Side characters are the subject of Episode 8.4, which is definitely something I could use help with. I usually have a decent idea of my main characters, but everybody else tends to just show up on their own, and I don't know too much about them until they start taking over the narrative. It's something that I could definitely afford to work on a bit more, so that I can get a better handle on who is in the stories I write, at least to begin with. What happens after they show up, well, that tends to be less under my control than would probably be considered healthy.
Writing prompt: The Hero of the Most Boring Story Ever—your job is to make it interesting. (I'm going to cheat a little bit with regards to the "most boring story ever" aspect - I have a meditation app, Calm.com, that has sleep stories which are deliberately written to be the kind of thing that will help a person fall asleep. I'll riff on one of those.) I'm also just going to remind you all that this is draft zero, because this one is...not my favorite.
She was always inside by the time the sun started to set, watching through the window as the city began to slow down. The city she lived in was one that rolled up the streets after dark, so it wasn't unusual to have things slow down and get quiet after the evening dinner rush and the commute back home. Still, she sat in the window, waiting for the evening to roll in completely before she finally allowed herself to relax.
She kept a diary that listed all of the tasks that needed to be dealt with for the day, all of the different times she would need to interact with the world and things she would need to do in order to keep the precarious balance between her discomfort with the world around her and the things she was obligated to do in order to maintain the lifestyle she had cultivated so far. Her journal held doodles and drawings, proof that she had been outside of her apartment or at least, had seen things that hadn't been within the walls of her living space. It was as much a record of what she'd done as it was a list of things she needed to do.
Her list for the next day contained phone calls and a lunch with people she knew she would have to interact with, but she had no interest in doing any of it. She focused instead on the tasks like cleaning the kitchen, ordering her groceries, watering the various plants that breathed life into the small space. The lunch, in particular, made her anxious, but she knew it was the best way to keep her family and co-workers from worrying about her too much. If she made an appearance once or twice a month, then they wouldn't have need to come by her apartment unannounced again. An afternoon of discomfort was more than worth another month of peace.
Mentally aware of what she would need to approach the next day, she turned the page in her journal and began jotting down her thoughts for the day that had just passed. She'd made it through two in-person meetings and a phone call with a client, as well as an impromptu discussion with a co-worker who was determined to bring her "out of her shell." He didn't seem to understand that, like the turtle, if she came out of her shell completely, she would die. He was certain she was just shy, and just needed to allow herself to step outside her comfort zone and try to make friends with other people. She made sure to note his name and what department he worked in, so she could prepare herself for the next time she would need to be in his area and hopefully find someone else to communicate with there.
With a sigh of relief, she closed the journal and began the rituals of getting ready for bed. Choosing the appropriate soundtrack, lighting a scented candle, putting on the kettle for a cup of soothing tea - all the things that would help her close out the day and put a period at the end of the waking hours. It was her favorite portion of to day, and she tried to remind herself that the point was to calm her nerves and relax into sleep. Still, finishing the day and preparing for sleep was the most exciting part of her day, and she couldn't help but thrill with the joy of it. It wasn't until she went to bed that her life truly began, after all. Everything else was just window dressing, essentials she was forced into by the needs of her body for shelter and food. Her soul, her spirit? That needed only the night.
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