The Place For My Writers Notes

Original posting 24 April 2009

Viewpoint Intruders (Revisions)

Writer's Digest, April 2006, pages 48 and 73, have an article by Kristen Johnson Ingram with the title, "The Intruder." Some other examples for rewriting include:

Original version:

"The others were laughing and talking as they sat down at the table. As Kirk reached across the table for the bread, he noticed his hands. His fingers were long and brown, and he noticed how the light gleamed on his wedding ring."

Revised version:

"Kirk reached across the table for the bread. His fingers were long and brown, and light gleamed on his wedding ring."

Original version:

"I looked over at Ginny propped up on the hospital bed. I could see her bright smile, but I knew she was in pain."

Revised version:

"Ginny was propped up in the bed. She was smiling, but I knew she was in pain."

Or "Ginny was propped up in the bed, smiling in spite of her pain."

Original version:

"Rob opened the door. He could smell fried chicken and onions, and he heard the butter crackling in the skillet. His mouth watered from hunger."

Revised version:

"Rob opened the door. The aroma of fried chicken crackling in the skillet with onion slices made his mouth water."

Original version:

"I remember that when I was five, I used to hide from my father in the linen closet. I crawled under an old lavender quilt on the floor, and I could hear his angry footsteps."

Revised version:

"When I was five, I used to hide under an old lavender quilt in the linen closet, listening to my father's angry footsteps."

Original version:

"As I stopped in front of the old house, my mind reeled back to how hard it rained the day Jim shot me."

Revised version:

"I stopped in front of the old house. Rain had fallen in torrents on the day Jim shot me."

Original version:

"I took a break at a retreat in northern Idaho. I walked outside and sat on a log, where I watched a fat honeybee roving around a big blue pasque flower. I could see her tasting its petals, and I heard her buzzing around the opening. As I watched, she drew back and literally hurled herself at the flower's center."

Revised version:

"During an afternoon break at a retreat in northern Idaho, I sat on a law and watched a fat honeybee roving around a big blue pasque flower. She tasted its petals, snuffled at the opening, and then drew back and hurled herself at the flower's center."

What you think? Are the revised versions better than the originals?

original posting: Fri, 5 Apr 1996 11:05:13 EST

Step 1. Pick one of the following 12 emotions. You may use two dice if you like.

1. sadness 2. distress 3. relief 4. joy
5. hate 6. love 7. fear 8. anticipation
9. anger 10. guilt 11. gratitude 12. pride

(yes, variations, thesaurus strolling, and similar attempts to delineate or arrive at finer precision in your toils are all acceptable--just get your emotion selected, okay?)

Step 2. Here is the basic beginning. Please elaborate at your pleasure.

The elf/troll/angel/devil/being of light/monstrous mutation strolls/hops/flies/pops in with a puff of sulphur/transports down in sparkles/drips into being before you. They reach out a something and... spin/drop/one finger touches lightly/a horny nail nudges/out of nowhere creates/slimily vomits it out before you.

Step 3. The pile/nugget/piece/lump/other word at your description that has been delivered to you IS your emotion, turned into reality.

1. What does it look like? Show us...
2. What does it sound like? Make us hear it!
3. What does it smell/taste/feel like? Make us cringe...

Step 4, 5, and so forth--what does having this concrete emotion do to (or for?) you? Why did you want it so much? What did getting it cost (uh-oh, what did the little dwarf want for the service? did you really want to pay that, and was it worth it)?

For the one-sentence starter crew:

"I got it for you," my visitor said, and dropped it in my palm.

[in case you're not sure, you can use this sentence as a beginning point. Go on from there until you come to an end. Revise, polish, and decide what you want to do with what you have just wrot.]

let's write again, like we did before...

Original posting 20 Feb 2008

Single Sentence Start?

    "Why didn't you buy it?" he said, and pulled the line.

What line? What happens when someone pulls the line? And who is he talking to, what didn't they buy, let the little gray cells agitate and spin dry, hear them fry in the crackling grease of your terrible hot pan?

I wonder just what kind of line he pulled, don't you?

When we write, we learn about ourselves.

Oh, that sounds like a good tale.

The Day That Lady Windwark Left the Bestiary Gate Undone

And what happened thereafter.

Now, should it be done in heroic verse or just plain text? And what was the list of the inhabitants of that bestiary? Were there green alligators, and long-necked geese, some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees? And was there a unicorn? Oh . . .

Tell me a story, do!

The pad by my bed says, "alien waiting room."

I keep a pad and pen by the bed just in case one of the thoughts that I stumble over while drifting between sleep and waking seems likely to be useful. I don't dream very much, or at least I don't remember my dreams very much, but occasionally something will come to mind in that half asleep half awake transition and seem like it should be useful. I've learned to scribble down a few words, and can usually figure out what they are later.

Last night, I realized that sometime this week I had scribbled something down. So I stopped to read it. "Alien waiting room." Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to resurrect the line of thought behind it. An alien in a waiting room? A waiting room in an alien society? Or is the waiting room alien itself? As an SF fan, I tend to think of alien as nonhuman, but it could be the simple foreigner -- an alien to the shore?

In any case, let's use it in a slightly expanded form as a prompt for writing. So, here is your one line starter.

She looked up and said, "There's an alien in the waiting room."

Feel free to give her a name. Oh, and why is she looking up? What kind of alien, the local foreigner or the more exotic visitor from the stars? And what kind of a waiting room is this, doctor, dentist, automobile repair, or something else?

You can use this one line as is to start a story or a poetry. You can modify it and use it somewhere in your writing. You can even simply let it inspire the writing, without ever explicitly using these words. But . . .

WRITE!

tink
(I shall try to avoid pondering just what I was thinking when I wrote "alien waiting room" on the pad by my bed. I'm sure I had something in mind, but it seems to be gone now. Oh, well. :-)

original posting: Sat, 2 Oct 1993 18:00:04 JST

FAQ: First Lines

The poet frowned, fingers posed as words swirled in his mind, almost but not quite right for this part of the glowing vision. Just then, the doorbell rang...

The factory seemed to come alive in the fitful dance of moonbeams through the cloudy overcast. Dark shadows lurked and stretched, making her glance up again and again to be sure the silent machines weren't moving, weren't reaching metallic fingers out to catch her. Then she glanced back...

Every day, the quotes changed. Read and passed by quickly, a ritual of inattention. Then one day, eyes locked to the short saying. The world seemed focused on the brief lines. It was...

A dark and stormy night folded over the tiny figures, exploding out of their inner storms into startled reality. As one angry mouth opened, lightning cracked. As another mumbled and glared, hard driven rain stuttered across them. Then...

The wheat was a golden carpet, embossed patterns revealed by the occasional light wind, the heavy heads glowing in the sunshine with their promise of food. The smell of hot, rich earth and baking yellow stems was a subtle perfume, pulling the farmers to their daily chores, sinking the land in a celebration of growth and peace. Those were golden days...

The Z-nine fighters spread out ahead of the flotilla, exploring and testing for danger with electronic senses. They swept over and past the small asteroid...

She stopped at a small inn below the castle, surprised by the ancient relic set in the foothills. The innkeeper told her it had no name, and suggested that there were far better places for an American tourist, places with guided tours and giftshops. She thought about it for a moment, remembering the crowds and Marley. Then she looked at the rocky pile lit by the evening sun...

(pssst! want to know how these and other stories end? want to write poems and tales of wonder or glee? Stick around. Writers has a place for you...)

First lines to last, rewriting, markets, poetry - put your own work out on display on Writers. We can make beautiful words together!

original posting: Wed, 20 Sep 2000 21:18:47 -0400

Quick, and a little bit quirky...

Consider the phrase:

I bought a jar of pickled smiles

Notice that the end of the line is unfinished.  It might turn into a new line, it might just get used as a title, it might have something about about where you found that jar, who sold it to you, what kind of price did you pay, or something like that.

(Incidentally, who does sell such things?  An odd little grocery story on the edge of never?  A god(dess) quite pristine?  Perhaps a tiny little wart of nastiness that has been stealing those smiles from your children and canning them with a dash of vinegar?  Or the smiling businesswoman who always has an overabundance of them to give away?  Who?)

Anyway, take that phrase.  Let it resonate in the mind, perhaps tickle your tongue a bit with it (are those sweet gherkins or dill as ever?).

Then, write a bit!

[what rhymes with smiles?  tiles, miles, biles, Giles...]

Go ahead, you know you want to open that jar!

Original Posting: Thu, 28 Jun 2001 04:09:34 -0400


Passive, but perhaps it's a place to start?

Take that first line (rewrite if you must those hoary grey words) and then continue the tale, enhancing our knowledge of who sniffs in the hospital and so forth.

Write?

Original Posting: Tue, 19 Jun 2001 07:00:07 -0400


There, that's the line.

Let it percolate in your noggin.  Feel the caffeine level rise.  Listen to the little thumpalumpalumpbump of the water popping.

(Can you just imagine the frog-snatcher?)

And then let those words collate, collect, and drip down around the line.

(as for Wes, well, I am sure we all have thoughts about him...:-)

Put together a tale (or a poetry, or an essayery, or a whatchamadingle?) using that line...

Enjoy!

(with thanks to yael, without whom there would be no line.  And just imagine starting this exercise without a line -- wouldn't that be missing the point?)

original posting: Thu, 31 May 2001 22:22:55 -0400


a simple sort of beginning, and yet the reader is likely to keep reading just to find out what was wrong.  What is the "something"?  Why was the front door open?

What happens next?  Does he find something else?  Does he do something?

Here's one way that it might go:





And so on and on, until the ending.

What kind of a story could you write, starting with that simple sentence and two words?


Go ahead, make my day and write!