[stylist] Writing Prompt: Finding the Good in the Villian

[loristay]

Strangely enough, I find it tough to believe a good teacher would punch her kids in the face at home if they didn't eat.

As for a villain in my life who has redeeming qualities, I've thought of one, a fellow I used to know.  I'm not sure I understand how that creep became a rabbi, but he did, and the people in his congregation love him, so I've heard.  As for fictionalizing him, let me work on it!
Lori

On Jun 1, 2010, at 4:07:18 PM, "Jewel S." <herekittykat2 at gmail.com> wrote:

From:   "Jewel S." <herekittykat2 at gmail.com>
Subject:    [stylist] Writing Prompt: Finding the Good in the Villian
Date:   June 1, 2010 4:07:18 PM EDT
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Hi all,

So, I thought I would throw out another prompt for anyone interested.
This is a prompt that can be used for fiction or non-fiction (memoirs
and such().

Think of someone in your past whom you didn't like: a bully in your
elementary class, the principal who slapped your hands for blinking
too much, an abusive neighbour who always gave his son a black
eye...or make someone up. Now, give that person a "redeeming" quality,
something good about them that you wouldn't expect. Perhaps the
abusive neighbour is an avid recycler, the bully has a great green
thumb, the principal...well, you get the idea. Now, write a short
passage with this villian, including their "redeeming" quality. Below
is mine:

Jessica was eating breakfast, cold oatmeal that was clinging in clots
to the side of the neon orange plastic bowl. Beside her, her sister
Cary was stabbing at her own orange bowl of oatmeal goop, her nose
wrinkled in disgust.

"Mum," Cary whined. "Do we *have* to eat this gunk? It's pig sl-"

Before she could get out the last of her complaint, her head swung
sharply to the right as their mother flung a blow with her fist to the
older girl's temple. There would be a knot and a bruise later, but
Cary would cover it with her hair. She always wore her hair forward,
almost covering her eyes, anyway. No one would notice.

"How dare you complain! There are starving children in Africa who
would eat your breakfast without a second to waste. If you don't eat
it, I'll put it in the fridge, and you can have it for supper. You
won't get anything else until you eat your oatmeal."

And Jessica knew she meant it. She had once gone on a two-day strike
after they wre served black lumps, supposedly ravioli. The raviolis
had stayed in their neon green bowl, the designated color for dinner,
for the entire two days. Jess finally gave into the hunger and ate the
charred stuff, which by that time tasted like ashes. Her reward for
eating it was the priviledge of eating what everyone else was having.
That day, dinner was some burnt fish, which their mother called
"blackened."

Jessica was shocked out of her memory by a sharp blow to the back of
her head. "Eat! I have to get to work. If I have to stand here and
watch you eat, Jessica, I will be late, and then you'll pay for
embarrassing me."

Jessica dutifully shovelled the goop into her mouth, wondering when
her father was getting home. He was out at sea again, a common enough
occurence as he was a Navy sonar technician. He could cook, and more
than made up for their fasting in his absence. Shrimp scampi, oysters
on the half schell, chicken and sausage gumbo...her mouth salivated at
the memory of her last gumbo five months ago.

Her bowl clean, Cary nudged Jess, whispering "Hurry up...she's coming
back," and Jess stuffed the last two bites in her mouth in one
over-flowing spoonful. Jumping to her feet, she held out the bowl for
Mother to inspect, then rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. A swat
on the butt with the fly-swatter told her it was time to get to the
bus stop.

* * *

Marie Landreneau wandered into her classroom, singing, "Mares eat
oats, and goats eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy. A kid'll eat ivy,
too, wouldn't you?" What she was thinking was, Not my kids...they
won't even eat real food. They certainly wouldn't eat ivy. They are so
ungrateful. At least my school children are not so ungrateful. I wish
I could take them home and leave Jessica and Cary to learn what real
life is like on the streets.

It was a Tuesday, Mrs. Landreneau's favourite day of the week at
school. Her children were not too wound-up from the weekend, nor too
wound-up in preparation for the end of the school week on Friday.
Tuesday and Wednesday were truly the best days in her Special
Education classroom.

A bell rang out, signaling that it was time for the students to get to
their classes. Some of the Special Education children would be coming
in with their aides soon. Others would come in the afternoon, having
spent the morning in the 'regular' classroom.

The door opened and Miss Mary came in with a five-year-old who could
be Mrs. Landreneau's daughter, with her beautiful brown eyes and long
chestnut brown hair in two braids. She could easily pass as a
miniature of her teacher, though there was no Down Syndrome in Mrs.
Landreneau's genes.

"Good morning, Ellen!" she smiled gently at the youngling. Ellen
didn't reply, but glanced at Miss Mary, then ran to her seat.

"She's being a little shy today, Marie." Miss Mary explained.

The other children filed in one by one, six in all. A large class for
Special Education. But everyone wanted Mrs. Landreneau to teach their
children. She was the best teacher the public school had. Her gentle
nudging and kind patience brought out the best in each of her
students, and every parent wanted their child to blossom under her
direction.

"Ok, guys, we're going on a little field trip today!"

The shouts of glee were mainly Eric's, a seven-year-old with what his
mother called "weak eyes." Eric had been born prematurely, and besides
his blindness, his allergies to nearly everything under the sun meant
regular tube feedings and the use of gloves and face mask. Despite his
disabilities, Eric was the rowdiest of the bunch, and Mrs. Landreneau
knew to keep a close eye on him. He may be blind, but he didn't let
that stop him, climbing trees he couldn't get down from and squeezing
into holes that he couldn't quite fit in.

Grinning at Eric's enthusiasm, the gentle teacher showed the children
a book about bugs. "Today," she declared, "we are going on a bug hunt.
Miss Alexandria, do you have Michael's inhaler and Eric's face mask?
They'll need them outside."

"Right here," assured the young teacher's aide, who was in charge of
three of the six. The other three were Miss Mary's charges, with Marie
Landreneau watching over them all, guiding and encouraging. "All
right," she told the class cheerfully, "here we go!"

She led the group out ontot he playground to lift rocks and dig holes,
searching for the bugs in the Big Book of Bugs.

* * *

What villian will you come up with? What is their redeeming quality?
Go nuts! Enjoy!

~Jewel

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