Muse Sparker

One of the great things we do at my writer’s group is tackle writing exercises. These are designed to make you try something you haven’t done before, whether it’s writing in a different point-of-view, a new genre, or a new style. I find them quite enjoyable and very helpful. I provided this week’s spark, which is the following:

There is a woman and a man on a boat. They are out at sea. They are happy.
The same woman and man are in a streetside café. They are together at a table and arguing. They are very unhappy.
Your job: Flesh out scene one. Flesh out scene two. Write the intervening action that gets them from scene one to scene two.

Here is what I wrote. I tend to write in a very close point-of-view, either first person or third person limited. So I wanted to write something emotional but in a Cormac McCarthy style. Here is what I came up with:

 

The water sloshed against the side of the boat, sending up spray that cooled her as she lay on the wooden platform behind the prow. The dark wood with the tightly fitted slats was designed to showcase blonde lithe suntanned bodies as the boat cut through marinas and bays. Jane reclined there now in her red bikini and wide black sunglasses, the spray coating her body in an ever-renewing mist. The sun was setting and Peter watched as rivulets of water sparkled as they ran down the side of her breasts, her hips, and her thighs.

Peter ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, turning the boat slightly away from shore with one hand. Jane was positioned diagonally with her legs facing toward the prow. The cut of her bikini was low and Peter tried to see if he could see down the gap in the cloth that stood between her hips and her flat stomach. Jane adjusted her body and Peter’s attention was drawn to her breasts, the curves moving with each turn of her body.

Reaching down, Peter picked up his bottle of beer and held it out toward the sun. He tipped it forward and then brought it back for a long drink. Putting the drink back into its holder, Peter noticed a dull space in the glinting water and a splash of red and white. Jerking his head up, he pulled the steering wheel hard to the left. The boat tilted steeply, the hull scraping against a large metal buoy. Jane rolled across the wooden platform, her hands reaching out and scrabbling for a grip amongst the slats. With one hand sliding along the wood and the other waving in air, she slipped over the edge of the prow and out of sight.

Peter let go of the wheel and struggled against the tilt of the boat and the force of the turn to reach where Jane had fallen over. The buoy continued to scrape down the side of the boat, leaving a deep scar in the pristine white paint, slowing its progress. Jane was nowhere to be seen.

Peter looked toward the buoy, which had just cleared the boat. Nothing. He looked as deep into the water as he could. Still nothing. He ran back to the steering wheel and slid the throttle down to its lowest setting. He then turned the boat toward the buoy, scanning the water closely. There was no sign of Jane.

He cut the throttle as he approached the buoy and ran back to the edge of the boat. Moving from one side to the other, he looked into the depths of the water for a sign of red. He looked further out and still saw nothing. Jane, he screamed. Jane! Jane! He ran back to the front of the steering cabin and grabbed the life preserver. He tossed it over the side of the boat and untied the end attached to the hook. Going back to the steering cabin, he turned the boat toward the marina and pressed the throttle to maximum.

It took him ten minutes. People looked up as his boat banged roughly against one of the slips at the Pirate’s Bay. I need help! My girlfriend is lost at sea! Faces were alarmed first at his loud cries and the disturbance.

Calm down. Now what happened?

My girlfriend fell off the boat, and I think she hit her head on a buoy. I couldn’t find her. Peter pointed out to the bay.

The old man leaned forward. You’re not wet.

I can’t swim. Please help me. She is drowning!

Okay, okay.

More people had gathered, several reached for the keys to their boats.

Where did she fall?

There’s an old buoy. It’s past the breakers, further out than the newer ones.

There are a few of those. Can you lead us there? Peter nodded and untied his boat. As he backed out of the landing, three boats followed.

The sun was a sliver on the horizon, but Peter found the buoy without a problem. He had been gone 20, maybe 25 minutes. The life preserver had floated off and was nowhere to be found, but the buoy was right next to his boat.

This is the spot. She may have hit her head on the buoy.

There was a splash and then another. Two men dived into the water. One swam to the buoy, while the other dove deep and emerged, moving from one spot to another. A third boat circled the buoy in larger and larger circles.

I don’t see nothin’ here. It was the man at the buoy.

The diving man continued but slowed considerably as he was about 20 yards out past the buoy. The man at the buoy had already climbed back into his boat. He pulled some binoculars from some compartment under his chair and looked along the horizon. The sun was now down, and the third boat returned.

Sorry. I couldn’t find anything. I radio’d the coast guard. Should be here soon. So you should wait.

The three boats soon were retreating along the water back to the Pirate’s Bay.

A row of brilliant lights approached from the distance. They got larger fast and soon the entire area was awash in light, behind it a large coast guard skiff.

A man in a white uniform yelled down. You the one missing someone?

Yes. My girlfriend. She went overboard near this buoy. He pointed to the buoy, which bobbed five feet from his boat.

What she look like?

She’s about five-eight. Blonde hair down to her shoulder blades or so. She was wearing a red bikini. I think she hit her head on the buoy. Can you send divers down?

The man said something over his shoulder and then turned back. Yes. We’ll have someone in the water shortly. We’re going to comb the area, and you’ll get in the way. Can you head back to the marina?

Yes.

Good. How can we contact you?

I have my cell phone.

Good. Give me the number and stay near the marina.

I will. Please find her.

We’ll do our best.

Peter yelled out his number and then went at the slowest speed he could back to the marina, looking back and forth across the waves, their blackness only interrupted by the slight glint of light from the marina shops and restaurants. He pulled into landing number 38, stepped out, and tied the boat up with a practiced hand. He looked at the deep scar down the side of the boat, dark and ugly in the harsh fluorescent light above the dock.

He checked his cell phone and then walked toward the Pirate Bay. Hearing the sounds of sea hands, both young and old, Peter stopped, changed directions, and moved down the pier back toward the boardwalk. Many of the touristy shops were closed, and the restaurants were full of loud children. Peter walked right past the boardwalk to Ocean Avenue, a small street that was partially hidden by large hotels and other buildings. He walked up to Vincenzo’s.

Pete!

Hi, Al.

Don’t normally see you here this late. Wow, you look wiped out, but your regular table is empty. That should make everything better. I’ll have Ramona bring you a glass of merlot. Is Jane going to be joining you?

No, and just a cup of coffee, please.

Sure thing. Ramona! A cup of coffee for Mister Charleston.

It was a short walk to a table right on the street side. It was on the corner and had a good view of the full bay between two buildings. The bay was a black mass, with the moon nowhere to be seen. Peter sat down and placed his cell phone carefully on the table. Ramona slid the coffee in front of him with sugar and cream on a small tray.

Why Jane, I didn’t think you would be joining us tonight. Hey! A glass full of after dinner mints flew past Peter’s ear. He turned to see a perplexed Al and an enraged Jane rushing toward him.

Jane!

Not joining you tonight? You fucker! Jane swung her arms and landed her fists on Peter’s head and shoulders. Her hair was damp and wild, tangled all around her face and flying in the air as she brought her fists down.

Jane! Stop! Thank God you’re alive!

She paused and glared at him. You expect me to believe that line of shit from you? Her fists were clenched hard at her side. You toss me off the boat and then leave me to fend for myself out past the breakers? What did I do? Why do you want me dead?

Tears started falling. Al looked helpless, hovering nearby silent.

It’s not like that, Jane. He stood up. I went for help. You know I can’t swim. I stayed and couldn’t find you anywhere!

I was fucking ten feet away, you lying fuck! I hit my head and could barely breathe, let alone call for you, but I was sure that all you’d do is turn and pull me in. I hoped it was some accident, but no, you turned toward me and then got in the boat and took off.

It’s not like that, Jane. He grabbed her arms, but she pulled them away. I went for help. I even left you a life preserver! Peter looked her over. She was covered in a dirty old St. Regis hotel bathrobe, but underneath was her red bikini. I even went and got the coast guard, Jane. Honest. What happened to you? I tried everything!

Her chest heaved. She didn’t say anything.

Jane.

A fishing boat rescued me. They dropped me off at the base of the pier. I came here to use the phone.

Honestly, Jane. You know I can’t swim. I went for help.

She started crying again. All you had to do was tell me to leave. I love you enough that I would have left. You didn’t need to try and kill me. You stared right at me, and just drove off, Peter. You just left me.

I love you, Jane. I wouldn’t do that.

She slapped him across the face. Tears welled in Peter’s eyes. He stood still, not even touching his reddening cheek with his hand.

But you did.

She turned and walked out the front of the café. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.