The instigating event:
She walks with her sister down the apartment complex sidewalk. In the green, four teen boys bat a volleyball around. They look; she looks. She talks quickly to her sister about their visit. Rapid talk. And while her mouth says things like, “She looks healthy, happy.” Her mind says, “Hot boys. Don’t look. Don’t look.”
Their shirts are rolled up to their chests. Brown skin darkened already by summer sun. One has the Bruno Mars hair (why, guys, why?) but cute nonetheless. Eyes flicker. She talks and walks faster.
Past them now, she nears the parking lot. At the first row of cars, she stops to give her sister a hug and kiss. The four, at a distance now, stand still in a line, as goodbyes are said, and she and her sister head to their separate cars.
She gets in and sighs with relief. Phew, hot. And the volleyball comes winging, then bouncing over, through the lot, to roll in the car space next to hers. Bruno Mars comes jogging over to retrieve it, bending, standing outside her window. She rummages through her purse till he moves on. She drives away.
How genre can change a story:
Fantasy: As he bends for the ball, the string around his neck slips out of his shirt. A flash of turquoise. I gasp and look away. It’s a polinar. There’s nothing I can do but stare ahead as he tucks it back into hiding.
Western: He twirls the ball on one finger and swaggers over. Sun glints off his buckle. He nods without a smile and moves on, taking the empty sidewalk into shadows.
Erotica: He picks up the ball but makes no move back to his friends. Standing, shirt rolled up his chest, he flips the ball hand to hand. His dark eyes stare. I unroll my window.
Mystery: It was a ploy. Obviously. The ball had to be kicked to reach this far. But they couldn’t know what was in my trunk. David said he’d put it there before sunrise.
Literary: I looked away as he bent for the ball. His shoulders were too broad to call him “kid” anymore, but still, who wasn’t susceptible to the mockery of peers? He deserved space to collect himself. In this complex, eyes pried through slitted window shades, and mean grins slammed the doors. He walked head up.
Romance: He snatched up the ball and sheepishly smiled. What had he done to his hair? I thought and couldn’t help but smile back. I could see him moussing it up, laughing at himself in the mirror. But that memory was two years old already.
Choosing genre or story first:
How much does genre choice influence our stories? I know some people write a specific genre regularly. It’s what they read; it’s what they write. Some writers, however, aren’t aware at the initial writing stage what genre they’re aiming for. I tend to blend genres, and see many publishers asking for this blending.
Readers do have expectations when they choose a western or romance or mystery, but readers are also adventurers. I say write the story first, the true and honest thing. Then tweak if necessary. The result might surpass all expectations!
For a look at the vampire genre, see: https://patriciaesposito.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=144&action=edit