Characterizaton Assignment

Okay, so I'm working on my characterization. I did this for a character camp on another site and I figured I would post it here as well. Tell me what you think. It's not the best and won't make much sense.

Assignment 1:

Spoiler

Build me a character sketch of a middle-age mother. You can do it as a list if you like, but I strongly urge you to do something a little more substantial, a few paragraphs detailing what she looks like and how her life has been lived up to that point. She's just a normal person, remember, so keep it real. This is the kind of person who could be your neighbour. There is a second part to this assignment, but I need to reveal it after you've done this bit, so this bit doesn't colour it. Enjoy.

Character:
Carla

Spoiler

Carla is a single mother working at a grocery store. She has 3 children, all of which she had before she hit twenty-five. Her mother and father both died when she was young and she was bounced around from foster home to foster home – none of which she felt the least bit love - until she was eighteen, when she was tossed onto the streets to fend for herself with nothing more than a small bag of clothes. Right after that she dropped out of high school. A month later she got pregnant and then ended up in jail with a DWI and MIP. After she had her first child, she got into drugs and would later on have her children taken away from her for a time. She has attempted to turn her life around, with some success; she checked into a rehab center and has been clean for five years.
She lives with her children in a small, two-bedroom apartment in the ghetto of town, living paycheck to paycheck. She sleeps on the couch so her kids can have the beds. Some of the time she goes without eating so her kids can have food; she is too stubborn to go to a shelter. Once, her power was cut off and her and her children nearly froze. Though her battles with drugs are better, she still suffers from alcoholism, but is also seeking help for that. She wants to improve her life, just doesn’t know how. She has devoted her life to God, but still feels trapped in a cage of despair. Several times she has cried herself to sleep at night.
She is 5’6”, 120 lbs, and has brunet hair. She is disorganized and clumsy. She cares for her children, but occasionally feels the urge to simple run away and never look back. Her mood for most of the time is depressed.

Assignment 2:

Spoiler

So, I would like you to write a scene in third person limited, that revolves around repo men coming to her house and repossessing stuff to pay for the heating bill. The main conflict of the scene should come from the mother/child relationship, not from any fighting between Carla and the repo men.

Story:

Spoiler

The beating at the door – three hard, loud knocks – woke her from her sleep. Carla forced her eyes open with effort, blinking several times. Her head pounded like a bass drum, and her ears rang. She stood slowly, stretching in an attempt to eliminate the all too familiar aches that resulted from sleeping on the couch. She almost fell over in doing so. Her plain t-shirt was stained from neck to hem with whisky. The bottle laid empty on the floor. The banging started up again, this time louder.

“One second!” She glanced into the mirror that hung on the living room wall. Her hair frizzed in all directions; she thought she looked like one of those old troll dolls that had been so popular back in the 80’s. She patted her hands down onto the bird’s nest, trying to make herself at least somewhat presentable. The knocking continued. She threw on her robe, worn, matted, blue fuzz of a thing, and walked across the room to the door, trying her best not to trip over any Barbie dolls that might cross her path. She was unsuccessful, stepping on Superstar Barbie. She stood there wincing and stamping her foot for a moment, before continuing on. Peering into the peephole, she saw a man dressed in a pitch overcoat. Shades hung low on his enlarged nose. His balding head shinned in the sunlight, almost blinding her hungover eyes.

“Who is it?” she asked, annoyed.

“The city,” the man’s gruff, scratchy voice sounded through the door..As if on cue, her heart started leaping. She twisted the dead lock and pulled open the door.

“Can I help you?” she said. The man looked at her quickly, scanning up and down, before shoving a piece of paper in front of her face. She took it gingerly, unfolding it.

We regret to inform you that your heating payments are well overdue. In response to this, we are forced to seize your car to help pay off the debt. The car will …

She stopped reading then, her heart, which had seemed to have jumped to her throat, sinking past her stomach. She forgot about the hangover as she spoke.

“You can’t… you can’t take my car. It’s all I have… How else am I suppose to get to work? You can’t!” she stammered, growing more frantic with each word.

“Sorry mam, but it’s my job.” He stepped to the side so she could see. In the parking lot below, two men worked to hook up her 1984 gray Taurus to a tow truck.

“No, no you can’t! Please!” she begged, her cries not even fazing the man.

“Are there any valuables you would like to retrieve before we take it?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No, but please, I need the car. You can’t just take it.

“Sorry, it’s my job. You can take it up with the city Monday morning,” he said, his expression softening for one millisecond, before returning to the blandness of before. He turned and walked down the stairs, his boots making a sharp clang as they hit the metal steps.

Carla closed the door. She slid down the wood, sitting on the floor, her arms clasped around her legs and her head buried in her knees. After a moment, the tears started.

***
It was later when she finally got up. The kids had gone to sleep hours ago. Zack had kept the other two in the bedroom, feeding them and helping them with their homework, leaving her to cry out here. Her eyes felt dry and stuffy now, almost like they were hardening.

She felt it then. It started out as a whisper, as soft as a breeze. It will make you feel better, it said. Make all of this, all the suffering and pain, go away. Soon, it had grown into an itch, and then a rash, until her entire body felt it. She needed it. She wanted it. She had to have it.

Walking over to the small wooden table at the center of the kitchen, she picked up her purse, shoving her wallet into it and grapping her keys, her house ones; she no longer needed her car keys. She had a spare in the car, which was probably why they hadn’t asked for them. She lifted her purse off the table, revealing her 5-year chip. She went to pick it up, but hesitated.

For God's sake, don’t do this! What about the kids? Why would you throw away all that you’ve accomplished? she thought, but her resistance crumbled as quickly as it appeared.

“What are you doing?” came a groggy voice from behind her. She spun around quickly, glancing at the source. Zack stood in the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I’m going out for a bit,” she said.

“Where? Mom, you're not going to... Please don't. ” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“I won’t be long,” she said, avoiding the question as she made a beeline for the door. Zack stepped in front of her as she reached for the knob. He stood at least six inches taller than her, his broad shoulders completely blocking the door. "Zack, get out of my way."

"No. I'm not going to let you do this. Not again," he said firmly. The itch grew again, making her feel like she was about to bust out of her skin.

"Move!"

"No!" He crossed his arms for effect

She couldn't take it anymore. She reached up and slapped Zack right across the face, leaving a red imprint in its wake. Zack stood there shocked for a moment, before stepping aside, the stunned expression never leaving his face.

A cold breeze hit her as she opened the door. She quickly wrapped an old coat around her. She heard one final "Mom!" before slamming the door completely shut. Speeding down the steps and to the street, she went looking for a man that she hadn’t seen in five years. Lucas.

So. It's rarely that I'll see something written well-enough to catch my attention like this did, and to string me along for the ride from start to finish. And of course, how could I not review?

There's something very clear about the way you write, very vivid, very direct. If overdone, it might lead to a cliche, a boring story about the 'average' mother, a grey script of deja-vus and all - but in this case, there's still a rather distinct element of 'new,' a slight distance between author and audience, as if you're still keeping details from us - the plot is not entirely predictable.

First thing I'd like to know is what the plan is for this. It's not finished, where it's at - far from it. I cn see it becoming a long short story, a novella, perhaps a novel - but I'd like to now how far you've thought this through over and beyond your assignment. One, because I'd like to read the rest to see how you tie up all loose ends, structure-wise, and two because it feels decidedly incomplete as it is - we end with a conflict, or on the verge of the uphill climb towards the climax.

I find beginnings very important - in fact, if a beginning doesn't hook me immediately, I tend not to read the rest:

The beating at the door – three hard, loud knocks – woke her from her sleep. Carla forced her eyes open with effort, blinking several times. Her head pounded like a bass drum, and her ears rang. She stood slowly, stretching in an attempt to eliminate the all too familiar aches that resulted from sleeping on the couch. She almost fell over in doing so. Her plain t-shirt was stained from neck to hem with whisky. The bottle laid empty on the floor. The banging started up again, this time louder.

It starts right in the middle of the action. Somehow, the 'three loud hard' bit works fine, even though you've crammed three rather unsurprising adjectives in with each other. Sort of makes it seem like you've really thought about the way you want to present this, like you're giving us the details, while still not going too overboard. 'With effort' was unneeded since 'forced' encapsulates the idea; I'm sure you can be a little more creative than 'stood slowly' - nix the adverb and replace with a suitable verb; we don't need to drag out her waking-up any further by yet another double description of pounding heads and ringing ears (not really elegant - I know you've got this very casual style of writing - which I liked - but try not to make it dull).

I think it would be also interesting to begin with her in confusion about whether the banging is in her head or outside (of course, it's in both places) - like externalising her feelings, maybe? This would be neater and tighter structure-wise, and would make the story a tad less disjointed.

“One second!” She glanced into the mirror that hung on the living room wall. Her hair frizzed in all directions; she thought she looked like one of those old troll dolls that had been so popular back in the 80’s. She patted her hands down onto the bird’s nest, trying to make herself at least somewhat presentable. The knocking continued. She threw on her robe, worn, matted, blue fuzz of a thing, and walked across the room to the door, trying her best not to trip over any Barbie dolls that might cross her path. She was unsuccessful, stepping on Superstar Barbie. She stood there wincing and stamping her foot for a moment, before continuing on. Peering into the peephole, she saw a man dressed in a pitch overcoat. Shades hung low on his enlarged nose. His balding head shinned in the sunlight, almost blinding her hungover eyes.

I didn't like the fact she was looking at herself in the mirror. Okay, so I know that this is what just about everyone might do when they wake up, but here's the thing: as interesting as your description was of her appearance (old troll doll was pretty, but a mouthful), there's little need since you've given us a basic outline of her T-shirt etc already, and we already get the feeling she'll be looking like hell, given the fact she's had too much to drink the night before. Plus, it's rather cliche, 'she woke up, she looked in the mirror' - an unsubtle way of describing your character. I much preferred the more effortless slipping-in of her appearance in the first paragraph.

Anyway, you managed a more subtle overview of the state of her house, the fact that she has kids (a little girl with Barbies, in fact) etc. Didn't particularly like 'shades hung on his enlarged nose,' and nor, 'hungover eyes' (use of 'hung' twice in succession, I think). Try to be less explicit wherever possible - your writing style is easy, effortless and casual, and, while you don't need to go overboard and be all poetic with your descriptions, it'd be nice if you could reinforce the fact she's hungover by not stating it as obviously in words.

“Who is it?” she asked, annoyed.

“The city,” the man’s gruff, scratchy voice sounded through the door..As if on cue, her heart started leaping. She twisted the dead lock and pulled open the door.

“Can I help you?” she said. The man looked at her quickly, scanning up and down, before shoving a piece of paper in front of her face. She took it gingerly, unfolding it.

We regret to inform you that your heating payments are well overdue. In response to this, we are forced to seize your car to help pay off the debt. The car will …

She stopped reading then, her heart, which had seemed to have jumped to her throat, sinking past her stomach. She forgot about the hangover as she spoke.

'As if on cue' was a bit...showy, stagey. 'Heart started leaping' doesn't do it for me - I like the emotion you're trying to convey here, but it's too bland to make me feel as afraid as she does - as yet, I'm still the external observer, I still hang over her shoulder like a film camera as the events unfold - I'm not actually in her mind.

'Scanning up and down' was just unecessary. In what way does it contribute to the progression of the plot or the develipment of the character? He's not really that important, so don't give him any more distinguishing features than he really needs. I got annoyed when you mentioned the word 'hangover' for the third time.

“You can’t… you can’t take my car. It’s all I have… How else am I suppose to get to work? You can’t!” she stammered, growing more frantic with each word.

“Sorry mam, but it’s my job.” He stepped to the side so she could see. In the parking lot below, two men worked to hook up her 1984 gray Taurus to a tow truck.



“No, no you can’t! Please!” she begged, her cries not even fazing the man.

“Are there any valuables you would like to retrieve before we take it?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No, but please, I need the car. You can’t just take it.

“Sorry, it’s my job. You can take it up with the city Monday morning,” he said, his expression softening for one millisecond, before returning to the blandness of before. He turned and walked down the stairs, his boots making a sharp clang as they hit the metal steps.

Carla closed the door. She slid down the wood, sitting on the floor, her arms clasped around her legs and her head buried in her knees. After a moment, the tears started.

Most of the time, the story had enough of an edge, enough of an element of slight unpredictability to keep it interesting. As soon as I saw Carla reacting in the way any ordinary person might react to such a situation, I got put off - I would have liked to have seen her do something different; I would have liked a story played out less like a soap opera ('please!') with outward helplessness being expressed, and a bit more exposition on her thoughts rather than her actions. I liked the way the man's voice softened 'for a millisecond before returning to the blandness' - this was an interesting thing for her to notice. Things like these - the little things that you notice in a snap second when something crazy is happening - thses are the things that leap out to us; they both heighten the drama and detract from it and provide a brief respite.

Her eyes felt dry and stuffy now, almost like they were hardening.

I didn't like the fact she cried - too womanish, too breakdownish - but I definitely like the above line - dry and stuffy; what an intriguing way to describe her eyes! And 'hardening' worked too.

She felt it then. It started out as a whisper, as soft as a breeze. It will make you feel better, it said. Make all of this, all the suffering and pain, go away. Soon, it had grown into an itch, and then a rash, until her entire body felt it. She needed it. She wanted it. She had to have it.

Walking over to the small wooden table at the center of the kitchen, she picked up her purse, shoving her wallet into it and grapping her keys, her house ones; she no longer needed her car keys. She had a spare in the car, which was probably why they hadn’t asked for them. She lifted her purse off the table, revealing her 5-year chip. She went to pick it up, but hesitated.

For God's sake, don’t do this! What about the kids? Why would you throw away all that you’ve accomplished? she thought, but her resistance crumbled as quickly as it appeared.

For someone who hasn't read the character description from before, this is plain confusing. I realised, upon rereading it, that to someone coming into this without that background knowledge about her, they'd find it hard to comprehend her instability, her lack of judgement, her rashness and ability to tip over the edge at something as little as a tow away of the car.

The first para above was clunky - both because an outside reader mightn't understand what 'it' is - the thing she needs (drugs, I'm guessing). And it's weird that she thinks about the kids almost like an afterthought - again, it'd be easier to comprehend her selfishness if we had more of a background of where she was coming from, but since we have nothing, it's bizarre.

Here might be a good place to put in a flashback .

The end...was not as gripping as a beginning. In fact, the whole story was a bit of a slow downhill anticlimatic hopeless resolution - I enjoyed reading it all; just saying that by the time it was the end, I didn't feel close enough to Carla - or her son - to identify with her, to actually care about what would become of her.

I'd be very interested in knowing where this goes, and what changes you make to it. From the assignment point-of-view, I don't think that the repossession of the car and the mother-child fight were slotted in as neatly as they could have been; more like a bit of an imposed domino effect going on - think about merging him into the repo scene as well instead of introducing us to him at the end. It almost made it seem like it was tacked on.

PM me if you have further questions, or would like me to take another look at it. I hope this has been of help, and I'd be happy to assist you further .

Okay, so I really don't have huge plans for this. Like I said, it's for a characterization camp. Basically the person helping me is giving me assignments and I am suppose to do them. They then look it over and give me pointers on how to improve. I decided that I would post it on here as well, just for the heck of it. Thank you for that amazing review.

-Kanen