Nasty Writing Teacher

“How does Dad’s re-marriage affect Bart, your protagonist?  And why’s that such an interesting big deal? Did you ever ask yourself that?” Twila, my gray-streaked, frizzy writing instructor asked and shook her head.

“Bart has to move to Dallas from rural Hico. He’s constantly tormented by his step-mother and feels frustrated,” I answered.

“You need to do a lot more writing to get to know your character better. Fill out this character questionnaire on Bart. Find out what motivates him. And don’t ever come to class unprepared again!” The number two pencil sticking out of her hair punctuated the air. Twila stuck two worksheets in my face.

“Thank you,” I said, without meaning it. I thought about the pages of notes and prewriting I’d already scribbled about Bart Spitz.

Just then Bart rolled his eyes at Twila and said, “You think it’s easy being fifteen? This lady (pointing at moi) is about the only one who’ll listen!” Bart looked down and ran his fingers through his hair. His jaw protruded slightly. A glint of sunlight showed his jaw’s gritty edge, a rough reminder to the raging testosterone hidden inside.

“You think my life’s so simple that I only got one problem?” Bart ranted.  “It’s not easy having a lousy stepbrother the same age who aces everything and a stepmother-witch named Sharon who shoves that in my face every time her Charles brings home a test or a project from school!”

Same age.  I grabbed my writer’s journal and a pencil.

Bart paced the room between desks, his face a motley shade of heated stress.

“Dad still doesn’t know I didn’t make the basketball team! Happy about moving here? Better competition will make me work harder? I’ve got an idea. Why doesn’t everyone just shut up and leave me alone!” Bart wadded up a piece of paper and threw it against the side of the classroom, catching the rebounds as the words spewed from his mouth. “Sharon thinks I’m at basketball practice after school everyday. I figure it’s only a matter of time before Charles figures out the truth – either because he’s sneaky, smarter than me, or just curious enough to follow me around!” 

Bart shoved his fist into his jeans pocket and pulled out a hand full of change.  He plunked six quarters into the drink machine in the corner of the room. The soda clunked down inside the machine. The carbonated chill did nothing for the color of Bart’s anger.

“With a little luck, none of it will matter in three months. By then I’ll have saved up enough money working construction for Dewayne’s dad. As soon as I turn sixteen, I’m getting my license and heading north…and I’m not stopping until I cross the border to Canada! Ain’t nothing gonna stop me!”

Bart continued his frustrated monologue for pages of notes at 1:20 a.m.

Want to know more about your characters? Have them come to your rescue against a nasty writing instructor or meet you in a closet to spill a secret! They’ll confide everything faster than you can scratch it across lines of crisp blank paper!