My bloody words were coming out of his mouth.
Here was an actor with over 20 years experience and he was reading out the words to a story that I had written.
He stood on the little stage and spoke my words.
I was standing at the back of the room, palms sweaty, squirming at every noun, verb and preposition.
He read on. The audience listened, laughed, nodded.
Then the story was over and they applauded politely.
Wow.
Then I thought about how I would write about it.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Moment Of Gratuitous Self-Publicity
Thursday, 5 February 2009
All Men Are Useless
It was an innocent domestic scene. The couple had an argument about loading the dish washer. Then there was a flashback to a previous relationship and another squabble.
It was done from the woman's point of view. It was a well written piece, homework for this week's writing class.
The tutor -the fierce one- asked us for our opinions.
I gave my thoughts. I said it lacked information about the main character, about what she was like, about what she was after, about who she really was.
The girl -the woman- next to me objected. She said it was clear what the character was like and what she thought. The heroine, she said, was a strong, funny, independent woman who thought that men were unreliable and weak. That they didn't know what they wanted. That they were immature and fled responsibility.
Wow. I missed all that. I missed reading between the lines into the life of the woman sitting next to me. How careless of me. How weak and immature of me.
I practically fell to the floor in self-loathing.
Maybe next time I should take pottery class.
It was done from the woman's point of view. It was a well written piece, homework for this week's writing class.
The tutor -the fierce one- asked us for our opinions.
I gave my thoughts. I said it lacked information about the main character, about what she was like, about what she was after, about who she really was.
The girl -the woman- next to me objected. She said it was clear what the character was like and what she thought. The heroine, she said, was a strong, funny, independent woman who thought that men were unreliable and weak. That they didn't know what they wanted. That they were immature and fled responsibility.
Wow. I missed all that. I missed reading between the lines into the life of the woman sitting next to me. How careless of me. How weak and immature of me.
I practically fell to the floor in self-loathing.
Maybe next time I should take pottery class.
Friday, 30 January 2009
Cello Scrotum
She was quite intense. Fierce even.
She would look you in the eye and fire direct questions.
She talked about tropes, synecdoche, metonymy, denotation and meta-fiction.
She asked if you could separate emotion from image, or image from emotion. If you write The glass was empty, it's just an image, but isn't there an emotion attached?
She talked about being an active reader. Can you read something without putting your own interpretation on it? Doesn't She lost her child have differing impacts?
She said it was important to take notes in daily life. (Today, I wrote down 'cello scrotum.' I heard it on the radio.)
She was very theoretical. She made my head spin. Other people in the class were nodding or writing things down. They were writing about writing.
Writing about writing can be useful, it can look like you've written something when you actually haven't written anything at all.
She would look you in the eye and fire direct questions.
She talked about tropes, synecdoche, metonymy, denotation and meta-fiction.
She asked if you could separate emotion from image, or image from emotion. If you write The glass was empty, it's just an image, but isn't there an emotion attached?
She talked about being an active reader. Can you read something without putting your own interpretation on it? Doesn't She lost her child have differing impacts?
She said it was important to take notes in daily life. (Today, I wrote down 'cello scrotum.' I heard it on the radio.)
She was very theoretical. She made my head spin. Other people in the class were nodding or writing things down. They were writing about writing.
Writing about writing can be useful, it can look like you've written something when you actually haven't written anything at all.
Saturday, 11 October 2008
If I’m Creative At Work I Can Get Arrested
“I just wanted to be doing something which is for me,” said one woman, “not for my boss, or for a deadline, but for me.”
“And you?” asked the tutor to another.
“If I’m creative at work I can get arrested,” she said. “I’m an accountant, you see. So I’m here so that I can use my imagination.”
“I have lots of ideas for stories,” said a man sitting behind me, “I just don’t know how to start, how to go about writing them down…”
“Fine, fine,” said the tutor. “People come to writing classes for a variety of reasons.” She swept her long hair down one side of her neck. “And you?”
“Well, I have a character, and some themes,” I said, “but I think I’m lacking a plot, a structure, something to make it all hang together.”
“Yes, structure is important,” she said, “your story must have a point. Otherwise, why would anyone read it?”
“And you?” asked the tutor to another.
“If I’m creative at work I can get arrested,” she said. “I’m an accountant, you see. So I’m here so that I can use my imagination.”
“I have lots of ideas for stories,” said a man sitting behind me, “I just don’t know how to start, how to go about writing them down…”
“Fine, fine,” said the tutor. “People come to writing classes for a variety of reasons.” She swept her long hair down one side of her neck. “And you?”
“Well, I have a character, and some themes,” I said, “but I think I’m lacking a plot, a structure, something to make it all hang together.”
“Yes, structure is important,” she said, “your story must have a point. Otherwise, why would anyone read it?”
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