Writing Course: Week 4


Writing Course Update:

We’re into week four now, and the focus is now on plot. Besides the usual structure of each week: read a chapter, do the quiz, and the assignment, it doesn’t seem boring to me. Each week is something new, and I’m someone whose interest gets diverted quickly so having something new all the time is good for me. It’s also nice to have a full week for each assignment, I don’t feel rushed by any means and I have plenty of time to write and edit assignments. Honestly I think I’m putting far more effort into this course alone, than I ever did for any of my other classes.

On another note, focusing on plot this week has been fascinating, because I think it’s something I’ve really struggled with as a writer. I can create characters and scenes quite easily, but having a cohesive story line that isn’t moving too quickly has been tricky for me, but you also don’t want to drag on and bore the reader, understand the dilemma here?

 Anyway, the writing assignment focused specifically on suspense and the formula it follows, “problem, complications, and resolution.”  This made it a little easier to write.

The actual brainstorming part, not so much. The first thing my mind went to was to write a short crime story, you know there’s a murder and suspects and little evidence, blah, blah, blah, and I didn’t want that. So I put everything away and told myself it’d sit on for a day and mull it over until my brain thought of something on its own, (that kind of worked). I ended up not deciding on something until I went back and read over my ideas for the first part of the assignment, and then just went with it.

So here’s the story, and no, I don’t have a title…


A flash of red, a high-pitched scream, and I’m awake. I blink trying to get the sleep out of my eyes, as the dream vanishes from memory. My stomach aches after sleeping on it all night, my hands stretched and curled above my head into the white sheets. A few strands of my dark blue hair smudge my view. I try to lift myself up, but my wrist gives and I flop back down to the soft sheets. The comforter is almost off the bed, casting deep shadows across the clean white sheets, but as my vision clears and I focus more on the shadow, I see that it’s not a shadow at all. I reach out a finger, it’s wet and gooey, I’ve seen stains on hotel beds before, but not fresh ones, and then it hits me.

I leap up and collapse on the floor when I realize what it is. Blood. It’s everywhere. It’s on my blouse, my jeans, there’s bloody red footprints leading to the bed, it’s in my hair, I don’t even want to look into a mirror afraid at what might be staring back at me. I clap a hand over my mouth to stop the scream that almost passes my lips. I bolt into the hotel bathroom, strip off my clothes and jump into the shower. Scrubbing, scrubbing, begging it to come off. I let myself drop to the bottom of the shower and close my eyes, just letting the water run down my back. A single question running through my mind, what happened, what happened, what the hell happened, Jeanette?


“Why can’t I remember?” I scream to nothing. Wait, remember what? What am I doing here? This isn’t my apartment? Since when is my hair blue? I stagger up, leaning against the wall and turn the water off. Quietly opening the shower door, not knowing what lies beyond. There’s a towel on a hook, I wrap it around myself and step onto the floor mat.


I shriek at the sight before me, pushing myself as close to the wall as possible. My clothes are on the floor, at least I think they’re mine, because there’s blood all over them, tears as if something clawed through it, the sleeves are half hanging off the once-grey sweater, the seam in the pants is torn almost up the whole leg. Everything goes blank, unable to process the sight in front of me, my mind clambering for what should be the next right step. I take a few deep breaths and then I pull up my arms and examine every inch of myself. Turning and twisting my arms, my legs, looking at the bottoms of my feet. No cuts. No blood. So it’s not mine. Ok Sara, you need to call the police now, right? Yeah, you can do this. Find your phone.   


I step at the very edge of the room, and almost trip on my way out the bathroom door, and then my breath hitches in my throat and my hands go clammy. I should have expected more blood, but this, this is enough blood that someone could have died. Breathe, just breathe. I find my black leather bag dropped onto the floor in between the main door and the bed. I ignore the pain in my knees as I hit the hardwood, finding an extra set of clothes stuffed in first. I slide those on, and continue to dig around, I toss my wallet out, my keys, a toque, a pair of mittens, nothing. I shuffle all around the room, tossing over garbage’s, sinking to the floor to check under the bed, and finally find it on the nightstand. It seems to take forever to type in my password, my hands are shaking so much the phone almost slips out of my grip, but I catch it and bring up the screen to dial. 9-1-


The door bursts open, the phone falls with a thud, three steps and he reaches me, I shriek and try to jump to the bed. Something hard hits my head and I’m dragged into nothingness.


I wake up in the morning light of my apartment, smiling and stretching my limbs. My uniform for work hangs on its hanger on the closet door. I jump up and pull the curtains wide, noticing the small purple bruise on my wrist, clumsy Casey, I think, must have hit it on a door knob or something, and slide the window open to let the beautiful sunlight flood the small room. Today is a going to be a great day.

The premise here is that a young woman wakes up in a hotel room, covered in blood (I know that part was a little typical), the catch is that she has multiple personalities and from my writing, isn’t fully aware of that fact.

I’m sure it’s been done before, but everyone has their own take and writing style when it comes to commonalities in writing. Some might focus on the crime and the murder that obviously took place; others might focus on the internal struggle of the woman with spilt personalities. It all depends on what kind of writer you want to be and that’s kind of the fun of it. I love to write, because it’s completely objective and is pure creativity.

Writing Course Introduction: Creative Writing: Online Course



2 thoughts on “Writing Course: Week 4

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