My local park, about a mile from my house, is often where I multitask my creative and physical needs together. While walking or jogging the various loops, I fill in plot holes and "earn" future desserts with shed calories. It's also surprising when I discover a new aspect of the place I believed I knew well. During the past two years, I spent longer hours smiling through uncertainty and paying closer attention to nature renewing itself despite the struggles of the human world.
Along with eastern lilikoi vines, I discovered two eastern persimmon trees in the park vicinity. This is a shot I took of the still green baby persimmons before they shifted to bright orange in Fall. If only I cared for their flavor. So bitter! Fuyu persimmons are my favorites.
Nature aside, I also enjoy people-watching and people-listening. I spend an average of five miles on the trail, sometimes walking with other park regulars, sometimes alone chasing creatures in Pokemon Go. On what I call "the back trail," there are three sets of bars meant for various workouts. I've used them for pushups and pullups and seen others do the same. The other day, I caught a conversation that sparked an idea for a mental writing exercise.
This glimpse between a father and daughter sent me on my way to building characters in my head. The daughter, around 10, was doing flips on the parallel bars while her dad did lunges. Immediately, I saw the scene filtered through my life experiences.
My initial impressions: How nice that her dad is spending time with her and supporting healthy habits. I would have loved if my dad had done that for me when I was little.
My filter: I saw a father enjoying time with his daughter. My dad rarely enjoyed being with me until well after I moved out of my parent's house. To this day, I find it endearing when a father actually enjoys time with his daughters.
The next events: Daughter's hair brushes the ground when she flips. Dad turns and says, "Your hair's touching the ground."
"That's okay."
Dad stands beside her. "No, it's not."
Pause.
In a cheeky tone, daughter says, "Mommy wouldn't mind."
There went my author brain. How would dad react? Could I predict it? Was an argument about to break out?
My new filter: Whenever I went against my dad's instruction as a kid, the result was often his wrath. If that were him, he would probably say something about honoring my father and pull me back to the car.
Could this father have a short fuse, too? Could he be passive or laugh about it? Not say anything? What if he is constantly one-upped by what "mommy" says? Would that make him shut down or push him toward a teaching moment about why she shouldn't let her hair touch the ground?
I was so focused on turning these real people into characters that I missed what actually happened with the rest of their conversation as I passed. So, I put dad in character categories and used it as a mental exercise to complete the scenario.
Prideful Dad: You'll do as I tell you.
Indifferent Dad: Fine, do as you like.
Angry Dad: Are you talking back? Do you want your games taken away?
Fun Dad: As long as I can laugh at the twigs sticking to your hair.
Harsh Dad: The ground is dirty, and I don't want that in my car.
Passive Dad: I suppose hair washes.
Fearful Dad: What if a sick person sneezed there, and all those germs are on you?
Disgruntled Dad: Your mom isn't always right, you know.
Logical Dad: Other people use these poles and may have spit or sweat on the ground beneath them.
Soil Analyst Dad: Well, dirt is comprised of three parts worm excrement...
I went a little crazy with that last one. But, these scenarios are the building blocks for well-rounded characters. Once writers know exactly how their characters will react to any given situation, it helps us push the "why's" one step further.
For example, why would Disgruntled Dad feel the need to challenge his wife? Could she make more money than he does and he feels emasculated? Could his daughter gravitate toward her mother more? Could he secretly wish his opinions were just as important to daughter? Or could the wife be trying to turn the kid against the father since there's a possible divorce in the future? The deeper these "why's" go, the more unique a character and story becomes. We've all heard the story of the father struggling to connect with his daughter(s), but it can morph into something truly unique. How about these?
Dad longs for respect from his daughter because his mother told him he would be defined by how well the women in his life love him. He could be trying too hard, chasing that love to the point where he pushes his child away.
Or maybe Dad is planning to send daughter away to boarding school without mom's permission, but he hopes she won't be mad at him forever. The quality time, unbeknownst to her, is part of their last month together.
Wildest of all, maybe Dad really is a soil analyst and hopes to connect with his daughter through knowledge only he finds interesting? That didn't go well with me and my dad when I was little. My only hope of connecting with him was learning to play golf. I tried but it didn't happen. In this case, Daughter's antics could lead to a lecture based on the actual composition of the soil that goes way above 10-year-old daughter's head. Daughter ends up wanting to go home just to end the talk of microbes.
All this from hearing a snippet of conversation in passing and letting my imagination run amok. Is this a sign I need to admit myself, or I'm just another author on the prowl for inspiration? We may as well use it when it comes. I would love to hear examples of other people subjecting the strangers around them to fabricated scenarios. Stories begin in those brain folds.
Keep on smilin'!
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