As you'll know (if you've read my post from last week), the modules I'm studying are Life Writing and Creative Writing - so although I don't have as much to read as I usually do, I have to spend a lot more time writing than before. Ian, our tutor, recommends writing 500-1000 words per day (at least), and as I am studying two of these modules, I'm fairly certain that this is supposed to double.
This isn't usually a problem (especially if I'm allowed to count blog posts, as I not only run this blog, but my other one, Pen to Paper, as well), but it is still a fairly large amount. Add research to this, and I've got a fairly hefty amount of work. Except I've not really taken to calling these modules 'work' - they are more like 'playtime'. Lovely.
I thought, like last week, I would share a little more about what we have been doing in our sessions this week.
Monday, Life Writing, Week Three: The Truth of Feeling
We started this session off by talking about which literary biography/memoir we had chosen to read from the reading list. Ian had asked us to write a 100 word piece of flash fiction (or 100 word commentary) in response to whichever book we'd chosen. I went for Blake Morrison's And When Did You Last See Your Father (which I loved, and have since passed on to my father to read), and decided to write a piece of flash fiction. It was a lot harder to write something that is exactly 100 words long, than I thought it would be, but I feel it was fairly successful. As I was not asked to read it aloud, I shall be brave and allow you to read it here:
Arthur and Blake Morrison sit beside a soiled bed, each in a rustic (but sturdy) wooden chair, in an otherwise empty room (though it smells faintly of engine oil and rosehips). There is nothing to be heard by the laboured, raspy breaths and the whir of memories echoing around the room. Vaguely recollected images swim between them; queue-jumping (stethoscope stubbornly displayed), a blubbering holiday rep, and a naked dash across the hallway as the key turns silently, stealthily in the lock.
It isn't supposed to end like this.
A son's unuttered, indeterminable question: 'And when did you last see your Father?'
It isn't supposed to end like this.
A son's unuttered, indeterminable question: 'And when did you last see your Father?'
I realise that this may make the book sound a little more depressing than it actually is. It's more about Blake Morrison's memories of his relationship with his father, and how this relationship changed over the years. It had its serious moments, no doubt (a book containing a death must do at some stage), but it also has its humourous moments. His Dad reminds me of mine in some ways - particularly in the first chapter. I've no doubt I'm not the only one, though!
Once we had discussed the reading list books, Ian began to speak about a little philosophy (having moved on from our short, snappy history of Western Civilisation from last week). We were talking about the supposed 'four kinds of truths'; 'the truth that you feel', 'the truth that you are told', 'the truth of reason' and 'the truth perceived through the senses' (although how true are these?). It was the first 'truth' that we were primarily interested in. Once we had discussed this, Ian asked us to take a memory from our childhood and write about it. We were to use real people (parents, teachers, friends etc) and use dialogue somewhere in the piece. As this is creative non-fiction though, we are allowed to use artistic license - the scene did not have to be written exactly as we remembered it, which is good, seeing as the memory I chose is just an image from when I was around 18 months old! We had to write the piece so that it felt true.
I was fairly impressed by what I managed to do with my piece, considering how young I was when it took place, but I do honestly remember it. I was being pushed along in my pushchair by my Nan, who had given me white chocolate buttons to eat, and it was raining. I know it was raining because I had the rain cover over the pushchair, which I always loved. This is the memory in its entirety. But I've managed to get a fairly decently-sized piece out of it.
I won't be posting this one though, as I'm hoping to use it as a part of my autobiographical piece in my portfolio. Perhaps I'll post little extracts after my portfolio has been marked, in the summer.
I've also settled on who I am going to be writing my biographical extract on, so this week I have been working on researching the life of Beatrix Potter.
Wednesday, Creative Writing, Week three: The Voice of Cheese
After working on characterisation last week, and beginning to build up some initial characters to work with, we started looking at character voice and point of view. We discussed tense very briefly - past and present tenses both have their advantages, but future tense tends not to work as well in fiction etc. But this is basic stuff, so we don't need to linger on it.
Next we spoke about point of view (1st, 2nd or 3rd person), and again, agreed the 2nd person doesn't usually work as well as the other two. In fact, up until earlier this morning (Thursday), I don't remember having discovered anything written in second person at all - I stumbled across an introduction to an Ian Somerhalder biography that I was given as a joke birthday present yesterday. I can safely say that this doesn't work - although this may be because it was an Ian Somerhalder biography and not a literary biography or work of fiction. Who knows - maybe there is a book out there, written in the second person, in which is works really well. Let me know if you find this book - though I'm not certain that it exists! I'm rambling. We'll move on.
Going further into 1st and 3rd person, we looked at different examples in each. For 1st person, we agreed that 'character creates voice'. Where they are from, how old they are, their gender, peer group and education etc all contribute to creating their voice, and if this isn't written precisely, with attention to detail, then the character will not 'come alive', so to speak. The character will also not seem real if emotions and reactions are not kept tightly under control by the author. Detail is everything.
Ian gave us a (very strange) example of a novel written in first person, in which the protagonist and narrative voice was that of a shopping trolley. Another example we were given was a novel with a cat as the narrator, although this seems less strange to me. I read a novel over Christmas, which was narrated by and from the point of view of a rat, who lived in a book shop and liked to read. For those who are interested, the novel is called Firmin: Adventures of a Metropolitan Lowlife by Sam Savage, which I reviewed on my other blog. You can click here to go and read it, if you so wish.
Then we talked about the different branches of 3rd person narrative (omniscient authorial voice, close 3rd person and cold/distant 3rd person) and briefly discussed the advantages of each.
Once we'd done this, we each had to write a short story using at least one of our characters (either the ones that we had created last week, or if we didn't like them too much, new characters), but we had to write the story twice - once in first person and then again in cold third person. I was fairly happy with what I had time to write in the first person, but not at all with the cold 3rd person, so I think I'll be leaving that one alone for now. There was one more thing that we had to take into account when writing our piece though, and that was that the story must be called 'Cheese'.
I have decided to be brave (twice in one day), and post what I managed to do for the first person. I will say though, I need you to remember that it was written in less than half an hour, and that I am treating it more like a practical exercise to help my character's development, rather than something that I will actually be re-writing or developing. Honestly - it's a load of nonsense really, but good fun to write! Oh, and I feel the need to warn you, just in case there are small children in your proximity, it does contain very mild swearing. Here it is:
I must be dreaming. I have to be. I can’t open my eyes. If I do, it might still be there. I shudder. What a hideous thing. Just when I thought I’d seen every possible variant of every horrific sight that life has to regurgitate, I’m struck with this monstrosity. I only closed my eyes for a moment – I was so tired. I’m never this lax with myself. I let myself give in to an urge just once and look where it’s got me. This must be a dream. It must be.
“Oh, stop being ridiculous, Lucy. Pull yourself together,” I sharply berate myself. “You’re going to open your eyes and you’ll still be in the staff room, leaning up against the vending machine in the corner,” I continue, sure that this must be my mind’s way of punishing me for my lapse in self-control. I slowly open my eyes, but immediately snap them shut again. It’s still there. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I feel my self-control slip a step further. “Shit!” I scream, clapping my hand over my mouth. But I’m too late. It escaped. I’m going mad – I must be.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly open my eyes and confront my insanity. My shock releases the air again in such a short blast that the hair of my repulsive intruder parts in thick, matted clumps. It takes such effort to stay focused on the creature before me, that I tremble with the effort. The rat before me bows elegantly, a piece of half-eaten cheese hidden discreetly in his right paw. Is paw the right word? Or claw? Oh god, oh god. I’m losing it.
“Oh god, oh shit,” I stutter and turn away, clasping at and pulling a hand-full of my hair, as though ripping it out of my scalp will take this hallucination with it.
My body stiff with tension, I force myself to turn around and once again face the rat. He is now standing straight and gazing at me with a mixture of curiosity - and something else. Suddenly I’m taken aback, my anxiety momentarily forgotten. He’s frightened of me, I realise. How can he be frightened? He’s taller than I am! The rat coughs, holding his cheese-filled right fist up to his mouth. At least he’s polite, I think.
“Umm, hi,” he stumbles. A rat that speaks. Wonderful. “I- I’m J-J-Jack.”
I must be dreaming. Lucy was one of my characters from last week - although, when I put her in a bizarre situation, such as this one, I found that her character wanted to change a little; her strictness and self-control faltered in her fear and confusion. Jack the rat is a new character, and I only created him quickly for the point of this exercise. It's obvious that the piece isn't finished, but I was reasonably okay with it, considering that I was only working on it for half an hour (which included coming up with the premise from just the title 'Cheese').
Again, I loved how many different stories we managed to get out of just this title - one word, so many variants and ideas.
I possibly won't be posting about Creative Writing next week, as we have had to reschedule our session, but I will catch you up when the module resumes, which unfortunately, is during reading week, I think.
If you have anything to say about these modules - whether it's about what I've written here, or your own experiences, please pop it in the comments, or you can drop me an email at bcuenglishdelight@hotmail.co.uk and send me a post of your own that you'd like published on the blog - I'm always looking for others to contribute!
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