sleeping senseless

“Where is it? I can’t find it.” My sister pawed through the closet like a squirrel in search of its forever misplaced acorn.

“Huh?”

“Where did you put it?” A dirty sock landed on my face.

“Wh.. what?”

“Where is it? Where’s my necklace? Where did you put it?” The dresser drawers, now the innocent victims of her midnight rampage.

“ … necklace?”

“MY necklace. Don’t play dumb with me. I KNOW you stole it.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I wish you’d make sense. Which necklace – what does it look like?”

She turned, the dumbly contented sleepwalker. “Well, actually,” she said, “it’s socks.”

dye a log

"i want it to be pink," he said.

"pink's so unnatural for maple though!" she said.

if you haven't gotten it yet - class number three was about dialogue. (ok, this is a couple weeks late - but i figure i should let you in on the lesson before i present my assignment).

apparently dialogue can be one of the most powerful part of the prose. it can say so much with what characters say and don't say. a lot of the lesson was about letting the dialogue talk by itself and to take away all distractions. keep simple tags like he said or she said and stay away from things like she exclaimed or he cried, etc. also - adverbs are apparently a huge sin.

the talk about dialogue did make me start to pay attention to the dialogue in books. usually i don't pay all that much attention to dialogue. maybe that's a sign of my introversion - i find the observations and internal musings of individuals much more interesting than their interactions with others. i found when i was writing this week that i really needed to put in more than just the dialogue - i needed more description. (apparently this was somethings i was supposed to stay away from in the assignment - we're supposed to work on things that we're weaker at and not to use our strengths at crutches or something like that).

thinking about it - i really should work on my dialogue more ... although, maybe it'd be better if i practiced talking to real people rather just writing about it ...

pressed time

and time for my good beginning ... although, i must stress that good is quite the overstatement. i wrote this while sick and without any real rest .... but maybe my preface is just an excuse ...

(as an aside before the actual story - i love the fido commercial where the guy has to use his video phone so his girlfriend can tell him which feminine hygiene products she wants him to buy).

------

Thinking back, she’s convinced she saw the crystals of ice before she felt the big hunk of snow break over her head. Startled, she paused, but only long enough to shake the snow from her hair. No, Vanessa could not slow down - she was hurtling forward with unbridled momentum. Her Blackberry demanded that she continue to her next appointment, but something restrained her. Pressure on her shoulder. Annoyed, Vanessa spun around and met his calm, blue gaze.

- Hey, are you okay?

And so she met Len.

a good beginning ...

so i think i might have over-reached last time - i said i'd write a note about my lesson and then give you a taste of what i had written for the assignment that week. well - writing about the lesson seems like a lot of work and i'd have to re-write my notes, plus i feel like it'd be cheating the teacher who had put the notes together. but, i will still give a brief summary - but it's just a summary. and of course, with any of the lessons that we get and rules we're told, it's important to remember that rules are made to be broken - you just have to be aware of why you're breaking them and be doing it for a good reason. a writer must be very aware of what he is doing and ensure there is a purpose for it.

anyway - back to a beginning. what makes a good beginning? we had to bring in some first sentences in books that we thought were good and then discussed some other examples. my favourite was from a molly peacock book and went along the lines of "when i was three, i decided not to have children." ... the example i brought in was from "portnoy's complaint" (philip roth): "she was so deeply imbedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise."

but what does make a good beginning? everyone seemed to have a different definition - among them, it has to be something to pique your interest, to raise questions - to make you want to continue reading. it could help put you in the time, in the place, meet a character - it can help introduce you to the genre (for example - from "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.")

these discussions are interesting because it really helps you think about what kind of reader you are personally ... after this week's workshop (where we talk about ppl's work) - i realized that i really like beginnings that introduce me to a character. a character can be much more important than a setting. if the character isn't compelling or interesting, how can they take you through the whole novel? although, i do also like beginnings that let me know i'm going to learn something from the novel (i do like the well-researched, historical books).

i would type more - but i'm starting to lose circulation in my fingers. the house was 16 degrees when i woke up - and now the thermostat tells me we've made it up to 19 ... i guess i shouldn't complain. it's still almost 50 degrees warmer in here than outside ...

writing class

so, i've started a writing class. i know some of you (ok, one of you) who reads this blog has been somewhat interested in my progress (as in my writings) as well as what sorts of things i'm learning. so ... in response, i've decided that i will post some of my work as well as some of the notes from the class. excitingly for those of you who have been disappointed with my lack of entries, this means that i'll now be doing about 2 a week for the next 10 weeks or so (although - i must warn you that there are two weeks without class, so - there might be times when i'm making entries less often ... but at the same time, i'm finding myself more inspired to write now, so maybe this will make me write more often period. it's all an experiment ... let's see how it works.

so ... without further ado (wow, i just wrote that as "adieu" .. what was i thinking?), here's my assignment from week number one - to write about a childhood place. i have tentatively entitled it, Ribbit:

The tractor coughs and then sputters before it continues ploughing the field just beyond the rustling reeds of the creek. Peeking out into the sunshine, I absorb the scent of fresh earth. For April, it is surprisingly humid underneath the tiny bridge.

I brush away the flake of cement that has become stuck to my forehead. This old bridge is falling apart. Rory's too scared to play under here. But still, as I explore, the stoic white German Shepherd waits, standing there, ankle deep in the water.

-- Crrroak -- I hold my breath. -- Crrrroooaaaakk -- I squint in the dark and the big, green frog comes into focus. I creep along towards the wily amphibian, crouched down so as not to hit my head. -- Plop -- he tries to sneak away, but I'm not fooled. It's easy to track his hops. I'm going to catch this frog!

The muddy water oozes into my pink rubber boots. Despite my best efforts at stealth, I slosh along. Little by little, I near my prize. Then, the fateful step onto that slippery, slimy stone.

When I open my eyes, Rory's licking my nose. Maybe Mom is right, playing under the bridge isn't safe.