Creative Writing Class - Last Day
The winter storm kept some of the students away. One woman turned around and left as soon as she arrived. Black ice was weighing heavy on everyone's mind. Despite the low numbers, the readings took just as long. Over the two weeks I, and others, had cobbled two scenes. One was of conflict, the other action. All were great. Some I had a tough time following. A nervous reader trying to pass along details. At times I felt like a jogger trying to catch a motorcycle. I sipped red wine and tried to capture keywords in the notebook so I would at least look like I was paying attention.
After the readings we went straight to the night's lesson. The word of the evening was "Theme". We were searching for the one word that describes our work. It was the creation of a last ditch effort to continue writing by discovering two things.
1. What does the protagonist want?
2. What one word describes the theme of the writing?
The exercise was finding that word, picking three cards out of the box and create a scene in four min.
My word: Frustration
My cards: Bad Restaurant , quarrel, and clock ticking
The Results:
Nick's lube, oil, and sandwiches was a bad restaurant, but that was where he went to think. A stack of papers next to three slices of apple pie. If he kept ordering, the greasy waitress wouldn't quarrel with him. Four years of service and seven years of college wasted. Rejection upon rejection piled before him. None of them about education or experience. Just one thing. His eyes sucked. He took off the frames and flashed them in front of the wedges; blur, apple, blur, apple, blur. [. . .] Everything before him a waste. The dream forever remained just that. What to do now? Was it the waitress returning, or the clock ticking?
After we read our results, we said our goodbyes and departed. The class was over and winter chills forced us to hurry. All that remains are a few handouts, a certificate, a battered Moleskine, and strong sense that I just might accomplish something tomorrow.
After the readings we went straight to the night's lesson. The word of the evening was "Theme". We were searching for the one word that describes our work. It was the creation of a last ditch effort to continue writing by discovering two things.
1. What does the protagonist want?
2. What one word describes the theme of the writing?
The exercise was finding that word, picking three cards out of the box and create a scene in four min.
My word: Frustration
My cards: Bad Restaurant , quarrel, and clock ticking
The Results:
Nick's lube, oil, and sandwiches was a bad restaurant, but that was where he went to think. A stack of papers next to three slices of apple pie. If he kept ordering, the greasy waitress wouldn't quarrel with him. Four years of service and seven years of college wasted. Rejection upon rejection piled before him. None of them about education or experience. Just one thing. His eyes sucked. He took off the frames and flashed them in front of the wedges; blur, apple, blur, apple, blur. [. . .] Everything before him a waste. The dream forever remained just that. What to do now? Was it the waitress returning, or the clock ticking?
After we read our results, we said our goodbyes and departed. The class was over and winter chills forced us to hurry. All that remains are a few handouts, a certificate, a battered Moleskine, and strong sense that I just might accomplish something tomorrow.