(What? Two posts in one day? I know! Don't get used to it.)
I'm starting something new now that 31 stories is winding down. I'm going through old episodes of the podcast Writing Excuses and listening to one episode at a time, then following the writing prompt given at the end of each episode. I had listened to the podcast regularly for a long time, but like so many other podcasts, I've fallen behind to the point of ridiculousness. (I'm not the best at keeping on top of things with regards to podcasts, but I'm also very fond of being complete in my listening habits, which makes for an interesting combination - I'm sitting at about 40 months' behind on most of my podcasts, for reference.)
To start this thing, episode 8.1, "Microcasting," has this writing prompt: What does SFPA stand for? (It figures that the first one I pick is one that's the hosts being smart asses, but what can I do?)
The old-fashioned phone rang on the wooden desk next to Sandra, who stared at it for about two rings before she sighed and picked it up. "Story Figure Placement Agency, this is Sandra, how can I help you?" Her voice was pure light and good customer service attentions, while her face remained cold, her brows drawn over her forehead. Around her, at several other desks just like hers, other women were answering their phones in a similar way, but only her face had such a sharp contrast to her tone of voice.
"Yes, hi, I'm working on a story?" The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, sounding young and like it wasn't entirely sure it knew how the interaction was supposed to go. Sandra struggled to keep her world-weary sigh from becoming audible over the phone. "My teacher gave me this number, because he said that I needed to get a character that could help diversify my cast, and you might be able to help me?" The expectant silence at the end of the last question was the verbal equivalent of lobbing a ball over a tennis net - a nice, slow ball that should be easy to return, if Sandra was willing to put in the least bit of effort.
Sandra was tempted to sit in silence and make the caller spell out their problem in detail, but she knew that would just make her boss more angry at her than she wanted. Suppressing another sigh, she pulled out her pen and notebook. "What kind of character traits are you looking for? That will give us a good start for our search."
"Oh, wow, thanks," the caller gushed. "So, like, I'm writing a story set in the inner city, and I need some people, you know, some people who know what it's like to live in the inner city." The voice remained hesitant, and the half a statement hung in the air, waiting for Sandra to pick up what the caller was laying down.
This was why she had problems with her job, she thought to herself. "Do you mean characters who live in the inner city of bigger cities? Characters who have experienced poverty and living paycheck to paycheck? Or characters who own large portions of the inner city and are thus the landlords for those other characters, and able to jack up the rents whenever they see fit?" Sandra's rent had just gone up another hundred dollars, and she wasn't happy about it. "You're going to need to give me a few more parameters before I'm able to help you fill that need."
"Oh, uh, sure! Yeah, that makes sense." The caller went silent, and Sandra began doodling on the notepad she kept beside her phone for just such lulls in the calls. No matter who it was that called, they never seemed to be fully prepared for these kinds of questions. "I guess I need someone who's on the lower end of the economic scale, not one of the building owners or whatever. Uh, not, like, homeless, or whatever, but... I mean, you know what I mean." There was a world of meaning in those last few words, and Sandra did not appreciate any part of that world. "You know what I mean" was shorthand for a myriad of -isms - racism, classism, sexism, most any other that the speaker wanted to name but not really name - and Sandra hated them all. She wished she could demand that they state their prejudices out loud and clearly, but she'd been spoken to about that in the past, so she bit her tongue this time.
"Right. Well, let me see what we can do. How large a role do you need this character to fill?" She pulled her Rolodex closer and began flipping through the cards with expert precision. "I don't have any placements right now for a main character, but I have a few available for side characters, love interests, wise mentors...do any of these sound appropriate?"
"Oh! Uh, let's see... not love interest, that would be weird. Uh, what do you have by way of a plucky sidekick?" The caller sounded genuinely interested in that one, which just made Sandra sigh even more. Why did the sidekicks always have to be "plucky" when they came from the disadvantaged part of the world? She flipped through a few more cards that had appeared as she spoke to the caller, pulling three of them out of the Rolodex for further review.
"What age range are you looking for?" Please don't say a child, Sandra thought as loudly as she dared. Please, just once, not a kid...
"Uh, maybe around high school age? Fifteen, sixteen maybe?" The caller was making things up as they went along, but Sandra wasn't going to stop them. "Yeah, that sounds good. Young adult-ish. Boy or girl, doesn't matter. Attractive, but not, like, super-model or whatever, just kind of nice looking. For who they are. You know what I mean."
One of the cards Sandra had pulled out had vanished, but another two had appeared in the Rolodex as the caller spoke. She looked at both of them and grinned to herself. "Oh, I think I might have just the character. Let me get your details, and I'll send them right over to you."
"Oh, awesome, thanks! And they'll just do what I tell them, right?" The caller's enthusiasm was like that of a puppy, and Sandra almost felt badly. Almost.
"Of course! Just like any other character you write. They'll do everything you say, no problem. You have a wonderful day!" After noting the caller's details, Sandra hung up the phone and turned off her ringer, allowing herself a moment to gloat. Then she moved to her typewriter and put in a transfer request form, humming to herself as she entered the details of her client's newest character.
Genevieve, one of her coworkers, noticed Sandra's grin and stopped by her desk on her way back from the coffee station. "Uh-oh. You look way too happy about something. What did you do?"
"Me?" Sandra's tone was pure innocence as she completed the form and pulled it from the typewriter with a flourish. "I'm giving the client exactly what they want. A 'plucky' teenager from the inner city to act as a sidekick." At Genevieve's raised eyebrow, Sandra continued. "The client never said that the teenager needed to speak English. Or be willing to deal with rich white kids. Or have a mother willing to let the kids spend time outside of school doing anything that might get them in trouble." She grinned again as she added the form to her "out" tray. "The client should have been more specific. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."
"I didn't hear a thing," Genevieve said a little too loudly as she walked back to her desk, but Sandra's grin had passed to her own face along the way. Some days, you had to make your own fun.
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