Moth Hour Writing Document Directions: Over the last five classes, we’ve had a chance to discuss the elements that go into strong stories, and you have had the chance to brainstorm and map out a story that you would like to tell. Please use this document as you begin (or continue) to work on your Moth Hour stories. As a reminder, your stories should be in the 5-6 minute range, so please periodically check in to see how long it will take you to read your story (for example, time yourself reading your first page out loud after you finish writing it). For next class, please have two double-spaced pages of your story completed. You will have one more class next week to complete your stories. Some elements to consider... Exposition With the exposition of your stories, make sure to take steps to introduce your audience to the world they’re visiting. Where are we? When is this taking place? Since we cannot “see” this place, what does it look like? Sound like? Try to imagine what your audience needs to know in order to fully appreciate your story. Additionally, how can you hook their attention with your first page and keep them reading/listening until the end? Dialogue Integration Make sure to incorporate dialogue into your stories (when applicable), rather than summaries of what was said. Good: I nervously stepped up to the counter and asked, “Is there anything I can purchase for a dollar?” The cashier cracked a large smile and responded, “Of course. You can get anything on this bottom shelf.” Instead of: I stepped up to the counter and asked the cashier if I could get anything for a dollar, and she smiled and told me I could get anything from the bottom shelf. Today’s Class On the next page, please start writing your story. Please ask any questions that come up as you’re working! Assignment Rubric 1 Losing Everything or so I Thought By Joshua Yoran It was a Sunday morning, August 12, 2018. I had survived the blaze that had torn through our home the previous evening. I thought I had lost everything. I was wrong. Growing up in the crowded metropolis of New York City, I had always dreamed of living in sunny California. I dream was to be able to enjoy the outdoors and experience the wonders of nature. So I earnestly developed a plan while in high school; I would attend a university on the West Coast, major in business studies and land myself a lucrative job in San Francisco that would afford me all the opportunities to enjoy life. I was confident about a career as a financial investor and Silicon Valley, the epicenter for entrepreneurs, was my target location.. It was about 4pm Pacific Standard Time on Saturday, August 11, 2018 and I had been laboring all day to complete the proposal for a mega-million dollar deal. Sitting at my desk in my home office, I looked up from my computer and gazed out at the world outside that beckoned me. Stretched out across the expansive 5 acres of our property we owned was a blanket of lush green grass with a few sun bleached spots mixed in. Further out in the fields I could see the amber glint of rivers and the occasional mirror-like flash of a mountain lake. Listening closely I could hear the harsh, sharp notes of the hummingbirds, “chit-chit-chit,” as they flitted around our feeders and blooming plants. Sixty miles south of the steel and concrete of the bustling city of San Francisco, Los Gatos was nestled at the base of the Sierra Azules where the Santa Clara Valley meets the lower slopes of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The majestic mountains soared upwards as if to kiss the sky, like skyscrapers, reaching almost ----- feet, impervious to the approaching dangers of fires. Far 2 from the clamor and chaos of the bustling city life, my wife, Marisa, and I found this ---- property and fell in love with its serenity. It was an oasis of peace. One that we worked hard for, saving money for years, forgoing vacations and eliminating unnecessary expenses, for a down payment on the perfect home. And for the last five years, Marisa and I had spent our weekends picnicking, sunbathing and enjoying our land. I was as happy as a mouse in cheese, you could say. Marisa, always the cautious one, however, initially resisted settling down in this area for fears about wildfires. Like many people on the West Coast who watched the blood-orange skies that blanketed California during the fire season, she thought it was a warning about a coming climatological apocalypse, I knew better. This was an unfortunate reality of climate change but not an apocalypse. Two days ago we woke up to find our area of land swaddled in thick white smoke, but when Marisa checked her phone she did not see any evacuation notices. “The sky has started to clear,” I said. “The sky is blue, no smoke anymore.” We saw that the wind had changed, and we were good. But that afternoon, off into the distance to the northeast, I spotted the ominous billows of black clouds hovering above the mountain tops, partially obstructing the view of the fiery orange sun. I knew the fires were not far away because the familiar scent of burnt wood, so common during California’s fire season, was drifting through our home like incense. But again, there had been no evacuation notices. Turning back to my work, editing a proposal for my partners, I overheard the drone of a voice coming from the TV in the living room. Reluctantly I stopped my work, saving the half-finished proposal to my harddrive before retreating to the living room. Marisa had the local 3 TV news channel on. She sat directly in front of the screen, leaning forward, a pensive look on her face, biting her lower lip. She briefly glanced over at me with worried eyes before returning her gaze to the TV screen, dropping her chin into her hands, cradling her head. “I know you don’t want to, but we should really think about going to my mother’s house. It doesn’t look good, Sam.” Her words hung in the air like a tennis ball that’s been lobbed over the net just waiting for me to return it to her side of the court. I slowly walked over to her side and rested my hand affectionately on her shoulder. I watched as the news reporter warned of the threatening actions of the forest fires developing to the north. She stood stiff as if paralyzed by the menacing flames in the distance behind her, strong winds whipping around her, tearing through her hair. She gripped her microphone as if expecting it to be torn away with the winds at any moment. In a loud, trembling voice she described how “topography, high winds and dry fuels have aligned to produce unprecedented fire behavior. We haven’t seen this kind of devastating wildfires since the Batter Creek Fire in 2009 which ripped through seventeen California communities, leaving 85 dead, before it was contained.” She continued, “Chuck, we can only pray Los Gatos remains outside the path of this monster firestorm.” Behind her on the screen I could see the unfettered flames in the distance, devouring hungrily, licking and lapping at the brush, twisting and swaying in a dance without any rhythm or script. Marisa was still glued to the TV screen, her shoulders now up with her arms folded tightly across her chest. It certainly isn’t the best news, I thought, but we have been through these summer flare ups before and our property has never been caught in the crosshairs of the flames. 4 It was just part of California’s age-old relationship with fire and I didn’t think we needed to overreact to the situation. Besides, going to my mother-in-law’s house would entail moving all of my research for my proposal, all 4 voluminous 3-inch binders, and trying to get the proposal finished amid the chaos of her home, where Marisa’s unemployed brother currently lived along with his obnoxious and exceedingly undisciplined 170 pound Saint Bernard named Bruiser. While contemplating our options, I suggested, “Why don’t we just wait and see what happens tomorrow and we can make a decision on next steps.” Marisa glared at me with narrowed eyes, tight-lipped and turned away. Not knowing exactly what to say to reassure her that everything would be fine, I finally said, “Looks like they are calling in more firefighters and I am sure they will be able to get things under control. Don’t you think?” No reaction. Marisa got up from the sofa abruptly and walked towards the door. As she exited the room she looked back at me with a furtive look and mumbled, “Ok. If you say so.” I returned to my desk, frustrated that Marisa didn’t understand how stressed I was about the pending proposal deadline and seemingly unsympathetic to the fact that I was tirelessly working to make money for us.. I stared pensively out the window, contemplating the remaining hours left before the deadline. One more day and the biggest deal I have ever worked on could be all mine, I thought. Later that night as I got ready for bed I mulled over the proposal for work. How would the partners react? Had I included all the important figures for the deal? Tomorrow would be monumental if I landed this deal, a transformative moment in my career that would assure my future growth and success. And Marisa would benefit from that too. We could finally afford a 5 belated honeymoon trip to Hawaii. I looked over at Marisa lying next to me in bed, her reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose, her eyes fixated on the words on her ipad. “Goodnight, hon,” I said as I rolled over, fluffed up my feather pillow and pressed it under my head. “Goodnight,” she replied with a sigh of exasperation. I closed my eyes, putting Marisa out of mind and thinking about what was left to be completed in the proposal. Quarterly reporting, done. Graphed projections of earnings, done. Prospectus of future profitability, still needs more work. I fell soundly into a deep restful sleep. “The house is on fire! The house is on fire!” I woke to Marisa’s screams. A bad dream? I was groggy. I never heard the smoke detector go off. And I hadn’t yet processed the acrid stench of smoke. Apparently, Marisa had heard the smoke alarm moments before and wrenched open our bedroom door to investigate, only to be confronted with heavy smoke filling the hallway, the ceiling already engulfed in flames. She screamed again, “Oh my God! Our house is on fire, Sam!” Wide awake, I jerked upright in bed as the smoke rolled into our bedroom. I jumped out of bed, rushing after Marisa as she moved into the hallway. I turned into the hallway and saw the fire licking the walls and crawling across the ceiling. The blood pounded in my ears. The smoke thickened to pitch black. Blinded by smoke, I lurched forward and grabbed Marisa’s hand. As I led the way down the hallway, feeling my way along seemingly unfamiliar walls, I pulled Marisa 6 down to the floor, crouching, almost crawling, to avoid inhaling as much smoke as possible. I ran one hand along the wall to guide us down the hallway and with my other hand I clutched Marisa’s like an iron shackle, fearful of losing her in the thick smoke. I was still wearing the shirt I had slept in with my hands and lower arms exposed. The sickening smell of my burning flesh turned my stomach as ashes fell on my skin like snowflakes of fire. The sulfurous scent of my hair being singed by flames engulfed me. Choking on smoke, Marisa covered her face with her shirt while trying to block my mouth from breathing in the noxious clouds of smoke. The sound of crackling flames was pervasive as if we were caught in the middle of an inferno. We finally reached the staircase, after what felt like hours, as chunks of the flaming ceiling collapsed around us, barely missing us. “Marisa,” I called out, “you go down the staircase first. Kneel down and go down backwards. I will be right behind you!” “I can’t! I can’t!” she cried. “Don’t let go of my hand!” I clenched her hand tighter. When we finally reached the bottom of the staircase I could see the flames as they consumed the living room and kitchen. Windows exploded. I knew the front door was only about 4 feet ahead of us but the smoke was as thick as a brick wall. I dropped to the floor, still holding on to Marisa and --- crawled towards the direction of the front door. “I got it! I got it!” I called out as I pulled on the doorknob, squeezing Marisa’s hand and pulling open the front door. We crawled out onto the front porch as the warm morning air told us we had made it out of the house. Even though It was morning the skies were almost black and the miniscule amount 7 of light coming through looked flat. I looked up as the flames continued to pummel our house with explosive force. Still gripping Marisa’s hand, I turned to her, her face spotted with soot, tears welling in her eyes. We exchanged no words, just stood in solemn silence, hands still clasped together, oblivious to the shrieking sirens and dozens of firefighters. That night I sustained burns to my left arm and hand that required multiple operations involving painful skin grafts. The flames and intense heat rendered nothing salvageable from the house. I lost every material possession I owned; the house, the work for my proposal, everything. That loss changed me. But as we healed I realized I hadn’t lost everything. I had my life, I had Marisa, I had my memories. I see the world differently now, I see my life differently. I see my relationship with Marisa differently. Marisa and I moved into an affordable, albeit small, one-bedroom apartment in San Francisco. At the entrance hangs a picture of our old house with those spectacular mountains in the background. The picture is one of the memories we cherish. Today I live to create more memories with Marisa and the future family we hope to have together. I no longer think only about work and making money because at any moment life could change and it won’t matter what material possessions you have. What matters is how you lived your life and the memories you made. 8
