September 15, 2020 Week three blog Provocative ideas . Sketch the beginning of a story, establish your character from the very first line

Connection: Claire

The desire for efficiency made Claire number the boxes. #1 kitchen utensils. There was not much, but no sense leaving it behind. #2, #3, #4 were filled with books and, sensibly, she put separated paperwork in #5 and #6. Neatly wrapping in pages of saved newspaper small framed pictures of Paris and Madrid with the children smiling, Claire protectively positioned them in another box. Half-way through packing up her life in two oversized grey Samsonite suitcases which, in their previous existence, had sailed on conveyor belts at the airport for trips to Prague and London, were now tasked with transporting the inanimate objects that had made up the last 18 years of Claire’s life, Claire Michaels was folding the clothes meticulously, patiently. Businesslike, eyes focused on her work, Claire arranged the identical boxes by the door in a satisfactory stack of completion. Assessing her work, she breathed out and let go of something rolling around in her body. She pushed back the blond wisps sticking to her sweaty face with nervous fingers and unbent her legs.

Claire had stood up, looking down at her mother’s grave 10 years earlier on a snowy weekday in January. Family members stood talking, hushed inside a chapel lit too brightly. She looked at the cardboard tower propped at the door and let go. Gradually letting go when her mother died was a cold, deep tightening in her shoulders that grounded her. Letting go of a place where she had had her children, argued, slept and eaten, lifted her away from the floor. She separated items by sector, mentally genuflecting with reverence to memories, her movements deliberate and purposefully dispossessing time and space. She was rising into the air.

Week Three Provocative Ideas. Establish your character from the very first line, what he or she wants, obstacles. The plot grows from the central conflict,

It was James’ turn to talk. Elisabeth was furious. It had been his fault entirely, though Marley had been an event he had no control over. What did he value in Elisabeth? James searched his mind. She was an excellent mother to the kids. This was a credible answer, it was the first thing he on the list and he recited it until it took on a life of its own. She was foremost a mother. Elisabeth stayed with him because of the kids. That is what Marley told Elisabeth James had said to her. Their marriage had been transactional. Maybe that was the thing he should say now, but that would be counterproductive. James’ focus was on being collaborative during the sessions with the therapist.

Marley’s things accumulated in the efficiency he had rented for a one-year internship with the hospital in Denver, leaving Elisabeth and the kids at home halfway across the country. It was the furthest place from his mind when he had applied to seven medical programs for a position. He was one slot shy of being accepted for positions at both Duke and in Baltimore. The position in New York confirmed the outgoing surgeon, who revoked his resignation after a pay increase. James had been shooting for the stars at Stanford, the competition to get in there was notorious, but he was second on the waiting list. If two people on the list accepted other offers, he would be in. Normally getting that close at a place like Stanford would be an achievement James could silently celebrate, but in the here and now it added to the cumulative predicament of unemployment and not furthering his education. Naturally, no one renounced their spot at Stanford. It was a two-fold whack to his future. At a program at a clinic in Vermont with an excellent reputation James came third on the list, but, they told him, they had changed the program structure due to unforeseen cost cuts and the position he was awarded had been eliminated. The hospital placed him first for the openings the following year. Positions in Chicago and Atlanta went the same way. He had not been looking forward to Atlanta, but Chicago would have been perfect. James thought it was surreal that he kept his wits, looking up any program that still had an opening this late in the game no matter where it was, no matter the pay, as long as he could specialize in retinal surgery. Elisabeth was furious then too. Why didn’t he just stop, why didn’t he just start work as a general surgeon? That was good enough. Enough studying. When were they ever going to get on with their lives? This was divine intervention and a sign that he was supposed to start working. No. She did not say it was divine intervention, but James remembered it that way. He thought of Elisabeth putting the kids, eight, seven and four, to bed. Someone was always sick or in need of comforting. Elisabeth fell asleep in bed with them, exhausted and when she woke up it was morning, at first, she apologized groggily but quickly turned angry if James brought it up. The kids were her shield and armour for anything she did not want to discuss.

Where Marley had come in was another piece in the puzzle of James trying to get along. Not that he would say that to anybody. He took accountability for his actions and sought out a marriage therapist. Elisabeth spewed. James accepted her fury, she had a right. Marley had started to come over and leave a few things behind each time. After two weeks it looked like she lived there. Elisabeth cut him off, he was making excuses. James was six foot three, but he shrank inside and let her talk.

On the way to the appointment with the therapist, James drove past the lake and watched a runner in the early morning mist. He followed the rhythmic pace and frosty breath exuding from the runner in puffs against the sunrise. Run. He had never contemplated running. His father had run away. They were diametrical opposites. His father had run away metaphorically. He had drunk himself out of a job and out of self-esteem. It was a sad race to the finish to see a man, who was at his best when he was easy-going and playful, wrangle for success and fall short, then struggle to pick himself up but fall asleep before dinner after draining half a bottle of vodka in the course of the afternoon while attempting to send out resumés. He did not run away, but there was not much difference. One time his father had come home in the middle of the day. Entering the house from the garage he angrily shoved the garage door to the hallway open with a jerk. 9-year-old James was bending over the shoe mat, putting on his sneakers. The door hit him on the head, his father went downstairs grumbling. He never saw the boy in the corner behind the door.

James continued to go to appointments with the therapist when Elisabeth stopped. Elisabeth had lost weight. It was too much for her to take on with three kids. James let it go, after all, she was an excellent mother and motherhood had been the condition she placed on getting married. James had wanted children too and he thought it was sweet that she would be so adamant about an easy win over this specific conversation. James continued seeing a marriage therapist as one half of a couple, while the other half stayed at home, unable to wrest one hour a week from her schedule. Shortly after, Elisabeth found a job. That was the end of it. Now she really did not have time to chatter at counselling sessions. She worked in the records department at the university and was responsible for vetting new doctors at the hospital. She found a stride in it all and the rage ebbed.

That was 10 years ago. James slowed the car down to a crawl and watched the runner bobbing on the path, his shadow following him. There was a park bench and he found parking. James sat on the wet park bench and let the dew leach into his clothes. He was on his way to the lawyer, anti-depressants in his pocket. They had been prescribed by a psychiatrist the day before and he still wrestled with what to do with them. No matter. A prescription for anti-depressants would provide him with a partial defence in support of a future resignation from his position as head of surgery at the hospital. Elisabeth’s lawyer would try to sue if he gave the appearance of trying to reduce the permanent spousal support they were requesting, that was a given. The swishing sound of the runner’s soft motion was delayed by the cold air. James looked up instinctively. The runner gave a two-finger salute and smiled with familiarity. The runner passed, James stood, the airstream pulling him along the track. James walked behind the puffs of breath and wet shoe tracks, filling his lungs with air, footfall timed with his heartbeat.