New Beginnings Exercise, Part II

We are revising a weak beginning to a story, using the six methods learned:
•Begin at the Beginning
•Dialogue: A Character or Characters Speaking
•Action: A Main Character Doing Something
•Reaction: A Character Thinking
•Dramatic Statement
•Begin at the End

Lucy's house was pretty bad. It made her family unhappy to live there.

"I think it's time for us to move," said her dad.

One day, they all moved to a brand-new place. It was a lot different from their old house..

4. Why, Lucy thought, must we live in such a place. I hate it here. The very walls hold me down. If only we would move to a nicer house, a nicer neighborhood. I want to be closer to my friends.

Lucy went downstairs to find something to eat. There was never anything to eat.

The phone rang. Lucy answered it. "Hello?" she said.

"This is Mary Kay with the Johnson Realty Agency. Is your father there."

That is weird, Lucy thought. "He is not here right now," she said.

"Can I leave a message?" Mary Kay asked.

"Sure."

Lucy took the message and slowly hung up the receiver. Why would a real estate agent be calling her father? Maybe they were going to move. Lucy's heart fluttered. Maybe they would finally get out of this wretched place. Just then, her father's car pulled into the drive. Lucy ran out the door.

"Are we moving?" she asked as her father stepped out of the car.

"We are moving." Lucy's father replied. "I wanted it to be a surprise. How did you find out?"

"Mary Kay called."

"Of course." Lucy relayed the message as she carried her father's briefcase back into the house. She could still feel the oppression, but somehow the air was not as heavy, the walls did not close in.

We are moving, Lucy thought. She smiled.

5. I would rather die than live in this house one day longer. My parents hate it also. I don't know why we must destroy our lives by continuing to live in such a wretched, horrible place. The lawn is dead, the trees and bushes are dying. Something plagues the very soul of the neighborhood. The wind blows through the dying trees and sounds like a growl. It bites at the house as the house creaks and barks in return. Then sun dims when the blinds are opened.

I walk downstairs to find breakfast in a cupboard that always is bare. The stairs creak and grind under my feet. With each step I fear falling through, crashing all the way to the dank basement. The handrail gives me a splinter, again: it offers so support anyway. The wallpaper peels and even bleeds in places, dirty moldy patches oozing stink and degradation. Cobwebs catch at my hair. My fingernail catches on my jeans and breaks. The surprise and pain bring me to the present as I search for food. The door of the cupboard creaks as I pull it open. Cereal dust greets me. How could all the boxes always only have dust in them? I cover the dust with milk that is on the verge of being sour and rotten. It won't make me sick, I know, but it won't taste good either.

As I sit at the stained and creaking table, my father walks in. "Lucy," he says. He smiles just a bit. He hardly ever smiles anymore.

I look at him. "What is it?" I say.

"We are moving," he says. He sighs as though a weight has been lifted from his creaking shoulders. It's my turn to smile.

"Are we really?" I ask in disbelief. The house creaks menacingly, but I don't hear. We are moving. We are moving!

"We bought a house in another neighborhood. I have been promoted down at the plant and we can finally afford to leave this place. We are moving."

We are moving.

6. This is our new house. We moved in five weeks ago. I have my own room now, and I have to share a bathroom with only my sister. It seems that the sun shines a little more brightly here. Our family is so happy. I'm getting better grades. Even our cats seem to be happier.

But it wasn't always this way.

We lived in a house in a neighborhood that I hated. The house had been built in the seventies. The walls weren't falling down, or anything like that, but there was a feeling, a pervasive chill...

My father had been working in the same job for seven years. My mother tried to find a job, any job, but had been having no luck. "That's what I get for not going to college," she would say. It was her mantra. I would think, Why doesn't she just go get her degree, but I didn't know. We couldn't even afford to move out of our horrible house, how could she think about taking money away to pay for school. My parents both value school, and education, but not for themselves, for us. They always admonish us to do better, to participate more, ask questions. But they never asked themselves such important questions such as how can I make my life better and so improve everyone's life?

Then, one day, I sat at the kitchen table doing math homework as I always did. I struggle with math, but to my mom, it comes naturally. She answered my questions as she cooked us dinner --potatoes again. My father pulled into the drive, home from work.

He walked in. He walked differently. He smiled. He was practically ebullient.

"I have great news," he had said. "I won the lottery." He smiled around. He tousled my hair.

My mother looked at him skeptically.

"Now, it isn't the whole shebang. It is just a small prize, but it is enough. We are moving!" He shouted. He danced a little gig, and smiled so brightly. I stood up in disbelief and hugged him.

"And," he said, "we are not going to have merely potatoes for dinner tonight." He held up a bag. Inside lay the most beautiful roasting chicken that you have ever seen.

My mother turned on the oven, smiling and shaking her head.