The Aerie
The Blue Moon Writing Group met last night, sans Terry, who was inexplicably absent.
We received a copy of Tam's screenplay and worked on a writing
exercise that I made up.
We had a prior writing exercise that we had been using for some time.
Basically we all wrote down a basic person or character (i.e. "a young
boy"), a plot type ("a mystery") and a setting ("a canyon"). Then
we'd mix up the slips and draw one from each category, and write for
thirty minutes. The results were sometimes hilarious.
Yesterday's practice was a bit different. I came up with three
categories: Transition; Internal Conflict; External Conflict; Then I
drew up four slips for each, and we drew one apiece, receiving a
random set, for example "Birth or First Day of School," "Fear of
Authority," and "Peer Pressure," respectively.
Then we applied this by writing for thirty minutes about any of our
characters, from whatever projects we were already working on, as a
means of getting to know them better. I drew, "Death or Divorce,"
"Fear of Authority," and "Shunning." Here's what I wrote about
Curtis, a protagonist from the novel I'm working on:
Curtis splashed across the muddy parking lot towards the anonymous
face of a 1970s office-building. He bustled into the office of his
wife's lawyers to find them flocked around the death-mesa of a
mahogany conference table, condors waiting for the kill. Christine
pointedly did not look as he came in, her back stiff.
"Mr. Baker," her lawyer half-rose and extended a disingenuous grin
along with his hand. He was a tall man, taller than Curtis' own
six-foot-one; but he was graceful, thin and dry as a branch, where
Curtis was all bulk and stumble. His thousand-dollar suit was a stark
contrast to Curtis' jeans and damp gray sweatshirt. "Thank you for
coming," he smiled.
Curtis mumbled, "no problem," as if he was doing the man a favor by
getting a divorce. On second thought, he supposed he was. Ignoring
the others gathered around the table Curtis plopped himself down
across from Christine and said, "Where's David?"
Christine did not look up from the paper and pen in front of her, "At
my mother's."
A moment of rage passed through Curtis but he stuffed it back down.
He looked for the first time at the people around him. In addition to
her lawyer at the head of the table, Andersen or Anderson, there were
two people he hadn't met before. On Christine's right sat a small
middle-aged woman with short dark hair and a nice dress with a floral
print that straddled the line between "feminine" and "take me
seriously." She met Curtis' gaze with a polite but distant smile. On
Christine's left sat a young woman with a yellow legal pad, whose
demeanor of stress and boredom practically shouted "intern."
"Hey, isn't one of the conditions of the divorce that David doesn't
stay with them?" Curtis asked the group.
"That's certainly one of the items we can discuss today," said
Christine's lawyer, "although we should probably wait until your
counsel is present."
Curtis felt the heat rising up in his face, "My lawyer's not coming,"
he blurted, his voice rising. He turned on Christine, "You said all
we had to do was sign some papers. I can't afford to have him at
every single meeting."
Anderson looked embarrassed, "Well, certainly, if there are no further
questions about the custody we can sign the document as it stands."
"Well, I don't understand the point of this. If the custody says that
her parents aren't supposed to have David, how can we sign the papers
while they have David?"
"God, you just hate them, don't you?" Christine whispered. "I suppose
I should have just left them with my sister." Christine's sister was
a drug addict, who lived with a succession of dealer/pimp "boyfriends"
in houses held together by condemnation notices.
Curtis threw his hands in the air, shouting with exasperation "Your
parents fucking MADE your sister!"
Mrs. Floral-Print looked down at the table, disapproval expressed in
her pursed lips and tiny handwriting as she made notes on a small memo
pad of her own. Ms. Intern simply looked surprised, a wicked gossipy
grin flitting about the edges of her face.
"You're shouting," Christine said quietly.
"But!" Curtis began, but stopped. He was alone here, four against
one, and further outbursts would win him no sympathy. He slumped in
his chair.
After a moment's pause, Anderson began again, "The condition regarding
Ms. Kinkaid's parents is one we were hoping we could discuss before we
signed the custody papers. Mr. Baker, this condition appears to be an
onerous and prejudicial stipulation, which would unnecessarily hamper
Ms. Kinkaid's ability to select appropriate care for your son."
Curtis interjected, "I don't care. I'm not negotiating the point.
Mr. and Mrs. Kinkaid look like the perfect parents, but they're
abusive. I've seen it with my own eyes."
"You've witnessed physical abuse, Mr. Baker?" Mrs. Floral-Print asked,
speaking for the first time.
"No, not physical abuse," Curtis admitted, "but they're manipulative.
They, they screw with their kids' minds. Why do you think Catherine
turned out so f... so screwed up?"
"I'm sorry," Anderson spoke up, "Mr. Baker this is Sharon Felberg,
she's the court-appointed guardian ad litem for your son in these
proceedings."
Curtis looked at her again, a man reassessing the vine by his hand
which turned out to be a viper. She sat comfortably close to
Christine, and her studiously-controlled face let leak the slightest
hint of concealed skepticism.
"Then you know what people like that can do," Curtis began, pleading.
"They look perfect. They run a perfect home. But they're
mind-fuckers! The get in, and they twist people's minds."
For a moment a glimpse of understanding broke through the clouds of
her demeanor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baker, but without evidence of severe
mental or emotional abuse, something demonstrable, I'm afraid your
position sounds prejudicial and possibly vindictive."
Curtis looked at the group arrayed against him at the table, and
realized he'd been tricked. The reason he was here alone was because
Christine had tricked him, and her lawyer had helped. And now he was
the unreasonable one, holding things up, making "prejudicial and
vindictive" accusations, and unreasonable demands.
"Mr. Baker, if you wish we could reconvene with your counsel present
at some later date," Anderson offered obsequiously.
Curtis toyed with the idea, but he realized it would make no
difference. Next time they would come back with more angles, using
his words against him. He was not going to get his condition that
Christine keep David away from her parents, her brick-chinned father
in his three-piece suit, her dowdy simpering mother with the venomous
tongue, and their nightly brandy in their perfect mahogany home.
Curtis sighed, and reached for the papers.
As you can probably tell, I ran out of time at the end there. Still,
I thought it turned out all right...