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First scene draft, more notes:
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Scene # 1, Draft # 1:
Benson sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. He had five minutes to prepare himself mentally for the meeting with Sanders. He's been such a pain lately, always over idiotic stuff. I can't wait until he retires or I get transferred. Benson's thoughts rambled. Glancing at the calendar, he realized in less than two months the government would observe the 35th anniversary of September 11th and the attacks on the Twin Towers. So much had changed since then, and little of it for the better.
Knowing that Sanders demanded punctuality, Benson eased himself out of his chair and walked quietly down the hall to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and straightened his tie, the sounds echoing off the tile walls, the smell of ammonia faint. Looking in the mirror he noticed his hair getting grayer, the lines around his eyes getting deeper. His mustache, once a subtle masculine feature now drooped, its edges ragged. He steeled himself for the confrontation.
A minute later he was standing outside the door to Sanders' office, the best room in the building. Cozy, tidy, warm and no peeling paint on the walls, it actually was a throwback to better times compared to most of the run-down offices where he now spent his time. He knocked lightly on the door frame.
“Good morning Mr. Sanders. Ready for our meeting?”
“Yes, Benson. Come in and sit down. We've got quite a bit of ground to cover today, but before we go over your latest audit reports I'd like to talk to you about that incident last week in Pocatello.”
“I believe I gave the security team all the pertinent information,” said Benson. “I had no idea that that man Gilmore was involved in the black market.”
“That's not important Benson. It reflects poorly on our agency and your judgment.” Sanders reached over and picked up a red pen and began marking on the report, put the pen down, picked up a blue pen and made some additional marks. He was always fidgeting with those damn pens, thought Benson, as if he can't sit still or he's compelled to give the impression of efficiency. What a twit.
“I try to be friendly with the Outlanders,” said Benson. “I find they open up a bit more and will provide accurate numbers of their resources, if I don't come across as too threatening.”
“You've been trained in how to deal with these people,” retorted Sanders, “and that includes being able to sniff out the outlaws and determine if illegal activity is taking place. Auditing is hardly rocket science. You should've known that this guy was trouble and when the security team showed up you should not have intervened and tried to prevent them from doing their job.” Sanders highlighted a sentence. “Now the whole damn thing got blown up since they ended up having to shoot Gilmore. Good thing he died so he can't file a complaint. Not that we would care.” Sanders smiled, his eyes blank. It was like him to think this sort of thing was funny.
“My apologies, sir. I'll try to be more vigilant in the future, and report on the criminals.” Benson considered using the term low-life, but the term choked in his throat. Gilmore had actually been a pretty good guy, with a hearty laugh and well liked by his friends.
“See that you do that.” Sanders picked up the top report. “Now it says here that the farmers in Zone G, section 12 were supposed to harvest 245 thousand bushels of wheat, but the sums from the grain silos only tally up to 239 thousand. How do you explain the shortfall?”
Gilmore would probably quip something about a rounding error. Benson meekly said, “I'm not sure sir, but I understand some fall rains hampered the harvest.”
“Benson, I'm sure getting tired of these excuses. We're missing 6000 bushels.”
“Sorry sir.” Benson was resigned to just sit there and take it. He was unsure what was going to happen next.
“All right, I'll make some more notes and expect a response by Friday. I'll have them to you later today.”
Benson refrained from sighing. Great, more useless paperwork.
“In the meantime, here's a request from security on the incident last week. You need to prepare that report, and will need to track down some information on Gilmore. I also need that done by Friday. That will be all.”
Benson left the office, now fuming inside, but trying not to show it. He started to fantasize about how to get security from Pocatello to show up at their office and get Sanders cut down in some inadvertent crossfire. Then resigned to protocol, he numbly returned to his office.
Sanders picked up his telephone. “Hey chief, I think we might have an opening for your nephew in our branch before too long. I got an older guy, an auditor, that will be leaving soon – via transfer or firing.”
He hung up the phone, and smiled again. Checking his calendar, he saw a late afternoon appointment with another flunky that had to go. Sanders didn't want a smart-ass Mexican on his team, always spouting off about his great wife, two kids and his love for Jesus. He would get this branch ship-shape shortly.
Benson hoisted another mug of beer to his lips, drinking a big gulp, grimacing from the sharp hops and motioned to the bartender.
“Need a shot of that Canadian whiskey liquor, if you have got any left. Then I'm heading out. I'm bushed.”
The man seated next to Benson turned, his bar stool creaking. “Okay, now if we talk about this potential group that might want to be open to your information, and maybe open to meeting up with you, how much is that worth?”
Hiller's eyes gleamed and he rumbled his short grey whiskers. He was trying to figure out how much Benson could afford, and how to gloss over the dangers of contacting GLOW. Working them would be tricky. He knew their methods of retaliation were brutal, swift and sure. Nobody crossed them and lived to enjoy it.
“What's the name of this group again?” Benson's voice was low and ragged, with late day pain seeping into his bones.
“They call themselves GLOW - God Only Loves Warriors. They're in the foothills and mountains just east of Sandpoint. Don't worry about their motivation - they're honest, but fierce. They'd love to have a government insider providing them intel.”
*****************************
More thoughts on answers to questions:
Benson does not have any nickname, he is approximately 50 years old, born in Topeka Kansas. His role is a government employee in what used to be the Department of Homeland security, and his job is auditing resources in the outer lands.
He is 50 years old, a United States citizen, weight average, of Scottish ancestry, with green eyes, gray hair and medium build. He's 6 feet tall with a medium skin tone. He dresses casually as a typical government employee, in old and frayed uniforms and lower-priced clothing. He has some characteristics and some mannerisms, but I'm not sure what they are. His background is that he was an enlisted mechanic in the military, who retired and then went to work for the government.
Because of his work as a mechanic and his knowledge of many different things, he was trained to be an auditor. So his education in school finished with high school, but he has received extensive training in the military and for his government position since then. His current occupation is auditor. As far as traits go will have to think about that. Internal conflicts are something that he is now beginning to have, because he sees the abuse of the government and the tyranny that it holds over the regular citizens and outlanders.. He has external conflicts with this and his boss, but he has no fears. He is a widower with no children, in good health but having difficulty finding a reason and a purpose in his life. His desires are to find a new purpose and he's finding that the idea of rebelling against the government may motivate him.
Benson's home is in the ruins of the city formally known as Portland. His workplace is a revamped office building down near the Willamete River, and next to a burned out church. His other hangouts in the Portland area include other government facilities, the shopping bazaar and farmers market, and of course a couple of low-end bars.
As far as Benson's back story goes, it wasn't until his wife died that he started to go through a sort of a mid to late life crisis. Will have to add in a few things to figure out exactly how he got to where he is today.
*****************************
Questions from Earlier Exercise:
So I completed the first exercise, with the content here:
https://drhooves.dreamwidth.org/647.
A couple of comments. Love the "non-thinking" brain dump for generating ideas. I find that about 20% or so has useful content, and flushing the other 80% leaves me fresh for new stuff. Or so it seems.
The other thing is that Rule # 1 is something I had to get used to when writing fiction. With a long technical career behind me, I'd gotten into the habit of simply tweaking list-generated emails, procedures and technical documents. Fiction doesn't get created with nearly the same rigid approach. It's been painful, but I'm learning to "embrace the re-write...."
And now for the questions. I've settled on a tale about a government employee named Benson who snaps, and kills his supervisor. (probably something many of us can relate to).
1. What causes Benson to snap? How fast or slow is the process getting to that point?
2. What justifies his action, if anything?
3. What timeframe does the story take place? (near future?)
4. What are Benson's duties?
5. What other characters should be in the story?
6. What's the moral, or arc?
7. Is the supervisor a bad guy, a good guy, or something in between?
8. What other storylines/subplots go along with the story?
9. Is Benson mentally ill, or perfectly lucid? Meds?
10. What is Benson's backstory?
******************************
Scene # 1, Draft # 1:
Benson sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. He had five minutes to prepare himself mentally for the meeting with Sanders. He's been such a pain lately, always over idiotic stuff. I can't wait until he retires or I get transferred. Benson's thoughts rambled. Glancing at the calendar, he realized in less than two months the government would observe the 35th anniversary of September 11th and the attacks on the Twin Towers. So much had changed since then, and little of it for the better.
Knowing that Sanders demanded punctuality, Benson eased himself out of his chair and walked quietly down the hall to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and straightened his tie, the sounds echoing off the tile walls, the smell of ammonia faint. Looking in the mirror he noticed his hair getting grayer, the lines around his eyes getting deeper. His mustache, once a subtle masculine feature now drooped, its edges ragged. He steeled himself for the confrontation.
A minute later he was standing outside the door to Sanders' office, the best room in the building. Cozy, tidy, warm and no peeling paint on the walls, it actually was a throwback to better times compared to most of the run-down offices where he now spent his time. He knocked lightly on the door frame.
“Good morning Mr. Sanders. Ready for our meeting?”
“Yes, Benson. Come in and sit down. We've got quite a bit of ground to cover today, but before we go over your latest audit reports I'd like to talk to you about that incident last week in Pocatello.”
“I believe I gave the security team all the pertinent information,” said Benson. “I had no idea that that man Gilmore was involved in the black market.”
“That's not important Benson. It reflects poorly on our agency and your judgment.” Sanders reached over and picked up a red pen and began marking on the report, put the pen down, picked up a blue pen and made some additional marks. He was always fidgeting with those damn pens, thought Benson, as if he can't sit still or he's compelled to give the impression of efficiency. What a twit.
“I try to be friendly with the Outlanders,” said Benson. “I find they open up a bit more and will provide accurate numbers of their resources, if I don't come across as too threatening.”
“You've been trained in how to deal with these people,” retorted Sanders, “and that includes being able to sniff out the outlaws and determine if illegal activity is taking place. Auditing is hardly rocket science. You should've known that this guy was trouble and when the security team showed up you should not have intervened and tried to prevent them from doing their job.” Sanders highlighted a sentence. “Now the whole damn thing got blown up since they ended up having to shoot Gilmore. Good thing he died so he can't file a complaint. Not that we would care.” Sanders smiled, his eyes blank. It was like him to think this sort of thing was funny.
“My apologies, sir. I'll try to be more vigilant in the future, and report on the criminals.” Benson considered using the term low-life, but the term choked in his throat. Gilmore had actually been a pretty good guy, with a hearty laugh and well liked by his friends.
“See that you do that.” Sanders picked up the top report. “Now it says here that the farmers in Zone G, section 12 were supposed to harvest 245 thousand bushels of wheat, but the sums from the grain silos only tally up to 239 thousand. How do you explain the shortfall?”
Gilmore would probably quip something about a rounding error. Benson meekly said, “I'm not sure sir, but I understand some fall rains hampered the harvest.”
“Benson, I'm sure getting tired of these excuses. We're missing 6000 bushels.”
“Sorry sir.” Benson was resigned to just sit there and take it. He was unsure what was going to happen next.
“All right, I'll make some more notes and expect a response by Friday. I'll have them to you later today.”
Benson refrained from sighing. Great, more useless paperwork.
“In the meantime, here's a request from security on the incident last week. You need to prepare that report, and will need to track down some information on Gilmore. I also need that done by Friday. That will be all.”
Benson left the office, now fuming inside, but trying not to show it. He started to fantasize about how to get security from Pocatello to show up at their office and get Sanders cut down in some inadvertent crossfire. Then resigned to protocol, he numbly returned to his office.
Sanders picked up his telephone. “Hey chief, I think we might have an opening for your nephew in our branch before too long. I got an older guy, an auditor, that will be leaving soon – via transfer or firing.”
He hung up the phone, and smiled again. Checking his calendar, he saw a late afternoon appointment with another flunky that had to go. Sanders didn't want a smart-ass Mexican on his team, always spouting off about his great wife, two kids and his love for Jesus. He would get this branch ship-shape shortly.
Benson hoisted another mug of beer to his lips, drinking a big gulp, grimacing from the sharp hops and motioned to the bartender.
“Need a shot of that Canadian whiskey liquor, if you have got any left. Then I'm heading out. I'm bushed.”
The man seated next to Benson turned, his bar stool creaking. “Okay, now if we talk about this potential group that might want to be open to your information, and maybe open to meeting up with you, how much is that worth?”
Hiller's eyes gleamed and he rumbled his short grey whiskers. He was trying to figure out how much Benson could afford, and how to gloss over the dangers of contacting GLOW. Working them would be tricky. He knew their methods of retaliation were brutal, swift and sure. Nobody crossed them and lived to enjoy it.
“What's the name of this group again?” Benson's voice was low and ragged, with late day pain seeping into his bones.
“They call themselves GLOW - God Only Loves Warriors. They're in the foothills and mountains just east of Sandpoint. Don't worry about their motivation - they're honest, but fierce. They'd love to have a government insider providing them intel.”
*****************************
More thoughts on answers to questions:
Benson does not have any nickname, he is approximately 50 years old, born in Topeka Kansas. His role is a government employee in what used to be the Department of Homeland security, and his job is auditing resources in the outer lands.
He is 50 years old, a United States citizen, weight average, of Scottish ancestry, with green eyes, gray hair and medium build. He's 6 feet tall with a medium skin tone. He dresses casually as a typical government employee, in old and frayed uniforms and lower-priced clothing. He has some characteristics and some mannerisms, but I'm not sure what they are. His background is that he was an enlisted mechanic in the military, who retired and then went to work for the government.
Because of his work as a mechanic and his knowledge of many different things, he was trained to be an auditor. So his education in school finished with high school, but he has received extensive training in the military and for his government position since then. His current occupation is auditor. As far as traits go will have to think about that. Internal conflicts are something that he is now beginning to have, because he sees the abuse of the government and the tyranny that it holds over the regular citizens and outlanders.. He has external conflicts with this and his boss, but he has no fears. He is a widower with no children, in good health but having difficulty finding a reason and a purpose in his life. His desires are to find a new purpose and he's finding that the idea of rebelling against the government may motivate him.
Benson's home is in the ruins of the city formally known as Portland. His workplace is a revamped office building down near the Willamete River, and next to a burned out church. His other hangouts in the Portland area include other government facilities, the shopping bazaar and farmers market, and of course a couple of low-end bars.
As far as Benson's back story goes, it wasn't until his wife died that he started to go through a sort of a mid to late life crisis. Will have to add in a few things to figure out exactly how he got to where he is today.
*****************************
Questions from Earlier Exercise:
So I completed the first exercise, with the content here:
https://drhooves.dreamwidth.org/647.
A couple of comments. Love the "non-thinking" brain dump for generating ideas. I find that about 20% or so has useful content, and flushing the other 80% leaves me fresh for new stuff. Or so it seems.
The other thing is that Rule # 1 is something I had to get used to when writing fiction. With a long technical career behind me, I'd gotten into the habit of simply tweaking list-generated emails, procedures and technical documents. Fiction doesn't get created with nearly the same rigid approach. It's been painful, but I'm learning to "embrace the re-write...."
And now for the questions. I've settled on a tale about a government employee named Benson who snaps, and kills his supervisor. (probably something many of us can relate to).
1. What causes Benson to snap? How fast or slow is the process getting to that point?
2. What justifies his action, if anything?
3. What timeframe does the story take place? (near future?)
4. What are Benson's duties?
5. What other characters should be in the story?
6. What's the moral, or arc?
7. Is the supervisor a bad guy, a good guy, or something in between?
8. What other storylines/subplots go along with the story?
9. Is Benson mentally ill, or perfectly lucid? Meds?
10. What is Benson's backstory?
