[SAMPLE CHAPTER] 

I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up. I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won’t bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably weary split-up and my feeling that everything was dead. With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the road. Before that I’d often dreamed of going West to see the country, always vaguely planning and never taking off. Dean is the perfect guy for the road because he actually was born on the road, when his parents were passing through Salt Lake City in 1926, in a jalopy, on their way to Los Angeles. First reports of him came to me through Chad King, who’d shown me a few letters from him written in a New Mexico reform school. I was tremendously interested in the letters because they so naively and sweetly asked Chad to teach him all about Nietzsche and all the wonderful intellectual things that Chad knew. At one point Carlo and I talked about the letters and wondered if we would ever meet the strange Dean Moriarty. This is all far back, when Dean was not the way he is today, when he was a young jailkid shrouded in mystery. Then news came that Dean was out of reform school and was coming to New York for the first time; also there was talk that he had just married a girl called Marylou.

One day I was hanging around the campus and Chad and Tim Gray told me Dean was staying in a cold-water pad in East Harlem, the Spanish Harlem. Dean had arrived the night before, the first time in New York, with his beautiful little sharp chick Marylou; they got off the Greyhound bus at 50th Street and cut around the corner looking for a place to eat and went right in Hector’s, and since then Hector’s cafeteria has always been a big symbol of New York for Dean. They spent money on beautiful big glazed cakes and creampuffs.

All this time Dean was telling Marylou things like this: “Now, darling, here we are in New York and although I haven’t quite told you everything that I was thinking about when we crossed Missouri and especially at the point when we passed the Boon ville reformatory which reminded me of my jail problem, it is absolutely necessary now to postpone all those leftover things concerning our personal lovethings and at once begin thinking of specific worklife plans . . .” and so on in the way that he had in those early days.

I went to the cold-water flat with the boys, and Dean came to the door in his shorts. Marylou was jumping off the couch; Dean had dispatched the occupant of the apartment to the kitchen, probably to make coffee, while he proceeded with his love-problems, for to him sex was the one and only holy and important thing in life, although he had to sweat and curse to make a living and so on. You saw that in the way he stood bobbing his head, always looking down, nodding, like a young boxer to instructions, to make you think he was listening to every word, throwing in a thousand “Yeses” and “That’s rights.” My first impression of Dean was of a young Gene Autry—trim, thin-hipped, blue-eyed, with a real Oklahoma accent—a sideburned hero of the snowy West. In fact he’d just been working on a ranch, Ed Wall’s in Colorado, before marrying Marylou and coming East. Marylou was a pretty blonde with immense ringlets of hair like a sea of golden tresses; she sat there on the edge of the couch with her hands hanging in her lap and her smoky blue country eyes fixed in a wide stare because she was in an evil gray New York pad that she’d heard about back West, and waiting like a longbodied emaciated Modigliani surrealist woman in a serious room. But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things. That night we all drank beer and pulled wrists and talked till dawn, and in the morning, while we sat around dumbly smoking butts from ashtrays in the gray light of a gloomy day, Dean got up nervously, paced around, thinking, and decided the thing to do was to have Marylou make breakfast and sweep the floor. “In other words we’ve got to get on the ball, darling, what I’m saying, otherwise it’ll be fluctuating and lack of true knowledge or crystallization of our plans.” Then I went away.

During the following week he confided in Chad King that he absolutely had to learn how to write from him; Chad said I was a writer and he should come to me for advice. Meanwhile Dean had gotten a job in a parking lot, had a fight with Marylou in their Hoboken apartment—God knows why they went there—and she was so mad and so down deep vindictive that she reported to the police some false trumped-up hysterical crazy charge, and Dean had to lam from Hoboken. So he had no place to live. He came right out to Paterson, New Jersey, where I was living with my aunt, and one night while I was studying there was a knock on the door, and there was Dean, bowing, shuffling obsequiously in the dark of the hall, and saying, “Hel-lo, you remember me—Dean Moriarty? I’ve come to ask you to show me how to write.”

“And where’s Marylou?” I asked, and Dean said she’d apparently whored a few dollars together and gone back to Denver—“the whore!” So we went out to have a few beers because we couldn’t talk like we wanted to talk in front of my aunt, who sat in the living room reading her paper. She took one look at Dean and decided that he was a madman.

In the bar I told Dean, “Hell, man, I know very well you didn’t come to me only to want to become a writer, and after all what do I really know about it except you’ve got to stick to it with the energy of a benny addict.” And he said, “Yes, of course, I know exactly what you mean and in fact all those problems have occurred to me, but the thing that I want is the realization of those factors that should one depend on Schopenhauer’s dichotomy for any inwardly realized . . .” and so on in that way, things I understood not a bit and he himself didn’t. In those days he really didn’t know what he was talking about; that is to say, he was a young jailkid all hung-up on the wonderful possibilities of becoming a real intellectual, and he liked to talk in the tone and using the words, but in a jumbled way, that he had heard from “real intellectuals” —although, mind you, he wasn’t so naive as that in all other things, and it took, him just a few months with Carlo Marx to become completely in there with all the terms and jargon.

END OF CHAPTER

[/SAMPLE CHAPTER]


[CHARACTERS]


1. **William (23 years old)**: William is a 23-year-old with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, often seen wearing casual attire that reflects his youthful spirit. He is writer and the boyfriend of Kimberly Miceli. He possesses an earnest demeanor with a tall, lanky frame, and his boyish charm is accentuated by a friendly smile that hints at his sense of adventure.


2. **Peter:  Peter is William’s father.  Peter is Carol’s wife.  Peter was swapped into the body of Kimberly.


3. **Kimberly Miceli **: She is Peter, William’s father, swapped into the body of his friend Kimberly.  Kimberly is described as a young woman in her early thirties with striking dark hair that flows like a wavy cascade. Her country girl frame is complemented by freckles that pepper her fair complexion.  She is marginally intelligent, but makes up for it with her quick witt. Her wardrobe typically consists of relaxed farm attire, reflecting her rural lifestyle in Kansas City.  Her favorite phrases are “You’re not an asshole, you’re the whole ass.”  “No sir.”  “Poop sticks.” and “I’m so sorry, very sorry.”  She refers to William as her “Sweetest boy in the world.”


4. **Tony**: Tony, William's coworker and an antique dealer, is in his early 40s, with a stylish yet slightly disheveled appearance. He sports a well-groomed beard and short, dark hair, which, coupled with his penchant for vintage clothing, gives him an eclectic, artistic aura. His slender frame carries an air of elegance that befits his profession.  When Peter is changed into Kimberly, Tony develops feelings for Kimberly.  Tony talks with Boston slang and tries to impress Kimberly with his corvette and the fact that he was in a band in his teenage years.


5. **Mike (65 years old)**: Mike, the older man Kimberly marries, is in his mid-60s. He has a rugged appearance, with a weathered face that speaks of a life spent running a welding company.  He is a heartless man who marries Kimberly to try and get her farm. His tall and somewhat stocky build adds a sense of stability to his character, and he often dresses in practical, comfortable attire befitting a camper owner.  He will do anything to keep Kimberly as his own wife.


6. **Carol**: Carol, Peter's wife, is around 50 years old, with a warm and welcoming smile that complements her graying hair and gentle brown eyes. She has a graceful presence, often seen wearing conservative yet tasteful clothing that reflects her role as a supportive spouse and mother.  She is straight, but when she finds out that Peter is now in the body of Kimberly Miceli, she adjust her taste to be attracted to the new Kimberly.


[/CHARACTERS]


[CHAPTER BEAT]





**Chapter 7: Coping with Change**


Chapter 7 


The body swap had left them all in a state of bewilderment. Kimberly, now free from Mike's clutches, was trying to come to terms with her new life as Kimberly. She couldn't shake off the memory of Mike's advances, his desire for her to bear his children. It was a chapter of her life she was determined to forget. She sat down with William in the cozy living room, seeking solace in his comforting presence.

"Sweetest boy in the world," Kimberly said, her voice filled with emotion as she recounted her ordeal with Mike. She knew she could confide in William, who was both her partner and her rock in these trying times.

William listened intently, his dark brown eyes reflecting his concern. "I can't even imagine what you went through, Kimberly," he said softly. "But we're together now, and we'll figure this out."

Kimberly nodded, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Each of them faced unique challenges in their swapped bodies, but they were determined to navigate this strange new world together.

Meanwhile, Tony, the antique dealer with a penchant for vintage clothing, was trying to find common ground with Kimberly. He had developed an unexpected romantic interest in her since the body swap. Tony leaned in closer, his voice tinged with a Boston slang accent as he tried to impress her.

"Kimberly, you know, I used to have this slick corvette back in the day," Tony said, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "And I was in a rock band when I was a kid. You'd have loved the music we played."

Kimberly couldn't help but chuckle. "Tony, you're a nice guy, but you're just not my type," she replied with a teasing smile. Her heart still belonged to Carol, and she had no intention of straying.

When William wasn't around, Tony would often find himself alone with Kimberly, attempting to sweep her off her feet. He admired her beauty and charisma, but Kimberly remained resolute in her loyalty to Carol.

One evening, they took a romantic walk together, the city's lights casting a soft glow around them. Tony couldn't resist the temptation any longer. He gently pressed Kimberly against a wall, their faces inches apart. Their breaths quickened as they felt a surge of passion between them.

But Kimberly pulled away, her hazel eyes filled with determination. "Tony, I can't do this. My heart belongs to Carol," she said firmly.

Tony sighed, understanding the boundaries. He respected Kimberly's choice, even though it left him yearning for something he couldn't have.

As the days passed, their collective goal remained clear—to find a way to reverse the body swap. Each character faced their own unique challenges, awkward situations, and moments of self-discovery. They clung to the hope that someday, they would return to their true selves.

One evening, as William, Kimberly, and Tony returned home, they were met with a surprising sight. Carol stood at the doorstep, her warm smile contrasting with her perplexed expression.

"Kimberly, come inside," Carol said gently, extending her hand. William followed Tony inside to give them some privacy.

Carol couldn't help but look at Kimberly with a newfound sense of admiration. "You're a very beautiful woman," she said sincerely. "I hope you're happy now."

Kimberly, still adjusting to her new reality, felt a mixture of emotions. She asked if she could take a shower to wash away the remnants of her past life.

Carol watched as Kimberly showered, her thoughts wandering. She realized that this beautiful woman had once been her husband. When Kimberly emerged from the shower, Carol gently dried her off and sat her down.

"Kimberly, let me explain your new anatomy as a woman," Carol said patiently. She wanted to make this transition as smooth as possible for her partner.

Kimberly nodded, grateful for Carol's understanding. As Carol spoke, Kimberly couldn't help but appreciate the love and care that still existed between them. She leaned in for a kiss, but Carol hesitated, her own adjustment ongoing.

That night, Kimberly lay beside Carol, feeling her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. It was a complex journey they were on, but they were determined to find their way back to each other, no matter the challenges they faced.


[/CHAPTER BEAT]


[OUTLINE]





**Chapter 7: Coping with Change**


- The characters' struggles to adapt to their new identities.

- Tony's romantic interest in Kimberly.

- Kimberly's conflicted feelings about her new self.

- William's emotional turmoil and unresolved feelings.

- The characters' determination to reverse the body swap.



[/OUTLINE]


[STYLE] First person limited view past point of view of Kimberly, show don’t tell, deep point of view. Realistic dialogue. Stronger verbs. Lots of conflict, drama, and description.  Show romance. Avoid mushy descriptions/dialogue. Make sure to write realistic dialogue with the occasional dialogue beat, avoid any cheesy or melodramatic descriptions/dialogue. Avoid mushy descriptions, used mixed cadence. [/STYLE]


[INSTRUCTIONS]

Using all of the above information on CHAPTERS and CHARACTERS, write words of a this chapter.  Use the SAMPLE CHAPTER and the STYLE to determine the prose style of the chapter you write.  Follow the CHAPTER BEAT closely.  Follow every part of the OUTLINE to detail.  All paragraphs should take place during the time frame of the summary instead of adding new events.  Focus on fully developing the given story beats rant than rising to new plot points.  End the scenes at specified story beats rather than continuing further.  First person past point of view of Kimberly , show don't tell, deep point of view. Realistic dialogue. Stronger verbs. Lots of conflict, drama, and description. Avoid mushy descriptions/dialogue.

[/INSTRUCTIONS]