Ktoohill

Opening scene: introduces primary conflict, setting, protagonist, and tone

First, I want to say I’m sorry. Not for shooting Ethel—that was an accident. And not for showing up at City Hall with a gun—I promise I wasn’t going to hurt anyone. I was just trying to help.

But people are hurting right now, and to those who think I made things worse: I’m sorry.

Some people are calling me a white savior. Others are saying I was pushed over the edge by the election. Those are both partly true, I guess, but neither of them is the whole truth.

Honestly, I wasn’t trying to save anyone except myself. 

You may never understand why I did what I did. But I bet you’ve also never listened to someone defend slavery in the year 2016, in San Francisco. San Francisco! They don’t allow Republicans to live here, practically.  

It’s easy to judge me now. But at the time, I did what any 26-year-old white woman would do: I decided to make a podcast about it. 

#

If I had to pinpoint the moment where everything went wrong, it would be right before I met Ethel for the first time, when I was standing on the corner of Bagley and 19th in the Mission, not quite where I was supposed to be going because I hadn’t listened to my boss when he told me. 

Next to El Farolito, Tyler had said. To the right of the taco shop is a boring building that looks like an office complex, so I know that can’t be the one that houses the bitcoin startup. To the left of El Farolito is a forest green Victorian with gold and brown accents, wearing a turret like it’s the only one at the party who showed up in a party hat. It looks like a fairy tale castle in the moment before everything goes terribly wrong for the heroine. The blinds are drawn in every window, despite the fact that this is one of the nicest mornings we’ve had in weeks—very in keeping with an early-stage startup concerned about confidentiality. It makes me think of Vegas, the windowless and clockless casinos that pump oxygen into rooms and alcohol into bloodstreams.

When I cross the street to get a closer look, I can make out a gold sign next to the polished wooden door that reads FUNDUN. This is a startup name if I’ve ever heard one—and I’ve heard plenty. Without a question, this is it. I ring the bell. 

Someone yells out “Hold on!” and I freeze, because the voice sounds old—definitely over 50—which is two decades too old for someone who works at the type of place CastPod profiles. I consider turning and walking swiftly in the other direction, but something keeps me there—inertia, maybe, or laziness would be a less generous way of putting it. I can rationalize almost anything using the admittedly far-fetched, sometimes tipping into paranoid thoughts running through my head at all hours of the day like they’re being chased by an animal one level up on the food chain. Maybe it’s “bring your parent to work day.” 

When the wooden door swings open seconds later, I see a woman who is, in fact, old. Mid-70s, probably, with white curls piled on top of her head, wearing perfectly round glasses that sit on the tip of her nose, so close to falling off that I have to wonder if she can even see out of them. Her pants are high waisted, in a way that would be fashionable if it were meant to be, and her shoes are of the loafer variety. I bought loafers too, the week before last, but returned them after Jill told me they “didn’t do me any favors.” They’re not doing this woman any favors, either, but what separates me from Jill is I would never tell someone that. 

“Good morning!” The woman says, beaming. Whatever flavor of Kool-Aid this particular startup’s founder is peddling, this woman has mainlined it into her veins. “Can I help you?” 

“I'm here to profile your organization,” I say, “for our podcast? I’m with CastPod. My boss met someone from here the other night and set this up—I think someone is expecting me?”

"A podcast!” The woman says. She suspends her hands in midair as if she’s either going to clap them together or grab me by the checks, grandmother-style. I instinctively take a step back, forgetting that there are steps right behind me. “How perfectly delightful. So that's a radio program, then?”

“Something like that,” I say, forcing a smile. Who hasn’t heard of Serial?

“I think that's just wonderful. We’ve been waiting for someone like you, and here you are! It’s almost like…well, it’s almost like someone sent you.” 

“My boss sent me?” 

The woman ignores this statement/question hybrid. “I'm Ethel,” she says, sticking out her hand. Her nails are long and tapered and yellow on the inside. I immediately think of claws. “What did you say your name was?”

“Darcy. Darcy Heller.” 

Ethel's eyes widen, making her appear even more thrilled. I can’t say that anyone has ever had this reaction to me or my name before, and I have no idea why this relatively unremarkable combination of syllables triggered this reaction, but it’s nice to be wanted—I’ll take it. 

“Please, come in." 

I follow Ethel into the hallway of FUNDUN, which, it becomes immediately apparent, is unlike the office of any startup I’ve visited before. The hall is narrow and dim, lit by a single chandelier. An open door to the left reveals a table with an ancient-looking desktop computer on it (an antique? An ironic joke?), and shelves and shelves of binders and actual paper books. To the right is a small kitchen, which has a sink piled high with dishes (that, at least, is standard), a yellowed fridge, a dishwasher with the door left hanging open like a gaping mouth, a sputtering old-school coffee maker, not a K-cup in sight. 

Ethel leads me to a room at the end of the hallway. Glass cases line the back wall, giving off strong museum vibes. Also contributing to the museum vibes is the vintage-looking furniture filling the room—a coffee table made of dark wood, a couch and an armchair upholstered with a maroon, velvety fabric. So far, I’ve seen no laptops, no standing desks, no ping-pong tables, no nap pods. Tyler had failed to mention—though to be fair, I also failed to ask—what this startup actually did. If I had to guess, I’d say some kind of anti-aging app. Brain games, maybe. Or a service where young people donate blood to rich old people who want to live longer.  
 

1. Story Statement: Darcy must create a hit podcast that exposes the women of FUNDUN and their plot—saving her career and democracy.

2. Antagonists: The women of FUNDUN are the antagonists of my story. Most defined and notable are Delilah and Ethel: Delilah because she is the ringleader and Ethel because she is Darcy’s entry point into the world of FUNDUN and seems to see things in Darcy that she doesn’t see in herself. The women as a whole represent a toxic force in American society exemplified by Trump and the political climate in the background of the novel. I have wondered if the women of FUNDUN are humanized and played for humor too often/in ways that downplay their antagonistic characteristics. Tyler is another antagonist in the novel, and I’ve wondered if his character swings too far toward hyperbole. He represents white male privilege in the Bay Area, and the obliviousness of tech bro culture, especially in the face of such stark income inequality. These characteristics are exemplified by other men throughout the story, from bad dates to shared ride passengers, who could potentially come across as stereotypes or one-dimensional. 

3. Titles: Undivisible - this is my working title and one that I’m very tied to BUT I realize it is not actually a word (which is part of the point), meaning that it might be hard for people to search for/find but also won’t compete with other similar titles. Other options: some sort of play on startup…something with FUNDUN (but same issues as above). Move Fast and Break Things. 

4. Comps: The Verifiers by Jane Pek and Very Nice by Marcy Dermansky. Both are funny and fast-paced, and take on the hypocrisies of contemporary society while also featuring complex, flawed female protagonists. 

5. Hook line: Desperate to escape from her dead-end job and prove her merit as a journalist, Darcy infiltrates and secretly records a group of militant white supremacist women in the run-up to the 2016 election. 

6. Inner conflict: Darcy feels increasingly anxious throughout the ordeal with FUNDUN. She’s torn between her loneliness and desire to find a community with the uncomfortable reality that the women with whom she’s spending the majority of her time are bigoted and violent. At the Vegas buffet, when someone accidentally kicks the recorder Darcy is wearing in her boot and it starts playing, Darcy is on the verge of having a panic attack as she imagines being discovered. Secondary conflict: Darcy’s secondary conflict revolves around her difficulty dating and finding connection and community in San Francisco. She doesn’t get along with one of her two roommates, her closest work friend doesn’t come through for her, and her best friend from college is living a very different life in a city across the country. 

7. Setting: San Francisco is a character in this novel: quirky, increasingly homogenous, hilly and dense, the city is brimming with contradictions and only seemingly with possibilities. I do worry that the tech satire is a bit played out, and want to make sure it comes across as fresh and not played out.