The Keys to Creative Writing

Oddly, the title of my last blog, begun before I arrived at Old Joes on Friday, was about leaving my comfort zone.   And today's final writing exercise (a difficult one) was designed to teach us about comfort zones and being pushed out of them.

The scenario was drawn for us - 3 couples at a dinner party, too much booze, one woman revealing her desire to have sex with one of the men. Now write that scene, establishing the imbalance and then another later scene, resolving the conflict / imbalance. Or not.  We were given an hour to complete this. Phew. 

“Do we have to go?” Mark pleaded.  “Dinner parties at Hugh and Jane’s always involve too much wine and Hugh is far too smooth for my liking.”

Anna put her hairbrush down and rose from the dressing table, walking across the room to lay her head on his shoulder, running her manicured nails lightly down his back, an action which usually made him purr.

“Oh, please don’t be boring” she said.  “Roger and Lynda will be there as well and you should try and get on better with Hugh.  God knows you need another investor and he has the money lying around.  Maybe you should hone your own smooth skills on Hugh and see if you can charm a million or so out of him. Can you do up my dress please?  I can’t reach all the buttons.”

Mark looked down at her smooth head.  She was irresistible.  He was the luckiest guy he knew and he had to admit that no matter how anxious he was about his ailing business, showing Anna off always settled his ulcers and for a while, albeit brief, cheered him up.

As Mark had predicted, the wine overflowed until long after midnight.  His tongue was thick and the smile he aimed down the table towards his wife, sloppy.  She and Hugh leaned into each other, Hugh’s hand covering her slim fingers which were seductively sliding up and down the stem of her wineglass.

While Mark watched, Anna tipped her head back, revealing the curved line of her perfumed neck, peals of laughter rippling from her throat.  “Hugh, you’re impossible” she giggled.

Turning towards the other guests, she recklessly continued “Hugh says it’s absolutely true about men with big feet.  He’s offered to give me a guided tour of his…socks.  I've always wanted to tour Hugh so I’m game.”

Jane pursed her lips but said nothing.  Roger and Lynda shared a glance and as one, pushed their chairs back from the table.  “We should leave” Lynda said.  “Damien went out with his friends and we need to check that they got home safely.” 

Jane walked the couple to their car, leaving Mark, Anna and Hugh still sitting at the table.  Once Roger's tail lights had disappeared, she closed the front door and went into the guest bathroom.  She lay down on the marble floor, pressing her flushed cheek against the cool stone.  A minute.  She just needed a minute.

The dining room was empty.  The twelve seater table filled with the detritus of a long evening.  Napkins, stained and crunched, six empty bottles of Reynecke Cornerstone, odds and sods of cutlery, china and tall, delicate wine glasses glowed dully in the dying candlelight.  A newly opened bottle of Quoin Rock dessert wine stood on the sideboard, but there was no sign of Hugh, Mark or Anna.    

It was inevitable that her feet climbed heavily up the stairs to the master bedroom.  Hesitantly, Jane pushed it open. 

End of scene 1.   

Mark and Anna drove home in silence.  Suffused with shame, Mark stared through the windscreen.  He wished he was still drunk and could put aside any confrontation about what had happened until tomorrow.  But no.  He knew.  And it had to be dealt with.  “Anna,” he ventured. 

Anna lay back in the passenger seat, her make up smeared, her dress buttons awry.  She turned her head to look at Mark.  “I wanted to,” she said. "You didn't make me.  And he promised to seriously consider investing.  I’m sure he means it.  Anyway, I felt safe with you there, watching.” 

End of scene 2.

It's quite disturbing how easily these perverted marriages appeared on my laptop screen, rapid keystrokes sketching actions and thoughts.  The scenes practically wrote themselves with no planning  and little thought at all.

And yet as I drove the 80kms home I couldn't shake thoughts of the characters from my head.

Just to be clear, I don't know anyone who vaguely resembles in any way the characters, the marriages or the events described.  That stuff tumbled out of some dark corner of my mind, jiggled loose by two days of challenging writing work and listening to the work of fellow scribes.

Hugh is 2-dimensional.  He lacks integrity, is power hungry, arrogant and greedy.  As a protagonist, he's not interesting at all, just a figure easy to dislike. Too simple.

Mark - well, he's weak.  He's prepared to trade the greatest treasure he has, his wife, to save his business.  But afterwards, his guilt tears away at his softness.  

Jane is more of a mystery.  She knew what was going on, but deliberately chose to stay outside of it, allowing events to take their course.  Why?  Had Hugh sapped all backbone and pride from her?  Was she prepared to overlook anything Hugh did, in exchange for wealth, position and enjoying the reflection of Hugh's power?  Had he threatened her in some way, so that she felt she had no choice but to stay with him, no matter what?  Was fear or greed behind her inaction?

But for me, the arch protagonist is Anna. She loves her husband, but is attracted to Hugh's looks and power.  She sees a way to help Mark get what they both need, while indulging her fantasy of shagging Hugh.  A supreme manipulator, she achieves her goals and at the same time, makes Mark feel responsible.  Yet, sharp schemer that she is, her naivete peeps through.  Hugh will invest in Mark.  Won't he?

How did these imaginary figures, swiftly drawn and slapped down, continue to grow and fill out long after the session ended, plaguing my mind?

Could this be the true beginning of creative writing?  If so, I love it.