Waiting is the Hardest Part
Tuesday, April 15th, 2008Here’s a great article that tackels another part of the publishing process: waiting
http://www.postroadmag.com/9/nonfiction/ReadMyManuscript.phtml
Here’s a great article that tackels another part of the publishing process: waiting
http://www.postroadmag.com/9/nonfiction/ReadMyManuscript.phtml
We did this writing exercise in Elise Blackwell’s fiction workshop a few weeks ago and I thought I would share it. I love this exercise—it’s a great way to start a day (or 10 minutes) of writing.
Decide on two characters and a point of view. Write rapidly, without stopping to edit or censor yourself.
Write:
1. a sentence with a wall or boundary in it
2. a sentence with weather (temperature, wind, air) in it
3. a sentence with a sound in it
4. a sentence with a gesture in it
5. a line of dialogue of six words or less
6. a sentence with light in it
7. a line of dialogue of six words or less
8. a sentence with a ceiling or floor in it
9. a sentence with a texture in it
10. a sentence with an object smaller than a hand in it
11. a sentence with an allusion to literature or art in it
12. a sentence fragment
13. a sentence with a piece of furniture in it
14. a line of dialogue that is a question
15. another line of dialogue that is a question
16. a sentence with a hand or fingers in it
17. a sentence with a dash in it
18. a sentence with an allusion to a current event in it
19. a sentence with a metaphor in it
20. a line of dialogue that is whispered
Here’s what I did in class — it’s a silly way to warm up.
In a house, on the second floor, I opened a window to let in some air. The air whooshed in like bees, cold and yellow. I shielded my face from the sun and yelled at the sky, where are you spring? The sun shone hard. Where are you spring, it is time to swim in the pool. I looked down at the floor. The wood was scrubbed bare and smooth and it was cool beneath my feet. A grasshopper jumped, reminding me that I needed to return my library books. I sat down hard on my chair. Where was my hat? Where was my library card? I sucked my thumb and thought of the war — that dark stain. I whispered, where are you grasshopper?