends growing up. I learned a lot from them, about how to get a man, but you can’t learn much about keeping one from a three month relationship. Most of that came from my mom. She’s been happily married for the last twenty-seven years.

At her core, my mom’s a romantic. Though, in practice, she’s a harsh pragmatist. When we read bedtime stories, she’d always quiz me on the moral before I fell asleep. I remember, after one of my summaries, she called me a pollyanna. I was nine.

I’ve been married five years. Five, amazing, difficult, years, to a sweet man whom always tries to make me happy. He’s still a man though, so I have to keep his stomach from bursting.

I work a lot, that helps. It’s easier for him to accept I’m not available if it’s for the family (we’re working on the family part). And Sunday is football in the man cave, so that’s a gimme. I always laugh when Sheila gets mad about the cave. She’ll berate her husband, endlessly, about the no girls allowed policy. Although, he usually compromises by giving her something she wants – everyone has their own way of doing things.

Keeping him hungry is a delicate balance. Every now and then I have to ring the dinner bell. If we’re overdue, or if I’m just in the mood, I’ll look at him that way, or I’ll use that voice. It’s not difficult at all. If I really want to rile him up, though, I’ll flirt a little with his friends. Not a lot, just enough to get the adrenalin pumping. The sex is usually amazing that night.

Some girls look down on playing games. I won’t do that to my husband, they’ll say. Or, I got married so I wouldn’t have to do this bullshit, they’ll admit. These women usually have unhappy marriages. I’m a feminist, through and through, don’t get me wrong. I DON’T think it’s my sole duty to please a man – but I do want him to stick around. As long as he does his part, I don’t mind rationing his food, until he isn’t hungry anymore.


April 7, 2011

Random words in bold.




Tina always fantasized about losing her virginity on a cruise ship.  She’d put on a designer dress in her tiny cabin, dance with a prince in an opulent ballroom, sip champagne in his first class cabin, and let him slowly undress her after a tender kiss.

Now 37, she was still a virgin.

She met Ronnie at a mommies Yoga class downtown.  They started talking after, seemingly, bumping into each other at the library.  While Ronnie’s daughter was throwing a tantrum, they quickly exchanged numbers. Two weeks later they were exchanging outfits.

It was six months before Tina opened up.  To her great relief, Ronnie didn’t react to her confession.  To her surprise, she reacted to her fantasy.  “It just won’t do,” she said, “that you’ve never even been on a boat.”

Tina smiled, as the salty breeze tousled her hair on the upper deck of the ferry.  “Thank you so much for this,” she said.  Ronnie nodded, and kissed her softly on the cheek.