mr. tran is a writer of fiction, part 2
this entry is going to focus on all of the in class writing assignments i had during the quarter...there weren't too many of them since having all of us sit there and write wasn't a great use of class time when we could be discussing stuff instead...because of that, we weren't given much time to write (or think) so these examples aren't necessarily the best or most interesting things i wrote...
the first had us getting into small groups...we were given a room and then we went around in a circle naming objects in that room and after that, we had to write a character description of who lived in that room...my group was assigned a college dorm and everyone picked boring objects so i chose the dead body of the person's roommate to mix it up a bit...i'm not going to post what i wrote since it was just a typical description of a crazy person...
the next activity involved a version of a "game" called the exquisite corpse...we sat in a big circle, wrote one word on a piece of paper, and passed it to the right...then that person would write another word to go along with the first one, fold the paper so the first word wasn't visible and pass it again...so the paper would go around the circle and everyone would add one word only being able to see the previous word written...the name of the exercise came from a result created many years ago: "the exquisite corpse will drink the new wine"...after getting back our string of words, we wrote something inspired about it...my words were:
yellow colors beckon you bitch loudly at the bar drink numbness dull lame brains oozed out
based off that i wrote the following:
The yellow colors beckoned me. The yellow beer at the bottom of my bottle. It wanted to enter my mouth. I wanted it to enter. "You bitch!" I yelled loudly at the woman across the bar. I was rejected because I was drunk. I was drunk because I was rejected. My senses were dull. I felt numb. Except for the rejection. It stayed so I drank more. I stumbled out of the bar onto the street. I saw a woman. Was it the same woman? I didn't know. I didn't care. I followed her. She was alone. I grabbed her arm...
i didn't have enough time to finish the mini story...i was going to have it go on where he fights with her, slams her into a wall and having her brains ooze out...ironically, where i stopped ended up being a more effective ending since it leaves it up to the reader to imagine what happens next...imagining something terrible is always better than having it spelled out for you...
i think after reading a dialogue heavy story by jd salinger, we had a writing exercise about dialogue...i don't remember too much about it...since what i wrote was so short, it may have been an impromptu exercise...i think we had to write a conversation between two people who weren't talking about the same thing...this is what i wrote:
"Knock, knock."
"What?"
"Knock, knock. You know. The joke. Knock, knock."
"What's the matter with you?"
"I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Jeez."
"Typical. So typical of you. You never know what to say so you just say nothing at all."
our last exercise had us listening to different types of music and as we listened, we had to write whatever came to mind...it was supposed to get out us out of our comfort zone and to not think hard about what we were writing and just let it flow freely...i thought it was kind of dumb as i was doing it...despite that, what i wrote did veer away from how i usually write and looking back at it, it's hard to recognize myself in what i wrote...we did it four times and some were bad and others were better...and here they are:
1) The night was dark, yet the angels were abound. They danced and flew without worry or care. They were free. Free to do as they pleased. They wanted little except for movement and contact. Over and over they swarmed and moved without thought or purpose. The night went on without end. Morning will never come as long as the angels were around.
2) The mailmen marched from the post office. Each with their own paths, their own purpose. Delivering messages from the outside world to those who couldn't be there to experience it firsthand. The carriers in blue walked haphazard paths to reach those who lived in the city, spread out at random into streets and lanes. The men walked with heads held high for they had information people sought and needed. They had the means to unite, to forge new connections between those who were here and those who were there. They were men in blue. Men you knew.
3) The city began to awake. The sun raised its head to greet a new batch of people. Arms were stretched, yawns were made, sleep was washed from faces. The grays of night were replaced with the colors of the day. Newly born yet full of life. School buses full of noisy children ambled to school.
4) The man sat on the sidewalk with his head hung low. He looked at the pavement with weary eyes. Sleep was not easy last night. He didn't feel like moving. He didn't feel like living. He looked up at the rising sun. Blinded, he looked back down. He coughed. He tried to swallow but he had nothing to swallow. He was empty. He was alone. He stretched out his legs to warm in the sun light. That felt better. He straightened up and looked across the road. A stray dog walked down sniffing at garbage along the way. He sniffed the man and kept on walking. The man closed his eyes and waited. He would never stop waiting. As the sun rose higher and higher, the man was bathed in light. Unable to escape, he buried himself underneath his meager belongings. Let them burn, he thought. Let them burn.
the first one is odd...i had a visual picture of what's going on in my head but i don't think it makes much sense when read...the second one is boring...the third is ok but short...i like the last one...it must have felt right while i was writing since it's longer than all the others and more complete...i felt that bum's pain...anyway, that's it for now...writing assignments with more thought put in them should be coming up next...
the first had us getting into small groups...we were given a room and then we went around in a circle naming objects in that room and after that, we had to write a character description of who lived in that room...my group was assigned a college dorm and everyone picked boring objects so i chose the dead body of the person's roommate to mix it up a bit...i'm not going to post what i wrote since it was just a typical description of a crazy person...
the next activity involved a version of a "game" called the exquisite corpse...we sat in a big circle, wrote one word on a piece of paper, and passed it to the right...then that person would write another word to go along with the first one, fold the paper so the first word wasn't visible and pass it again...so the paper would go around the circle and everyone would add one word only being able to see the previous word written...the name of the exercise came from a result created many years ago: "the exquisite corpse will drink the new wine"...after getting back our string of words, we wrote something inspired about it...my words were:
yellow colors beckon you bitch loudly at the bar drink numbness dull lame brains oozed out
based off that i wrote the following:
The yellow colors beckoned me. The yellow beer at the bottom of my bottle. It wanted to enter my mouth. I wanted it to enter. "You bitch!" I yelled loudly at the woman across the bar. I was rejected because I was drunk. I was drunk because I was rejected. My senses were dull. I felt numb. Except for the rejection. It stayed so I drank more. I stumbled out of the bar onto the street. I saw a woman. Was it the same woman? I didn't know. I didn't care. I followed her. She was alone. I grabbed her arm...
i didn't have enough time to finish the mini story...i was going to have it go on where he fights with her, slams her into a wall and having her brains ooze out...ironically, where i stopped ended up being a more effective ending since it leaves it up to the reader to imagine what happens next...imagining something terrible is always better than having it spelled out for you...
i think after reading a dialogue heavy story by jd salinger, we had a writing exercise about dialogue...i don't remember too much about it...since what i wrote was so short, it may have been an impromptu exercise...i think we had to write a conversation between two people who weren't talking about the same thing...this is what i wrote:
"Knock, knock."
"What?"
"Knock, knock. You know. The joke. Knock, knock."
"What's the matter with you?"
"I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Jeez."
"Typical. So typical of you. You never know what to say so you just say nothing at all."
our last exercise had us listening to different types of music and as we listened, we had to write whatever came to mind...it was supposed to get out us out of our comfort zone and to not think hard about what we were writing and just let it flow freely...i thought it was kind of dumb as i was doing it...despite that, what i wrote did veer away from how i usually write and looking back at it, it's hard to recognize myself in what i wrote...we did it four times and some were bad and others were better...and here they are:
1) The night was dark, yet the angels were abound. They danced and flew without worry or care. They were free. Free to do as they pleased. They wanted little except for movement and contact. Over and over they swarmed and moved without thought or purpose. The night went on without end. Morning will never come as long as the angels were around.
2) The mailmen marched from the post office. Each with their own paths, their own purpose. Delivering messages from the outside world to those who couldn't be there to experience it firsthand. The carriers in blue walked haphazard paths to reach those who lived in the city, spread out at random into streets and lanes. The men walked with heads held high for they had information people sought and needed. They had the means to unite, to forge new connections between those who were here and those who were there. They were men in blue. Men you knew.
3) The city began to awake. The sun raised its head to greet a new batch of people. Arms were stretched, yawns were made, sleep was washed from faces. The grays of night were replaced with the colors of the day. Newly born yet full of life. School buses full of noisy children ambled to school.
4) The man sat on the sidewalk with his head hung low. He looked at the pavement with weary eyes. Sleep was not easy last night. He didn't feel like moving. He didn't feel like living. He looked up at the rising sun. Blinded, he looked back down. He coughed. He tried to swallow but he had nothing to swallow. He was empty. He was alone. He stretched out his legs to warm in the sun light. That felt better. He straightened up and looked across the road. A stray dog walked down sniffing at garbage along the way. He sniffed the man and kept on walking. The man closed his eyes and waited. He would never stop waiting. As the sun rose higher and higher, the man was bathed in light. Unable to escape, he buried himself underneath his meager belongings. Let them burn, he thought. Let them burn.
the first one is odd...i had a visual picture of what's going on in my head but i don't think it makes much sense when read...the second one is boring...the third is ok but short...i like the last one...it must have felt right while i was writing since it's longer than all the others and more complete...i felt that bum's pain...anyway, that's it for now...writing assignments with more thought put in them should be coming up next...