Write a very short story - not more than 200 words - about a trip to the doctor or dentist using the ABDCE structure. Identify the structural elements in your story. My example is provided below:

One night when I was eight years old I opened a bag of Doritos to eat while watching television. (A) Doritos were my favorite snack to eat as a child. Nacho Cheese was my favorite flavor. (B) I loved sitting in the dark hearing the “crunch, crunch, crunch” of the chips. I’d sit there, crunching my chips, but didn’t eat the chips with a napkin (what kid does?) and would forget about the powder that accumulated on my fingertips. As it got later and I got sleepier, I kept rubbing my eyes, my fingertips covered in Doritos Nacho Cheese powder. (D) When it was time for bed, I went to brush my teeth, looked in the mirror, and saw two large bags under my eyes. The Doritos Nacho Cheese powder had pooled into two large sacks underneath my eyeballs. I started screaming and crying. (C) The next day, my grandmother took me to the doctor who put industrial strength eye drops into my eyes to flush out the powder. (E)

Remember, the action in this story isn’t the actual doctor’s office visit. The action is what LEADS you to the doctor’s office. “She said that sometimes she uses a formula when writing a short story, which goes ABDCE, for Action, Background, Development, Climax, and Ending.”

Frantically, Tom looked for the charcoal he had just bought hours ago. (A) He had spent part of the weekend crafting his latest drawing that covered eight by five feet of his studio wall; but his work had stopped Sunday when he ran out of charcoal. Now, with twenty four hours having been lost, Tom was enraged that more time stood to drain away because he couldn’t find his newest assortment of willow charcoal. (D) But then, from the periphery of his eye, Tom saw it perched up high near the top of his book shelf. With lightening speed he darted across the room to scurry up a step ladder. But as he reached out to claim his prize mid-climb, Tom felt his right foot miss a rung, causing him to topple forward like a rag doll face first into the shelf. (C) As he wreathed in pain on his studio floor, a tear trickled down the side of Tom’s face. With his ankle twisted and his nose bleeding, Tom wondered how he’d ever finish his drawing now that a trip to the doctor was in order. (E)

Peer Feedback on Assignment 02

Revision

Frantically, Tom looked for the charcoal he had just bought. (A) He spent part of the weekend crafting his latest portrait drawing that reached up eight feet tall by five feet wide across his studio wall. But his work was halted Sunday when he ran out of charcoal. (B) Now, having lost a day, Tom ground his teeth with the thought that more time might drain away because he couldn’t find his newest assortment of willow charcoal. (D) But then, from the periphery of his eye, Tom saw it perched up high near the top of a studio book shelf. He’d placed it there when looking for a book on charcoal shading techniques. With lightening speed he darted across the room to scurry up a step ladder. But as he reached out to claim his prize, Tom felt his right foot miss a rung, causing him to topple forward like a rag doll face first into the shelves. (C) As he writhed in pain on his studio floor, a tear trickled down the side of Tom’s face. With his ankle twisted and his chin bleeding, Tom wondered how he’d ever finish his drawing now that a trip to the doctor was in order. (E)

Peer Graded Assignment 1

Write a scene of 250-350 words featuring a character with one concrete want (a table, a moose, a toothbrush, anything physical is fine!) and one weakness. Use these two features to drive the action of the plot. Set up the story where every other sentence is a rising action. To help you come up with rising actions, use one word from the following list of twelve words in each sentence that has a rising action. In other words: Write your first sentence introducing your character. Make the next sentence a rising action using one of the following twelve words. Write your third sentence, which may introduce the weakness, then write your fourth sentence with a rising action that includes one of the remaining eleven words you haven’t used. And so on.

trick
memory
aboard
tiger
pretend
carrot
appliance
cage
rings
crow
filthy
explode

You must use at least 6 of the 12 words, but you are encouraged to challenge yourself to use as many of the words as possible while still meeting the word count.

Tom's fingers were black from the hours he had put into his latest charcoal drawing. One trick Tom loved was to apply a thick layer of charcoal and remove it by gently rubbing his index and middle fingers along the paper, shaping the dust into the images he saw in his mind. Often though, his memory would fail to remind him to pick up more charcoal before drawing all night, usually on Saturdays. Thus, by the time he ran out of charcoal the next morning, he couldn't climb aboard a trolly and whip downtown because the art supply store would be closed. And without fail, this was what happened today.

Tom stood there wondering how to proceed. Sometimes, like a tiger, he'd use his charcoal stained paws to scrape up the powder that had sprinkled from the paper to the floor, but Tom wasn't really a fan of doing this. He just was never able to pretend to even like using charcoal as a powder. No, he liked to use sticks of varying sizes, which he could snap apart like carrots if needed.

One year, Tom was given an odd art appliance, an electric eraser which he did sometimes use to remove charcoal. But he found the toy difficult to control, and if he wasn't careful the eraser might tear right through the paper like wire cutters snapping through the mesh of a cage. Instead he preferred to just hold the eraser between his soiled fingers, where he could control its movement in various directions and shapes such as circles, lines, rings and other curvilinear motions.

When a piece failed to connect to the vision in his mind, Tom would grow more and more frustrated and use the most horrid language just under his breath, like a cackling crow high up in a tree. But that wasn't the case today. Instead, with his hands sore and his clothes filthy from being used like a cloth, he just left the work and walked upstairs to his waiting bed, undressing along the way. Once he reached his bed, he'd fall into it easily, quickly falling asleep, lost in the visions of future drawings that would pop and explode in small bursts like fireworks in the night sky.

(375 Words)

Peer Feedback on Assignment 1

Revision 01

Tom’s exhausted eyes did their best to study his soiled fingers, black from the hours he had put into his latest charcoal drawing. The paper was attached to a thin board which sat clamped to a wooden easel which cast a long shadow across the white wall of his basement studio. One trick Tom loved was to brush a thick layer of charcoal powder onto the bristol paper and remove it by gently rubbing his index and middle fingers along the smooth surface, shaping the dust and pulling the white of the paper back out to form the images he saw in his mind. Often though, his memory would fail to remind him to pick up more charcoal from the local art store before getting lost in another long Saturday night of drawing that would usually stretch late into Sunday afternoon. So, by the time he ran out of charcoal the next morning, Tom couldn't climb aboard a trolly and whip downtown to the art supply store, as it was closed on Sundays. And without fail, this was exactly what happened today.

Tom stood there wondering how to proceed. He could keep working on the piece, the half finished profile of a young woman he’d seen at a cafe earlier in the week, or he could turn to work on something else, like one of a half dozen unfinished paintings that sat stacked in the corner, with a few hung on the wall. Tom took a few steps back, and sat down on a stool, his legs feeling relief from having held him up for so many hours. Sometimes, like a tiger, he'd use his charcoal stained paws to scrape up the powder that had sprinkled from the paper to the floor, but Tom wasn't really a fan of doing this. He was never able to pretend to even like using charcoal as a powder but it was a technique that worked, producing a chiaroscuro effect he’d become fond of over the years. Most of the time he liked to use sticks of varying sizes, which he could snap apart like carrots into smaller sizes if needed. But ultimately his best work involved a combination of both techniques.

One year, Shelly gave Tom the oddest art appliance, an electric eraser which he occasionally uses to remove charcoal. But he found the toy difficult to control, and Tom found that if he wasn't careful the eraser would tear right through the paper like wire cutters slicing through the steel mesh of a wire cage. As such, he preferred to just hold a grey kneaded eraser between his soiled fingers, working the putty in various directions: circles, lines, rings and other curvilinear motions.

When a drawing failed to connect to the vision floating around in his mind, Tom would grow frustrated, using the most horrid language ever so softly, just under his breath, like a cackling crow high up in a tree: something you could see hopping around but couldn’t quite hear. But that wasn't the case today. The image had easily flowed from his mind through the vessel of his fingers and onto the page. He was out of charcoal powder, so future layers of the alluring siren would have to be sketched out another day. So, with his hands sore and his clothes filthy from being used like a cloth, he just left the work as is. Turning off the lights Tom walked upstairs to his lonely bed, undressing along the way. Once he reached his bed he was naked, and he fell into its softness with ease. His eyes closed, Tom soon became lost in glimpses of future drawings that would pop and explode in small bursts like fireworks across the synapses of his tired mind.

(627 Words!)

Revision 02

Tom’s exhausted eyes did their best to study his soiled fingers, black from work on his latest charcoal drawing. One trick Tom loved was to brush a thick layer of charcoal powder onto a sheet of Bristol vellum paper securely attached to a thin wooden board, which was clamped to an easel in his basement studio. Tom removed the powder by gently rubbing his fingers along the slightly toothy surface, shaping the dust by pulling the white of the paper back out from underneath the powder to form the images he saw in his mind. Sometimes, a kneaded eraser or a small chamois cloth also aided Tom in his shaping of the dust. Often though, Tom forgot to pick up more charcoal from the local art supply store before getting lost in another long Saturday night of drawing that usually stretched into Sunday afternoon. So, when he ran out of charcoal in the morning, Tom couldn't go to the art store as it was closed, which was what happened today.

Tom stood there wondering how to proceed. He could keep working on the piece by using some sort of graphite pencil, or he could work on something else, like one of the half dozen unfinished paintings that sat in the corner, with a few more hung on the wall. Tom took a few steps back, coming to rest on a stool, his legs enjoying the relief from having held him up for so many hours. Sometimes, like a tiger, he'd use his charcoal stained paws to scrape up the powder that had sprinkled from the paper to the floor, but Tom wasn't really a fan of doing this. He was never able to pretend to even like using charcoal as a powder, but it was a technique that worked for him, producing a chiaroscuro effect he’d become fond of over the years. To finish his pieces, Tom liked to use willow charcoal of varying thickness, which he could snap apart like carrots into smaller sizes if needed.

One year, Sally gave Tom the oddest art appliance, an electric eraser which he still occasionally uses to remove charcoal. He found the toy difficult to control, and if he wasn't careful the eraser would tear right through the paper like tin snips slicing through a thin sheet of metal. As such, he preferred to just hold a grey kneaded eraser between his soiled fingers, working the putty in various circles, lines, rings and other curvilinear directions.

When a drawing failed to connect to the vision floating in his mind, Tom grew frustrated, using the most horrid language just under his breath, like a cackling crow high up in a tree: something you could see frantically hopping around on a branch, but couldn’t quite hear. Today though, the image had easily flowed from his mind through his fingers onto the page. He was out of charcoal powder, so future layers of the alluring siren he was coaxing from the page would have to be finished another day. So, with his hands sore and his clothes filthy from being used as a cloth, he just left the work as is. Turning off the lights Tom walked upstairs to his lonely bed, undressing along the way. Once he reached his bed he was naked, falling into its softness with ease. His eyes closed, Tom soon became lost in the dreamy glimpses of future drawings that would pop and explode in small bursts like fireworks across the synapses of his mind.

(585 Words)

Revision 03

Tom’s exhausted eyes did their best to study his soiled fingers, black from work on his latest drawing. A trick Tom loved was to brush a layer of charcoal powder onto a sheet of Bristol vellum paper attached to a thin wooden board, clamped to an easel in his studio. Tom removed the powder by gently rubbing his fingers along the toothy surface, shaping the dust by pulling the white of the paper back out from underneath the powder to form the images he saw in his mind. Once again though, Tom forgot to pick up more charcoal from the art supply store that was closed every Sunday, before getting lost in another Saturday night of drawing which usually stretched late into the next afternoon. So, when Tom ran out of charcoal in the morning, he couldn't go to the store as it was closed on Sundays.

Tom felt like he was stuck in a cage whenever this happened. He could keep working on the piece by using some sort of graphite pencil; or he could work on something else, like one of the half dozen unfinished paintings that sat in the corner, with a few more hung up on the wall. Tom took a few steps back, coming to rest on a stool, his legs relieved from having held him up for such a long time. Sometimes, like a tiger, he'd use his charcoal stained paws to scrape up the powder that had sprinkled from the paper to the floor, but Tom wasn't really a fan of doing this. He was never even able to pretend to like using powdered charcoal, but it was a technique that worked for him, producing a chiaroscuro effect he’d become fond of over the years. To finish his pieces, Tom liked to use an assortment of willow charcoal in varying thickness, which he could snap apart like carrots into smaller sizes if needed.

One year, Sally gave Tom the oddest art appliance, an electric eraser which he still occasionally uses to remove charcoal. Tom found the toy difficult to control, and if he wasn't careful the eraser would tear right through the paper like tin snips slicing through a thin sheet of metal. Sometimes he wondered if the gift was given as a prank, but his love for Sally always pushed that thought aside. Ultimately, he preferred to use three things when developing a work: his fingers; a grey kneaded eraser that had degraded into a ball of putty over time; or a chamois cloth. All of these options assisted Tom in creating the various lines, rings and other curvilinear directions he desired.

When a drawing failed to connect to the vision floating in his mind, Tom grew frustrated, using the most horrid language just under his breath, like a cackling crow high up in a tree: something you could see frantically hopping around on a branch, but couldn’t quite hear. Today though, the image had flowed easily from his mind through his fingers onto the page. He was still out of charcoal powder and willow sticks, so future layers of the alluring siren he was coaxing from the page would have to be finished another day. So, with his hands sore and his clothes filthy from being used as a cloth, Tom left his basement studio and sleep walked upstairs. Undressing along the way, he was naked by the time he fell into the softness of his bed. Tom soon became lost in the glimpses of future drawings that would pop and explode in like fireworks across the synapses of his mind.

(600 Words!)

Revision 04 - FINAL REVISION

Every week, Tom brushed layers of charcoal powder onto Bristol vellum, which he then removed by rubbing his fingers in various lines, contours, and rings across its toothy surface. This trick slowly revealed the drawing from Tom’s memory by pulling the white of the paper out from underneath the soot. Years ago, Sally gave Tom the strangest appliance: an electric eraser. He sometimes thought Sally’s gift was a prank, but his love for her pushed that aside. So, Tom used it to cut stronger lines into the charcoal, but if he wasn't careful it tore through paper like tin snips slicing through metal sheets.

Sadly, Tom often forgot to get more charcoal from the art store before this expressive Saturday night. So, when he ran out early Sunday moaning, Tom felt as if he was stuck in a cage. He couldn’t climb aboard a trolly to get more, as the art store closed on Sundays. Sometimes, Tom used his charcoal-stained paws like a tiger to scrape up powder that had sprinkled onto the floor, but this wasn’t very effective. He didn’t even pretend to like powdered charcoal, but it produced a chiaroscuro effect he loved. To finish his work, Tom added details with willow charcoal of varying thicknesses, which he could snap apart like carrots into smaller sizes if needed.

When a drawing failed to represent his vision, Tom grew frustrated, using horrid whispers like a cackling crow: something you could see frantically hopping around on a branch high up in a tree, but couldn’t quite hear from your spot on the ground. Today though, the vision flowed easily onto the page. He was still out of charcoal though, so future layers of the alluring siren he was coaxing from the page would have to be finished another time. With his body aching and his clothes filthy, Tom sleepwalked upstairs, undressing along the way so that he was naked by the time he collapsed into the softness of his bed. As he slept, Tom enjoyed glimpses of future drawings, which exploded like fireworks across the synapses of his mind.

(349 Words 🤪🙏🤪🙏🤪 )

Word Count History: 375 to 627 to 585 to 594 🥺 to 600 to 508 to 492 to 476 to 450 to 444 to 424 to 399 to 392 to 381 to 375 to 366 to 349!