Research and development of my project.

 For my media project, I so far managed to write a first draft of the story. The plot takes place in a small village and circles around the protagonist named Tom whose father just died. The story timeline takes place within a couple of days and consists of three parts; death, wake, and funeral. 

First of all one of the things I want to try with this story is using leitmotiv. I researched Susan Bell's book 'The artful edit (2008). Bell suggests searching out thematic symbols and gingerly sew them into a coherent, barely visible pattern. Laid in with a light touch, leitmotiv can act like a refrain that keeps bringing the reader back to your central theme. As for my story, I'm thinking to use the leitmotiv of a bottle cap that once screwed on the bottle would represent the end of a certain period within the character, perhaps a change.

Here is a paragraph from my first draft, I will make sure to upload more in the next post. 

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 I tried to make myself cry, I remember squeezing my eyelids so hard it felt like it might explode. I pinched my wrist till the point where blood was about to come out. It was no help. I turn my face away from the audience whom as far as I was considered was here to judge me on the love I had for a stranger lying dead in front of me.

When not so long ago my friend's father killed himself. After the funeral whole town started gossiping behind his back. They said that he didn't cry, that he was a bastard, that he did not love his father. As if love was obligatory, unconditional, surpassing beatings and abuse, neglect. As scars that we carry in our hearts and on our flesh are marks of love. They called him heartless. I saw him cry, in relief as demons now existed only in his past.

I drifted back. Back to all the beatings. Back to all the times, we found him drunk. To all the winters when a bottle of hot water was the only source of warmth. To the blood and piss that soaked throughout the walls. Back to the house which structure may collapse under the slightest breeze. I found a tear, and soon it left salt ditch on my left cheek. No one really clapped but I'm pretty sure few faces nodded with relief that at least one kid in this forsaken town still has a heath.

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References: 

 Bell, S., 2008. The artful edit.