Villains Readers Love to Hate

http://writermag.com/Articles/2001/01/Villains%20readers%20love%20to%20hate.aspx

     This article, written by Tess Collins on January 10, 2001, gives some tips of the trade of creating the perfect villain that readers love to hate. Simply slapping an evil trademark on some outline of a man won't really stir the emotional side of any reader. To be an antagonist takes skill! To be a well developed character is difficult! To be grayscale instead of black and white is talent! So, here we go...I will become Victor Frankentstein and create my own villain out of remains of other protagonists, antagonists, and a little bit of magic called "words."

     Connor Rouge, a highly complex fellow with a positive past but a tragic prior event that changed his life forever. Upon the surface he is a sinister male with no affection toward any female partner or anyone for that matter but deep down he has a soft side, one much like an oyster. Olivia Martin, a victim of this tale that falls helplessly in love with Connor despite his lack of humane actions. Connor disregards Olivia as another woman and goes about his merry way without a care in the world. Olivia is crushed, heartbroken, the protagonist with everything going with her and the tragic past to enhance the empathy.
    
     Connor, being the evil and malicious man that he is, goes around town and dates as he wish, frollicing in the fruits of the single life. Of course the reader (if this were ever a well developed story) feels awful for Olivia, what a poor girl, with a poor past, with a poor situation of being head over heels. And, well, since the reader has no idea what Connor's past is all about or even that he had a past, hates the charming young man, his smooth ways, and ease with manipulating women to fall at his feet.

     Connor is not a regular guy though, his actions are completely unpredictable and completely untrustworthy. This adds a slight bit of suspense with what Connor has to say and as the past of Connor slowly is revealed the audience begins to want to know more and want to sympathize for him but simply can't because of all the malicious things he has done to Olivia. Wonderful! A character people just love to hate...evil, sporatic, but sympathetic! The creation is ready to start to live his life, just add a jolt of electricy and we have our very own Frankenstein-ish monster.

     I think this calls for a short story...don't you?!

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   She sat alone at a coffee table just studying. per usual, three text books stacked high on one side, planners and calendars on the other side, and notebooks in front. Typical Olivia, chugging down a quick fix of a triple espresso to quench the thirst of sleep deprivation. Hardly has she ever noticed the characters around her, even the usuals like the woman adorned in kitten sweaters, the two hipster teens in love, or even the shy man in the corner with darting eyes. Today was no other; it wasn't particularly bright, not stormy, not even a day of great importance on the calendar. Far into a discussion analysis Olivia paused for a moment and signed her name in the corner, Olivia Martin, oh what a basic name she thought. Just as she was about to dive into another few paragraphs a cup of coffee was placed in the only empty spot on the tiny table nearly a half inch away from the precious essay. Startled she looked up to see a handsome man, a few years older, smiling down. "Thought you could use a lift." Without looking back he just strolled on out.
     There was a number on the side of the cup and Olivia smiled to herself at the horrible invitation for a conversation. Regardless she drank the pick-up thankfully and continued with her studies but found herself looking at the number scrawled on there time and time again. Just as she was about to take her things and leave she hastily decided to write the number on the top of her folder. She thought about the man on her walk back to her apartment. He had on a simple black tee shirt, no logos, jeans that were a little frayed on the bottom. She remembered vividly light brown hair, maybe blonde in the summer time and a few freckles. His eyes didn't really sparkle, they seemed to burn like little gold orbs under a wise temple.

Okay, I think it's time we pause here. AH! Can you say "mini-series?"

Imagine Me and You

Again, this is within the same task given a title that we have to roll with (see "Feels Like Home" and "The Perks of Being a Wallflower).

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Imagine Me and You

            “Imagine me and you running outside naked.” Swig. The liquid slammed the side of the bottle as the neck hit her lips and the spirits hit her head. I let out an intoxicated giggle as I pictured two inebriated teens gallivanting around the block. Dear Captain Morgan was passed my way.

            “Imagine me and you riding on the back of a dinosaur.” Lift, tip, chug. The rusty colored liquid rushed down my throat, stinging my eyes but warming my body. I sat the bottle down and laughed at my own thought. Criss-crossed she sat, or more so swayed, a light-headed buzz overtook my thoughts as I looked her way.

            “Imagine me and you in ten years.” She said this with a slight sadness the liquor couldn’t hide.

            “Best friends as we’ve always been” This was our last night together before we head out separate ways.

            She was so beautiful, even with her hair in a state of disaster but her eyes never ceased to shimmer, even in the dim lighting of my basement, the same basement where we met for “Little Meg” had the chicken pox and poor “Billy Willy” hadn’t gotten them yet.

            Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes was too far of a distance to let the night slip away into many others. The bottle was pushed aside, by her or me I can’t recall, such a blur. Soft skin, smooth lips, and a rush of blood to the head…a chance finally grasped.

Now, I know this can be better but again, just a writing task. If I really wanted to improve it I would change probably some sentence structures to make it fit better. Meh, it still got the job done in the end!

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This was a short writing task where we were able to chose from a list of titles of songs, books, movies, etc. "Feels Like Home" (from An Introduction: The Sequel) was from the same writing task. Enjoy

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

            “Gabrielle, my dear! Oh how that sun blesses your skin so! Oft have those ringlets graced those flushed cheeks and today it is no less divine!”

            There were no butterflies, no dizzy head, and no ache of desire. Ah, the perks of being a wallflower. Gabrielle sat in the light autumn breeze, basking in the clearing of trees with a suitor. She looked into the distance, beyond the leaves, past the ravine, through the everglades and gazed into the ever ebbing sea of thoughts and twisted emotions, perhaps a lack there of.

            No emotions gripped her heart as she softly heard there woos of her future husband. “Oh Gabrielle, whose amber eyes are so pure…” The simplicity of that statement stirred a complexity in her mind. She was reminded of her dear friend, Miss Olivia, whose heart swayed like the trees, whose love flowed in her veins life the ravine, and whose affair has become as complex as the everglades’ ever-changing bristles.

            Miss Olivia was not pure. As day lit up the perfect expressions and serenity of a charming woman, the night shadowed the actions of a forbidden mingle. Oft her heart beat for another and oft were her cheeks streaming with salty tears, flowing freely of a distressed girl, tied into a tangle web of a lover.

            Ah, the perks of being a beautiful wallflower. Gabrielle found her hand being clasped by a gentleman in the changing season. Not a care in the world as a necklace was placed around her neck and a locket perched on her bosom, one that complimented her corset ever so slightly. Forever shall Gabrielle be a wallflower.

Cigarette Dispenser

This was an assignment where we were allowed to pick an object from a show and write about it. In an episode of some "junk" show there were two cigarette dispensers and this is what came of it.

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     She brushed a curl out of her hair as she pranced her way onto the floor. The smell of lipstick clung to her nose, unfamiliar to her just like the fake eyelashes interfering ever so slightly with her peripheral vision. She was quickly whisked away, hand in hand and another on her hip, and a lit up smile that could outshine the sun spread across her face. The beat of the drums crashed through her body, the big band trumpets gave a chill up her spine and the sultry sound of those saxophones put her hairs on end. This is exactly why she crept out at night. This is exactly why she risked it all for a few nights of freedom to just dance the night away.

     The smokey room was dense with laughter, a noise never heard above ground. Ciggy’s were seen in the clasps of  every hand and the gin mill was overflowing with hooch and it was evident that the spirits were indeed flying, in more ways than one. Couple’s weren’t closing bank’s and they were sure cashing in for underground no one had to snub their crushes. This sure wasn’t the only juice joint around, they were being busted left and right but this was definitely the best kept secret. Rita knew that the man she ran into wasn’t any ole’ drugstore cowboy looking for some dolled up dame, he was a real classy guy who looked quite darb and looked like he was going places, the big cheese.

     The first number was over and Rita bid farewell to her first dancing partner and strolled across the floor over to the bar where some bell bottoms stood, looking fine in their uniforms. She wasn’t a bug-eyed Betty but it was the first night on the job, all she cared about was the dance. Rita made her way around the men and moved to the side of the bar where a cigarette dispenser stood, it was something never really seen apart from these hidden speakeasies and she had a craving to blend in with the crowd. 

     Her heels clicked against the wooden floor but it couldn’t be heard above all the chatter, everyone was beating their gums. As she approached the machine she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around there was a man smiling at her, a keen fella with probably enough dough to be a sugar-daddy. 

     “Hey there little lady, mind if I take the tab on that hope chest?” She stepped aside and made room for the man to reach over and slide some coins through the slot, push the button and lean over to grab the pack of cigarettes. She could smell the fragarance of spirits and pricy  cologne as he brushed by but it was a faint smell, easily over powered by all of the other smells in the small dingy parlour.

     With an underlying charm he handed her the pack and eyed her up. She wasn’t too interested in any one night stand, she was offered a job as a dancer to ring in more customers and sell more bootleg, not to have a fling and forever have the reputation of being a dumb Dora. Women weren’t supposed to act like her, they weren’t supposed to have colored lips, short hair, and even shorter dresses. It was in the house they belonged, good religious mothers forever bound by society’s want and need of regulators as the men go drink their troubles away. Rita wouldn’t have that, she escapes the invisible shakles of that thought and is breaking the rules, cursing prohibition indirectly and defying everyone’s thought of “Good Rita.”

     She looked at the pack of cigarettes and smiled, not taking them though but led him to the bar with smoldering eyes. This was the true test though, she knew she could make him buy some hooch, she knew she had the curves to tempt any man to do any bidding and this was exactly what she was hired for.

An Introduction: The Sequel

Upon further review I guess I really should add some tidbits about my actual writing style instead of just saying "Hey, read it and figure it out for yourself kid."
So here goes some examples!

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Crash

Three shoes. Three shoes are the sole items I can see. Three shoes are the sole items I can bare to see. Three shoes within a five foot radius that my eyes stay within. Two were his, one was hers. He had laces, laces I taught him to tie, laces whose ends were frayed, whose frayed ends were held in his hands, those tiny hands, those tiny hands that once held my hand. Hers were Velcro. I’d never get the chance to teach her how to tie the frayed ends. Hers were red, she loved red, her eyes would brighten at the sight of red, those gorgeous eyes that would once look up to me in wonder. There was a siren in the distance, smudged lights in the corners of my eyes, something wet rolling down my face and a pain in my heart greater than the force of impact that took my angels.

Sorry that wasn't exactly the happiest story on the face of the planet but I love writing fiction. Every nonfiction assignment I get I will turn into a fictional story...well at least in my head. Another example!

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Feels Like Home

Unfamiliarity. Charred carpet. Soot, ashes, dust. It was all too quick, all too much, all too unexpected. There was no threshold, no welcoming, just the smell of stale embers. Step after step and crunch after crunch. Broken glass had scattered the floor, a melted chair sat in the corner. The worn marks had vanished, the broken and split seams had disappeared and the indent of generation in the cushion had slipped away into nothing. A moment of eyes closed brought a lifetime of tears shed. The cane's aid was dampened by a soft layer of filth and by an even softer sob. Children, grandchildren, and those from before, all was lost in an instant of flames, all but the feeling of home.

Again, sorry that wasn't happy. I do write happier things! Trust me! Those two short stories are ones that I personally enjoyed writing...as odd as it sounds. Sad song on loop? Check. Dull and dim lighting? Check. Lack of contact with the human race? Check. I feel like Henry David Thoreau listening to the lovesick song of a morning dove when I'm cooped up and on a mission. However, if there is one person who has mastered the art of bringing a reader to tears it is my sister. Miss Malynda Mae once read me a short story and literally brought me to tears. I have much to learn and she's had years of practice but that is definitely a feat that I want to accomplish, complete emotional control via text. Well, hello aspirations, meet your doom. 

An Introductory of Sorts

Oh! Ohey there! Didn't see you there.
So, I'm not really sure what to expect any more than you do. I can't really predict how I will write or what I will write about so let's just wing it. Let's start with "Getting to know Alex Jackson."
1. I've been skiing since I was 6...yup, wittle Awex was a wee skiing machine.
2. I've been playing the cello since 4th grade and I wouldn't dare part from it now!
3. I did play drums at one point and I still practice but that is dying in me, meh, oh well.
4. I'm excited that Webster thinks "meh" is a word now.
5. Look it up if you don't believe me.
6. I swam competitively from 5th to 12th grade.
7. I've been in track since 7th grade and would love to continue it in college.
8. I'm attending UW Eau-Claire for secondary English education...aka, high school teacher, I'm a fool.
9. If not that I really want to study architecture. Mmm, look at those buttresses.
10. I'm too busy, social, and sarcastic for my own good.
11. My favorite color is yellow.
12. Favorite band? Silly of you to ask...impossible to say!
13. I eat like an overweight man who had been deprived of food for a few hours, attractive, aye?
14. I work at Spencer's Gifts at Southridge Mall as a sales associate, it is such an interesting job, no joke.
15. I have two wonderful parents that are high school sweethearts, a lovely sister who lives in Chicago, a pet snake named Baxter, and the cutest dog named Agatha Christie (Aggie for short).

Well, we'll take a break from those tidbits of information since there is other information in the convenient side bar, yesss.

Since this blog was created for a class I should probably say a few words about my actual writing. In these blogs I'll have to complete certain tasks while making it "my best writing." This first assignment was to introduce ourselves and/or how/what we'll be writing about. I'll probably dabble in a few different styles of writing because I like to just try new things...it's a blessing and a curse! Well, enjoy!