Lesson Two - Part One

Unconditional Surrender



        Frederick Johnson fought his way through the biting rain and wind.  Leaves whipped at his face as he headed for the sanctuary of his front porch.  “Christ, what a night,” he muttered as he wiped the wet and muck from his shoes.

        “Fred…” a tiny voice wriggled from the darkness.

        Startled, he spun around and called out, “Who’s there?”

        A bedraggled woman stepped from the shadows.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  She pushed back her rain-soaked scarf and added, “It’s only me.”

        “Bea…  Beatrice?”  He unlocked the door and guided her inside.  “God, You almost gave me a heart attack.  What happened, honey?  What are you doing out in this weather?”

        “I got a flat tire about half a mile up the road.”  She faced him and gave him a weak smile.  “I could use a towel.  I must look like a drowned cat, huh?”

        “You need more than a towel.”  He ducked into the kitchen, but continued talking,  “Call Joe.  Let him know where you are, and then run upstairs and get into a hot shower.  I’ll find you something to wear home.  You need to be more careful.  You know what the doctor’s told you.”  He reappeared with several dishtowels and tossed them to her.  When she remained mute, he studied her.

        She had draped one of the towels over her still dripping hair and was cleaning the dirt from her face with another.  He knew her too well to not notice her failure to look at him.  Something was wrong, he knew it. 

        “I’m fine, but I won’t call him.  I don’t want him to know where I am—as if he would care.” 

        She’d spat the words out with a vehemence he’d never seen in her before.  “You two have a fight?”

        She peered out from beneath a towel, looked at him with a scowl and said, “It was more than a fight.  I’m leaving that son-of-a-bitch!  I found the bastard with his secretary.”  Her face reddened, her lip quivered and he could hear a tremble in her voice.  “He…  They were in ‘our’ bed.  He brought her home to our bed.”  Then she broke down and sobbed.

        He went over and pulled her into his arms and let her cry for several minutes.  When she’d quieted down a bit, he walked her towards the stairs.  He brushed back her hair, gave her a bear hug and kissed the tip of her nose.  “Hit the shower!  I’ll bring you up some clothes and a cup of hot tea.”

        “Tea hell!”  She managed to flash him a weak smile and added, “I’ll take a double vodka.” Then she climbed the steps.

Lesson Two Assignment

1. Choose a story you know well, written in third person limited (single POV); it can be one of your own or someone else’s story.  Write down the title and author’s name of the story.

2. List the POV character and the names of the other major characters in the story.

3. Imagine the story told from the POV of a character the author did not choose as the POV character and re-write the first three or four paragraphs from this different character’s POV.

4. Was the story much different?  Was the scene emphasized more, or was it emphasized less?  Did the meaning of the story change

1.          It’s my own story, called ‘Unconditional Surrender’

2.          The story is told from Frederick’s POV; the other main character’s name is Beatrice.

3.          I’m going to rewrite the first several paras from Beatrice’s POV

         

Unconditional Surrender (Alternate POV)

         Bea stood hidden in shadows, shivering as she watched Fred exit his car and come up his walk.  She was wet to the skin and cold and madder than hell.  The wind blew against him and he swiped leaves and debris out of his face as he climbed the wet steps.

         “Christ what a night,” he muttered as he wiped the wet and muck from his shoes.

         She wiped her nose and moved forward from the darkness, whispering, “Fred—“ 

         Fred spun around and called out, “Who’s there?”

         “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Beatrice pushed back her rain-soaked scarf and added, “It’s only me.”  She hoped that the rain dripping off her would cover up her tears.  But she knew she wouldn't be able to hide things from him very long.

         “Bea . . . Beatrice?”  He unlocked the door and guided her inside.  “God, you almost gave me a heart attack.  What happened, honey?  What are you doing out in this weather?”

“I got a flat tire about half a mile up the road.”  She gave him what she hoped was a smile and added, “I could use a towel.  I must look like a drowned cat, huh?”

         “You need more than a towel.”  He ducked into the kitchen, still talking, “Call Joe.  Let him know where you are and then run upstairs and get into a hot shower.  I’ll find you something to wear home.  You need to be more careful.  You know what the doctor’s told you.”  He reappeared with several dishtowels and tossed them to her.  Her silence made him stare at her.

         She draped one towel over her still dripping hair and was cleaning the dirt from her face with the other.  She could feel his eyes burn holes into her as she remained mute.  She knew he realized something was wrong.  Oh well, no sense hiding it.

         She looked at him and blurted out, “I’m fine, but I won’t call him.  I don’t want him to know where I am—as if he would care.”

         Even she had been surprised by her acidic tone, so she wasn’t surprised by his next question.

         “Did you two have a fight?”

         She peered out from beneath the towel, scowled at him and said, “It was more than a fight.  I’m leaving that son-of-a-bitch!  I found the bastard with his secretary.”  She felt her face flush with hurt and rage.  Her lip quivered as she continued, “He . . . They were in ‘our’ bed.  He brought her into our home . . . our bed.”  Then she gave in to her emotions and began to sob.

         Fred crossed over to her and pulled her into his arms.  She cried for several minutes, but when she finally regained control of herself, he led her to the stairs.  Then he gave her a bear hug, kissed the tip of her nose and said, “Hit the shower!  I’ll bring up some clothes and a cup of hot tea.”

         “Tea hell!” she said.  She flashed him a tiny smile and trudged up the stairs.  She stopped on the landing, turned and added, “Make it a double vodka.” That bastard!  I'll make him regret he ever did this to me.





4.  The change in POV effect this scene very little--but it would drastically change the ending.  I would lose my final scene and in doing that, lose the impact of the ending.