Continuing in the fiction mode, here comes Step 4 of The Writer magazine’s “Get Your Story Started,” by John Smolens, verbatim:
4 Now write again, trying a different approach or perspective (60 minutes). Consider the material you gathered from Step 3 again; this time, however, vary your approach. If in the last session you wrote in the third person, this time work in the first person; if your last session was primarily narrative, then this time try to create a scene with dialogue.
The point is to mix things up, to see things from different perspectives, which to a large degree is what fiction is all about–it offers the writer a unique sense of freedom. It asks you to explore not only the exterior world through a character’s eyes, but to explore her inner world–why she sees things the way she does.
Since last time I wrote in first person with much dialogue, this time I will write primarily narrative in the third person. Here is my response.
Start time: 9:02.
When Andrew left, Arlene was sleeping and had all the shades pulled down against the sunshine. This kind of sun was unusual for Western NY in February, so Andrew took the clear skies as a sign he wouldn’t find any resistance.
Arlene insisted she couldn’t drive, so she wouldn’t miss the car. Andrew didn’t wake her to say goodbye because she knew he was leaving and hadn’t bothered to say a word to him since she found out. Andrew didn’t think about when she’d see him next or if she’d see him at all. She planned that Andrew would return for her rheumatology appointment next Friday. He knew better.
When he saw Laney, it was his life calling him back. Sure, Arlene allowed him to fly Laney around the region, but she reacted like Laney was his mistress. Really, she had more reason to be jealous than she knew. Laney was a small plane–a single engine, a dove-gray beauty that had been mostly idle since Andrew’s last flight, a night he’d almost left. About five months ago, Arlene had checked herself into the ER with pain so searing she claimed she was dying. By midnight, she felt fine, and the doctor confirmed she could leave. When they walked into their house, Arlene’s cave, she poured some Shiraz in a glass to toast her recovery. That’s when Andrew took Laney out last. Arlene passed out after a few more glasses, so Andrew flew Laney around the Lake Ontario, glimpsing how the waves kissed at the shore. With each breaking wave, he imagined the fish pushing further into a warm hibernation, and Arlene falling further into herself.
Today was the matrimonial flight, Andrew kept telling himself. He left his wedding ring on the speckled counter at home, next to the wine rack, where Arlene would be sure to find it. Even his fingers could feel the difference. There wouldn’t be much left for him to say.
Jordan, his nephew, had been managing the airport since Andrew’s retirement. He agreed to get Laney ready for Andrew’s flight today, but didn’t know he wasn’t coming back. Arlene resented that Jordan inherited Andrew’s airport and the air crafts. Besides Laney.
Even the control Andrew felt, the palpable lifting of the wing flaps with the push of the hard charcoal lever, signaled that Andrew might have nothing to do with the passing birds, but could navigate this aircraft without worry about its body and how it might fail. When he pulled the throttle to its full position, he was assured the plane would move clearly and swiftly into flight. He would lift off, over the hospital, over his home at Lakeview Terrace, past the town limits and off of the unforgiving land.
End time: 10:16.