This latest writing exercise is a controversial one—so controversial, I’ve been afraid to write it up, afraid to offend people.  So, it’s been sitting in the cul de sac of my head—a rusty, tin can–for well over six months.  Sometimes I’ll kick it, hear its echo, wonder if I might come down with a case of tetanus.

Of course, this is the kind of stuff (the forbidden stuff) that gets my juices flowing.  So finally, after six months of cowering I have come to this not-so-new realization:  controversy is what writing is all about.  Therefore, in the interest of our Craft:  Ladies and gentlemen, I present (drumroll) the Bradley Manning Writing Exercise.

For those of you who have been living in the wilds of Alaska in a Unabomber Cabin, Bradley Manning is a figure of some controversy in these here United States.  A computer geek, who leaked some rather damaging information about the U.S. war effort, the nerdy, clean cut private released videos of airstrikes the Pentagon would rather the public not see; he distributed 250,000 diplomatic cables; he downloaded and let loose roughly 500,000 army reports.  All of this stuff was classified.  Not only was this information embarrassing—perhaps even compromising—but it also cast the armed forces in a bad light.  After all, how did a private get hold of this material?

Bradley Manning, it appears, was not a nefarious person; he was just some little guy who was incensed by a feeling of moral outrage (justified or not) that compelled him to do something that might very well lead to years in the stockade.  I do not necessarily condone Private Manning’s actions.  Neither can I be sure that I would have compromised our country’s national security for whatever reason–good or bad–but I do know this:  every story, especially a thriller, could get some help from a Bradley Manning type—a figure who might not prove central but sits pretty in a position to move the narrative further:  a conscientious objector, a cog in the wheel that puts a wrench in the machinery.

Always, a narrative is made better when some minor figure arises to block its, inevitable, sacred and everlastingly important conclusion. Sure, you get pissed at that character.  But that’s exactly what makes the story compelling.

Here is the first question in this two part exercise:  Have you thought about installing your own Bradley Manning in the narrative?  What information does this person hold?  How does this frustrate the higher-ups?  How does this embarrass your protagonist?

The second question is pretty superficial:  What does your Bradley Manning look like?  The United States has recently attempted to release information that changes the look of Bradley Manning.  We recently have learned first that he is gay; later still, we have learned that he is a cross dresser, that he joined the army to rid himself of this tendency.  This has a lot to do with the spin that our great government wants to put upon this turn of events.  And this element of real life has all the feeling of a spy thriller.

So, here is the task:  start with a short verbal sketch of your Bradley Manning—the public face; then finish with a vision of the private face:  demonic or angelic, stodgy or sultry, feeble or strong—these all will form the basis for a nuanced portrait of a figure that you will revile and love.  I think that if you do this, your story will begin to develop the kind of complication that will make for some good reading.  Let this dual portrait function as the compass for the meandering path that is your narrative!