In the next writing book I am reading, The Making of a Story, by Alice LaPlante, at the end of every chapter she gives two writing exercises. I thought I would post the prompt and my own examples of my writing. Feel free to comment on what you liked or didn't like and try them out for yourself. If you are really proud of what you wrote, send it to me! I would love to read what you have written. Enjoy and keep writing!
Chapter 1: What Is This Thing Called Creative Writing?
Exercise 1: "I Don't Know Why I Remember..."
Goal: To pinpoint some previously unexplored material that remains "hot" for you in some important emotional way.
What to do: 1. "Scan" back over your life and think of things that have stuck in your mind, but for no obvious reason. (No births, deaths, or other "important" moments, please. Go for the small ones.)
2. Render them precisely on the page using concrete details beginning each one with the phrase. "I don't know why but I remember."
3. Don't try to explain why they stuck with your, or interpret the meaning of them. Just put your reader there.
Ghost Handprints
I don't know why I remember feeling like my dad couldn't make it work in the morning without me. When we were young, my siblings and I would push Dad's car out of the garage in the morning. He would start the car and the rumbling engine would vibrate under our six hands pressed firmly on the hood. Then Dad would secretly put the car in neutral, yell "Ok!", and the three of us would push with all our strength and tiptoe that 4000 pound white Mazda out of the garage and across the driveway. Grinning and laughing, we would stand in the middle of the driveway with Mom and watch Dad roll past the sidewalk and onto the street where the car would magically start and he would drive off. As the years went by, Krissy and Brandons' handprints faded, and I was left to shoulder the responsibility alone. Until one day, I too realized that Daddy would make it work without me. He didn't need me to push him to the street; he never had. And so my handprints also disappeared from the hood of that 4000 pound white Mazda. Only the ghost of my handprints and my memories remain of the time when dad couldn't get to work in the morning without me.
Sun, Sand, and Solitude
I don't know why I remember insisting my parents drop me off on a sandy beach island in the middle of a small inlet at Lake Powell to play in the sand while they water-skied close by. Dad would pull the boat up close to the sandy shore, and I would hop off the smooth, wooden deck into the cool, clear water carrying my bag of sand toys, sunscreen, a water bottle, a hat, and a shirt. As I waded to the shore, feeling the soft mud squish through my toes and cloud the water, I would glance back and watch the boat glide away to deeper waters, spraying water on either side. As soon as my family-mainly my mom-was out of sight, and I was on the shore, I would drop everything on the ground, and with great relish, throw my yellow, giraffe life-jacket far away from me. No mom, no scratchy, bulky life-jacket! Then I would tear open the toy bag, dump it all on the sand, and start digging and filling molds with wet, red sand and black mud. The chirping bugs resting in the shade, the water lapping gently around me, and bright sun blazing in the sky were my only companions on the tiny island where I built and played. Holes filled with muddy, warm water, castles surrounded by a moat, and sand fish made from colorful, plastic molds surrounded me, slowly expanding, overtaking the small beach. The distant start and stop of the boat would sometimes yank me from my world for a second to watch my siblings, mom, and dad, water-ski in turn. But they were nothing more than distractions from my true friend, the beach. My skin absorbed the sun at an alarming rate, bronzing it despite the sunscreen, and bleaching my brown hair blond. When my back blazed and I couldn't ignore the itching sand in my swimsuit anymore, I would take a break from the heat and splash and swim in the water. I needed no life-jacket to swim, and since I was alone, I didn't wear one. It was always more fun to swim and much easier to get the sand out of your swimsuit without one.
Exercise 2: I am a Camera
Goal: To notice what you notice--and to render it without trying to explain or interpret it.
What to do: 1. Turn on your "camera" (the part of your brain that notices things.
2. Take a walk or go someplace where you can have a rich sensory experience--preferably someplace with other people.
3. Record everything precisely on the page, using as many senses as possible.
*I didn't do this exercise because I had two examples for the first one that I really wanted to do. Here is one from the book by Student Janis Turn:
As the No. 17 bus passes by the corner of Mission and 17th, an elderly man carrying a brown paper bag filled with groceries trips. A tattooed young man with pink hair rushes over to help The food of babies; Cheerios, rice cereal, tiny jars of apricot and pears and fruits. The sky grows dim as the bus heaves its way down the crowded street. Opposite me is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. Her heavy hair, dyed a dead black, hangs in braids down her shoulders. She has white skin and the most luminous neck I have ever seen. She is carrying nothing; not a backpack, purse, briefcase. She is dressed casually except for her high heels, absurdly high stiletto heels.
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