character_map_side_view_2_low_grandeI am a big fan of the Writing Maps from Write Around Town. Nifty maps filled with writing prompts that force you to flex your writing muscles. A must-have for every writer, I think. Great exercises that keep the creative writing juices flowing.
Last night I dove into the The Character Map. I read a prompt, thought about it for two seconds and started writing for 15 minutes.

This is what the soundtrack prompt on The Character Map inspired me to write. Mind you, it’s a first draft and it should be considered a first draft. Nothing fancy, just a character exploration.

He switched on the music without thinking. He didn’t have to, the score was on repeat anyway. There was a slight hitch in Lizzy’s breath when the first cello string was touched, almost as if the bow had touched her. She sat upright, her head slightly cocked. He watched her as the music rolled through the room, as the crescendo built.
It took her exactly one minute and fourteen seconds before she lost interest. She slumped against the headboard and fiddled with the sheet, pulling and tucking it.
So, no Yo-Yo Ma, he thought. His finger traced her shoulder and arm all the way down to her elbow. Would there be a chance that he’d find a tune that would please her? Or would she stick to Rage Against the Machine forever? RATM mirrored her tough attitude and he could see how that comforted her.
“Jeez, Max. This is boring. Do you have anything more cheery. It’s like freaking funeral music.”
For a moment he considered explaining the music. If she would just give him five minutes, he could make her listen to the only thing in the world, in his life, that calmed his nerves, that made him forget the dreadful day his life changed.
He flicked off iTunes. “Let me hear some of yours,” he said.
“Got a new one.” She bent over and leaned out to reach into her jeans.
His hand hovered the air for a bit, still warm with her body, then fell onto the mattress.
It wasn’t Rage Against the Machine. No trace of her at all in this music.
“Why?” he asked.
“Heard it on the radio. Made me think of you.”
“The sadness. Just like your music. It’s always around you, like a shroud or something.” She plucked the sheet and pulled it up to her chin. “You like it?” Her voice was nothing more than a small whisper.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in, brushed her hair with his chin. “Into the wild,” he said.