There are many wonderful resources that explore the interrelationship between character development in writing and plot/structure. For example, in his video essays on ‘Anatomy of Chaos’, Adam Skelter suggests that the character’s emotional state (positive or negative) as they enter the scene should have changed through the scene so that their emotional state is substantially different. The way in which that change occurs is driven by the choices they make (e.g. due to external events, internal worldview, their goal), i.e. driven by their character.
In my writing group, we were given the challenge of writing a scene in which the character undergoes a significant change (change being the plot driver). So, just for fun, here’s my response to the exercise.
The Library
The library was quiet: too quiet, for Elsie’s liking. She enjoyed the noise of the children at the story-telling group and the chatter of the book club ladies as she moved about, shelving books. But now it was seven o’clock and she was the staff member tasked with the responsibility of locking up.
She fingered the keys nervously in her pocket.
‘First time for everything,’ Mrs Grimes had said. ‘Time you took some responsibility.’
It was ridiculous to fear undertaking such a mundane task. But now, as she turned out each bank of overhead lights, moving her way back through the library, she found she was holding her breath. She scurried down the darkening avenues of shelving.
Only one more bank to do — but it was a two-way switch, one at top of the stairs to the stacks, its twin at the bottom in the gloom.
She clutched the keys tightly, screwing up her courage. One step and then the next. Could she just leave that one? No one would notice.
But she knew she must. Mrs Grimes would know. The woman had all-seeing eyes that spotted broken spines and turned-down page corners before the reader had even pushed their book down the return chute.
She snaked her hand around the door groping for the top switch.
But the light was already off.
Relief flooded her. She didn’t have to go down those stairs.
She began to withdraw her hand but found she couldn’t. Cold bony fingers gripped her wrist, drawing her into the musty void.
Her screams had only just begun.
