“Write what you know,” they said. That’s what Frank did. He was a painter, so he started his novel with a team of painters. Not artists, but house painters. He splashed in some conflict with hovering owners who stressed over insignificant things. To give his story more substance, he had one of his painters die in an accident. He had been painting the ceiling around a chandelier at the top of a grand staircase. Somehow he fell off the ladder and broke his neck before reaching the bottom stair.
But it wasn’t an accident! Someone murdered the painter. Why, and how? Frank went to bed thinking about it.
The next day Frank and his team were painting a new client’s house. Frank started laying covering cloths around where they were going to work. “Be extra careful by that sofa,” said one of the homeowners. “That’s an actual Poltrona Frau.” Frank nodded and doubled up the covering. “Watch the Tiffany lamp!” said the owner. Frank retrieved some light plastic to wrap around the lamp and tape shut.
As the owner began to issue another warning, Frank raised a finger. “Thank you. We are professionals and will take the utmost care in protecting your belongings. Now if you wouldn’t mind vacating the area and letting us work, we’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
The homeowner frowned with indignance, but scuttled off without another word. Frank sighed and went back to covering furniture. Soon enough he was painting the walls the prearranged colour and the morning flew by. Frank was able to think about his book while he worked. He considered using various aspects of this client’s house as inspiration. He knew small details like a Polish Frow couch would add to the atmosphere.
A loud crash from the front of the house startled Frank and he messed up the corner work he was doing. “Damn,” he said, as he put down his brush and raced toward the origin of the crash.
His team mate Carl laid at the bottom of a large central staircase. Carl’s neck was at an inhuman angle. Frank looked up the stairs and saw a ladder at the top. He looked further up towards the cathedral ceiling and saw a chandelier. It had fresh paint around it.
“What the?”
The police came and took statements from everyone then sent them home. Frank decided not to share that he had written this very event the previous night. It left him unsettled, and more than a little curious if it had been an accident or not.
He sat in front of his computer. Reheated pizza at his side. Did he dare continue this story? No. He opened a new file and started a love story.
The lady at the Stop & Shop had ended a bad relationship and was wary to jump into anything new. Until a friendly painter walked into her shop to buy a lottery ticket. He asked her to pick the last number, and said “If this wins, we’ll split the prize.” It did win, and they did split it, and they were both murdered by her jealous ex.
Frank backed away from the computer. What happened? How could he write that? He deleted the murder and wrote instead that they became close and lived a happy life together.
He sat a moment rereading that last section. It didn’t feel right. None of it did. He deleted the file and went to bed.
The next day he went for a walk to clear his mind. During what he swore was a random stroll, he found a Stop & Shop. He peered inside the window. Indeed, the woman behind the cash looked much like he had imagined. Frank shook his head and walked away.
This is another exercise from The Writer’s Toolbox. It’s called “The Protagonist Game” wherein you spin four wheels to randomly determine a protagonist, their goal, their obstacle, and their action. Here were what were selected for me:
Protagonist: Frank, the painter
Goal: To write the Great American Novel
Obstacle: The lady at Stop & Shop
Action: Learns to foresee the future