A premise: I started doing some writing exercises with Google's AI, but there's just so much that it can do. I want to learn how to write in English (it's not my first language), so if you have any suggestions that could help me improve my writing, it would be very appreciated <3
Imagine a character. You don't need to know everything about them just yet. To discover who they are, imagine that their bag, backpack, or wallet suddenly spills all over the floor in a public place. Write a short text focusing on these points:
The objects: Describe three unusual objects that fall out. Skip the typical tissues or house keys. Choose items that create a contrast or hide a story (e.g., a five-year-old receipt, a key that doesn't open any door, a bottle of men's cologne in a woman's purse, a broken seashell).
The physical reaction: Show how the character picks up these items. Do they try to hide one quickly before anyone sees? Are their hands shaking? Do they laugh out of embarrassment?
The secret: Through one of these objects, let the reader sense (by showing, not telling) a deep secret, fear, or desire hidden within this character.
Nate was late. That wasn’t something that happened often. He was very careful about keeping his routine: everything had to be on time, boxes checked with some sort of military rigor. Following the rules meant that he didn’t have to think about doing things, and by not thinking about what to do, he could keep any sort of thinking to a minimum. And yet, leaving the bed that morning had been so hard. He was hot and uncomfortable, but it was safe, while the world outside, bright and colorful, looked terrifying.
In the end, he managed to rise, get ready, and get out. And now he was running; he was so late.
The campus was crowded. It was that time just before the end of the summer term and the kids were bursting with nervous energy—some of them trying to ace their exams, others just waiting to be free from the clutches of their responsibilities. The teachers were also tired, wishing, in secret, that they wouldn't have to see another kid’s face for a long time, except those of their own. Nate didn’t have kids. If it were up to him, he would work every day. That was also part of his routine, and summer break was a tough time for him.
He ran through the park, hoping to save a few minutes. That would have been the case, if he hadn’t bumped into someone else. He managed not to fall, but the latch on his satchel snapped open and everything inside was thrown out onto the grass.
«Fuck! Sorry! Are you ok?» he raised his head to look at the other person, just then realizing who it was that he had run into.
«Jeez, Nate, shouldn’t it be the teachers reprimanding the students for running through campus?» Marybel teased him, her smile beautiful as ever. He stared for a moment, transfixed, as she started easing herself down to reach for his things, wanting to help. Everything was sprawled everywhere: keys, wallet, a bottle of water, some books, and some papers that miraculously hadn’t flown away, not yet, at least. Among all those things, just one stood out so vividly, with its bright, unusual orange color. He fell to his knees, hitting them painfully on the hard surface just beneath the grass, but he didn't feel a thing. He was too intent on snatching away that small bottle. The pills, white and round, rattled against the plastic, so loud, as he thrust them inside the satchel, where they belonged, far away from anyone else's eyes.
Marybel didn’t say anything, keeping her eyes down, trying to act normal, like there was nothing wrong with him. Even if she knew already. She had been there when the doctor gave those things to him, just so that he could find the energy to get up in the morning.
She reached instead toward his wallet. It had opened, facing down. When she picked it up, a small square fell into her hand: a picture of a little girl, no more than five years old. A bright smile and a hand waving at the camera. At some version of him, someone he once was, but who had died along the way, when that picture became the only reality in which that little girl could exist.
He reached out toward it. Slowly and carefully, with the kind of attention reserved for the most precious things. He took the wallet too and let the picture fall behind the leather barrier, trying not to let his eyes linger too much on it, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let it go again.
«Nate,» Marybel called him, softly. She touched his hand, bringing him back. Like she always did. But there was something on her face, like an apology. «We need to talk».
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