Prose workshop report
Mar. 15th, 2003 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaI've just come back from my Workshop for Creative Writing in English for non-native Speakers. Wow, that was amazing.
In October we did poetry, this time we did prose. There were 7 authors and one tutor. The workshop started with exercise one, 10 minutes of uninterrupted writing - anything that came to mind as long as we never stopped writing for a second. The purpose was to unclog the creative pipes.
I ended up writing a short scene in which a girl and a guy drive along the PCH at night - in a deSoto. It wasn't good, but it did indeed get the creative juices flowing.
Afterwards we quickly created a character together, just a broad outline. This was the result:
A woman, about 45 years old, with two children (girls), middle class, high school degree, university drop-out because of pregnancy, afraid of cars, her favorite books are 'American Psycho' and 'Effi Briest' (a German naturalist novel), for breakfast she has a grapefruit and tea, she's a smoker, never goes to the cinema or theatre or opera, if she has two free hours in the afternoon she cleans the house again.
Our second exercise involved three short stories by published authors. We read the first opening paragraphs. Then we were supposed to pick a character out of those published stories and write something in which that character interacts with our woman.
I picked a story called 'The Swimmer' by John Cheever, used the opening paragraphs and began writing a story about infidelity (I have no clue what the original story is about). I enjoyed that a lot. Funnily enough the other participants of the workshop thought it was very cinematographic and visual, only a little too frilly at the beginning (where I tried - apparently unsuccessfully - to imitate Cheever's style)
It was a great exercise though and I've decided to continue work on that fragment, kick out everything that was determined by Cheever, like names, and see if I can come up with a rounded story about infidelity.
Exercise number three - after the lunch break - was even more rewarding.
Each participant was asked to create three pieces of paper. Then we were asked to describe a character - as specifically as possible. But we had only 1-2 minutes to do so. Then we folded the piece of paper and passed it to our left neighbor. Then we did the same with a location, but this we passed to our right. Finally we were asked to quickly write down an activity and pass that to the person sitting two seats to the right.
Finally we were all allowed to look at our three slips of paper and told to get out the 10 minutes worth of jotting things down and use that too. Then we had exactly 70 minutes to make something out of it.
The results were really quite awesome. And it was interesting to see how different these stories came out.
I won't bore you with the first two results, but I thought you might like to look at the story I wrote based on those three plot elements.
But before I do, I have to quickly mention that while I was away all day, Mr. Estepheia entertained the children, varnished their nails, cooked them pasta with his first ever home-made cheese sauce, folded tons of laundry, and tidied up the living room and dining room. Applause, applause!
The clock on the dashboard says it’s 11.54 pm. We agreed that I should wake him at midnight, so he can drive the second leg of the trip. If I adjust the Mustang’s rearview mirror – which I can safely do because at this time of night there’s no traffic on the PCH - I can see him lying on the backseat, half covered by a plaid blanket.
He’s everything I’m not, good-looking, strong, confident, successful. And hot. He could get any girl he wants, simply because he’s the Captain of the High School football team. Unlike me, he hates poetry or literature of any kind unless the characters talk in bubbles. But he likes ‘Dawson’s Creek’ and I’ve somehow managed to see two or three episodes - so we have at least one thing in common.
His name is Butch.
My name is Star.
Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid name. Tell that to my parents. They never really got out of the sixties. They’re still living on bean sprouts and tofu-burgers and drive to protest rallies in a rainbow-colored bus.
I took him to my parents for the weekend. I wanted them to meet him. At first I thought it was a mistake. One look at him and Karen (that’s my Mom) and Tom (my Dad) were convinced that Butch was the epitome of the class-enemy, from his college jacket down to his authentic Reeboks. Oh and, when they talked to him there was alway this slight hesitation, before using his name. ‘Would you like some more potatoes, um—Butch?’
But I got to take him to my favorite spot, down by the brook, about a twenty minute walk from the farmhouse. There, under the branches of a tall willow tree we talked. You know, all kinds of stuff.
And there and then Butch and I made love for the first time.
Later that evening I got to play the piano for him. We don’t have one in our dorm, so I was kinda out of practice, but after a while Chopin and I were on the same page again.
When we drove off, Butch got a reluctant hug from Karen and pat on the back from Tom. They don’t know that the Captain of the football team can’t have a boyfriend named Star.
The digital clock jumps to four zeros. Midnight. Does the Mustang turn into a pumpkin? In a way it does.
My 'instructions' were:
1) Boy, 18, athletic, dumb, likes late afternoon TV series, would like to be an engineer
2) Under the branches of a tall tree, with fungi and mosses around the stem, the branches hang pretty low, the sun is shining
3) Playing the piano, depending on your mood you can only tip it or beat the key
- the three plot components were meant as crutches, so we were allowed to ignore some of the details
In October we did poetry, this time we did prose. There were 7 authors and one tutor. The workshop started with exercise one, 10 minutes of uninterrupted writing - anything that came to mind as long as we never stopped writing for a second. The purpose was to unclog the creative pipes.
I ended up writing a short scene in which a girl and a guy drive along the PCH at night - in a deSoto. It wasn't good, but it did indeed get the creative juices flowing.
Afterwards we quickly created a character together, just a broad outline. This was the result:
A woman, about 45 years old, with two children (girls), middle class, high school degree, university drop-out because of pregnancy, afraid of cars, her favorite books are 'American Psycho' and 'Effi Briest' (a German naturalist novel), for breakfast she has a grapefruit and tea, she's a smoker, never goes to the cinema or theatre or opera, if she has two free hours in the afternoon she cleans the house again.
Our second exercise involved three short stories by published authors. We read the first opening paragraphs. Then we were supposed to pick a character out of those published stories and write something in which that character interacts with our woman.
I picked a story called 'The Swimmer' by John Cheever, used the opening paragraphs and began writing a story about infidelity (I have no clue what the original story is about). I enjoyed that a lot. Funnily enough the other participants of the workshop thought it was very cinematographic and visual, only a little too frilly at the beginning (where I tried - apparently unsuccessfully - to imitate Cheever's style)
It was a great exercise though and I've decided to continue work on that fragment, kick out everything that was determined by Cheever, like names, and see if I can come up with a rounded story about infidelity.
Exercise number three - after the lunch break - was even more rewarding.
Each participant was asked to create three pieces of paper. Then we were asked to describe a character - as specifically as possible. But we had only 1-2 minutes to do so. Then we folded the piece of paper and passed it to our left neighbor. Then we did the same with a location, but this we passed to our right. Finally we were asked to quickly write down an activity and pass that to the person sitting two seats to the right.
Finally we were all allowed to look at our three slips of paper and told to get out the 10 minutes worth of jotting things down and use that too. Then we had exactly 70 minutes to make something out of it.
The results were really quite awesome. And it was interesting to see how different these stories came out.
I won't bore you with the first two results, but I thought you might like to look at the story I wrote based on those three plot elements.
But before I do, I have to quickly mention that while I was away all day, Mr. Estepheia entertained the children, varnished their nails, cooked them pasta with his first ever home-made cheese sauce, folded tons of laundry, and tidied up the living room and dining room. Applause, applause!
The clock on the dashboard says it’s 11.54 pm. We agreed that I should wake him at midnight, so he can drive the second leg of the trip. If I adjust the Mustang’s rearview mirror – which I can safely do because at this time of night there’s no traffic on the PCH - I can see him lying on the backseat, half covered by a plaid blanket.
He’s everything I’m not, good-looking, strong, confident, successful. And hot. He could get any girl he wants, simply because he’s the Captain of the High School football team. Unlike me, he hates poetry or literature of any kind unless the characters talk in bubbles. But he likes ‘Dawson’s Creek’ and I’ve somehow managed to see two or three episodes - so we have at least one thing in common.
His name is Butch.
My name is Star.
Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid name. Tell that to my parents. They never really got out of the sixties. They’re still living on bean sprouts and tofu-burgers and drive to protest rallies in a rainbow-colored bus.
I took him to my parents for the weekend. I wanted them to meet him. At first I thought it was a mistake. One look at him and Karen (that’s my Mom) and Tom (my Dad) were convinced that Butch was the epitome of the class-enemy, from his college jacket down to his authentic Reeboks. Oh and, when they talked to him there was alway this slight hesitation, before using his name. ‘Would you like some more potatoes, um—Butch?’
But I got to take him to my favorite spot, down by the brook, about a twenty minute walk from the farmhouse. There, under the branches of a tall willow tree we talked. You know, all kinds of stuff.
And there and then Butch and I made love for the first time.
Later that evening I got to play the piano for him. We don’t have one in our dorm, so I was kinda out of practice, but after a while Chopin and I were on the same page again.
When we drove off, Butch got a reluctant hug from Karen and pat on the back from Tom. They don’t know that the Captain of the football team can’t have a boyfriend named Star.
The digital clock jumps to four zeros. Midnight. Does the Mustang turn into a pumpkin? In a way it does.
My 'instructions' were:
1) Boy, 18, athletic, dumb, likes late afternoon TV series, would like to be an engineer
2) Under the branches of a tall tree, with fungi and mosses around the stem, the branches hang pretty low, the sun is shining
3) Playing the piano, depending on your mood you can only tip it or beat the key
- the three plot components were meant as crutches, so we were allowed to ignore some of the details
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no subject
Loved your story. Thank-you for sharing ;>D
no subject
Date: 2003-03-15 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-16 01:33 pm (UTC)I'm a bad girl, I haven't written my 10 minutes worth of drivel yet, but I intend to before I go to bed. It's important to do it when you're tired. The point is to access thoughts and ideas when your guard is down. That way you write things you'd never put on paper if wide awake.
I have to admit I would never have used the pumpkin metaphor in the story above if I hadn't read your 'Kunstmärchen' about the Swan Sister - it had me thinking about fairy tales a lot these past weeks. So thanks for the inspiration ;-)