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hd_writersWe all of us get – whether or not we take – advice. Some of us take it – sometimes. Few of us resist the temptation to give it. Some of it is not wholly useless. Much of it is. Not a little of it – and not, alas, infrequently that handed down, as from On High, by persons who’ve clambered up the greasy pole to the status of ‘Big Name Fans’ (ambition ought really to be made of sterner stuff) – is utter balls.
Coaching is not exercise. You may have Wisden off by heart, but if you don’t put in time in the nets, you’ll never be capped for even the village second XI.
Here, then, are some exercises. Candidates are to attempt all of the sodding things, if at all possible. There is no time limit. You may do so here or at your own journals, with a link.
- Describe the most remarkable sky you’ve seen. (If you don’t keep note of remarkable skies, begin: observation, I’m afraid, really is one of the things you not only want to do, it is one of those things you must do, if you are ever to make a writer.)
- Give us a paragraph or more prompted by the Edgware Road (even if only the name). Evoke, please.
- Describe your daily, common soundscape, from rouse to turning in.
- Describe a room of your house.
- Describe this randomly chosen place and scene.
- Describe breakfast.
Do let us know how you get on; and do say if you don’t wish to throw the result open to constructive criticism by the community, or if you shan’t, or haven’t time to, give the same to the others participating.
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no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 02:45 pm (UTC)Exercises are the food of the mind in this case. Feed the imagination so that it can produce for you when you need it, otherwise it will lack energy and be sluggish and the words will drag terribly.
I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to offer critique all the time, but I will try when I can. Any of my responses are definitely open to constructive criticism and discussion. If I do offer critique, it is from the perspective of someone who publishes outside of fandom as well and is not meant to be harsh, but to help improve writing not just from a fic perspective, but from a general fiction perspective overall. I've spent the last dozen or so of my years in critique groups, and that's a hard hat to take off once it goes on. I think critique is lifeblood to a writer; I know I wouldn't be where I am now without it, even if I didn't want to listen to most of it when I began.
EDIT: Hooboy, does that ever sound like I'm a pompous git. Not so! I'm actually pretty laid back. I've just spent years writing with an editor pen in hand working my way into the pro side of the market, and it means sometimes I'm blunt, and I have to remember to let folks know that I'm blunt ahead of time. Trust me, I know my opinions aren't perfect (FAR from it... having just had to have another author friend explain to me what an editor was trying to tell me on one of my own pieces).
After mine own heart (see icon).
Date: 2012-06-12 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 03:02 pm (UTC)BTW, a lovely book of prompts, each designed to exercise different writing muscles, is The 3 A.M. Epiphany: Uncommon Writing Exercises that Transform Your Fiction by Brian Kiteley. I used to carry it in my backpack everywhere so I could poke at things during odd moments, but I don't anymore mostly due to needing to lighten a pack that carries two laptops regularly. I remember the prompts being interesting, and really requiring one to write from a different perspective.
Excellent. Thank you.
Date: 2012-06-12 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 03:08 pm (UTC)Thank you.
Date: 2012-06-12 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-13 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 04:16 pm (UTC)TIME on the other hand makes complete sense to me. I have negative amounts of it myself!
Can't see why.
Date: 2012-06-12 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 07:43 pm (UTC)Excellent.
Date: 2012-06-13 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 08:10 pm (UTC)Oh, good.
Date: 2012-06-13 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-12 08:28 pm (UTC)Thank you.
Date: 2012-06-13 04:14 pm (UTC)My Most Remarkable Sky: Day 1
Date: 2012-06-13 01:52 pm (UTC)Day 1
Describe the most remarkable sky you’ve seen.
The Williamette Valley has been named for the river running North to South through this part of Oregon. For four years, I lived right by the river side in the city of Eugene. The valley is known by the native tribes, who have lived here much longer than me or any of the white settlers, English or French, by a name that means something like valley of bad air. I may be mistaken about the actual phrase, but the natives don't seem to think the valley was a good place to settle. Funnily, many people who move to Eugene report on acquiring allergies after a couple of years of residence. The valley, you see, is mostly grassland. In the summer, the air on the dirt roads and fields surrounding Eugene is filled with grass seeds. You may mistake them for tiny dandelion seeds, or simply for the flittering heat of summer. But it's millions and millions of seedlings, send forth by a multitude of different sorts of grasses. They seek a new earth to grow in, to endure through winter and come forth and blossom in the following year. Allergies can be called forth by extended exposure to certain kinds of grass. The natives, it seems, have known about that.
Eugene is famous for its mini-breweries, the Saturday Market, the University of Oregon (Go, Ducks!), the annual Grateful Dead concert on New Year's Day. It's famous, too, for its grass seed industry. After the grass is harvested, acres of grassland around Eugene, cultivated as much as commercially grown grass needs cultivation, are burnt to rid the land of the empty stalks, to make room for the new crop. Because of those fires, a light smoke constantly hovers over Eugene in early fall.
And so the most remarkable sky I've ever seen was the sky above the grasslands of Eugene, Oregon. At noon, it seemed opaque. Looking up into this sky on a clear September day was like being submerged in a crystal sea, the water translucent with just a hint of blue. The evening sky was stunning, oranges and red and purples, so bright they seemed to jump at you from their canvass of pink clouds. You see, the grass fires make for a dusty haze that – like a filter – sharpens the colours preternaturally. I guess it is the nature of most remarkable things that I barely remember from where and when I watched those spectacular sunsets; it's been more than a dozen years since I've lived in Eugene. What I remember is a sky exploding in colours, full, vibrant, clear and sharp like I've not seen before nor ever after. I remember a dusty golden haze above the horizon, and a pale, darkening blue above. In between – the sky on fire.
Not a part of the States I ever visited; and thus fascinating.
Date: 2012-06-13 04:14 pm (UTC)I've some other thoughts, inchoate thus far, which I may add.
Re: Not a part of the States I ever visited; and thus fascinating.
Date: 2012-06-14 05:32 pm (UTC)I am relieved that you think my usual writing is not as American as this piece. And I love your phrasing of my last line. But I do wonder - how much of this is simply different styles? Is there something specifically (in grammar, syntax and word choice) that makes my last line more American, and yours more British? For example, the expression "a pale, darkening blue" (using the blue as the noun) is something that Tolkien does a lot, and he is a rather typical British writer of his time.
Oh, much of it is stylistic.
Date: 2012-06-14 06:22 pm (UTC)Upon reflection, I think I should have handled the backgrounders differently, and made the skies the foreground, but that also is stylistic.
Re: Oh, much of it is stylistic.
Date: 2012-06-14 07:21 pm (UTC)I am currently trying to get back into writing German, and I am sure I sound all "English".
no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-13 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-13 05:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 05:34 pm (UTC)My exercises.
Date: 2012-06-13 03:30 pm (UTC)Have at 'em.
Edgware Road: Day 2
Date: 2012-06-14 08:53 am (UTC)Give us a paragraph or more prompted by the Edgware Road (even if only the name). Evoke, please.
Most residents of Newtown assume Edgware Road was named after James Henry Edgware, a former mayor of the city, back in the 1950's. But one look at the crooked road, and everybody with a knowledge of local history will know that Edgware Road could not possibly have been named after the esteemed mayor. He was famous for bringing public transport to the remotest village of Greater Newtown, and while Edgware Road is certainly remote, no coach or taxi will ever brave its cobble-stones. Even for the ever-present, brightly-clad cyclists, Edgware Road is too windy, the pavement too broken, the stones too slippery. The road belongs to a time when people travelled by foot or horse. Whoever is walking by today either lives here or is visiting a relative or friend who remembers the King's Silver Jubilee. The houses are small and narrow, clinging to one another as if expecting the final blow; behind them windswept gardens have gone wild during a century of neglect. The one streetlamp is standing where Edgware Road opens into Tinker Street, which in turn leads to New Street in the village centre. At night, the crossing is wrapped in a murky, yellowish light, dissolving quickly into the warm darkness of Edgware Road. At its end, the woods begin. Mrs Harrows' garden with its bristly hollyhocks is the last bulwark against the wild.
On summer evenings, at the fence, she will tell stories of a time when Edgware Road was the thoroughfare to Baron's Hall, deep in the woods.
Pointing to the grey oaks that are growing in oddly straight rows, right where Edgware Road is lost in brambles and green, she whispers, "This is where the edge was," with a secretive air, as if she is worried to be overheard.
"The edge to where?" asks the stray wanderer.
And she will wink at him (or her) with a knowing smile, then turns to her tomatoes, shining bright from lush dark leaves
no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 10:52 pm (UTC)Very clever.
Date: 2012-06-14 06:19 pm (UTC)Vy evocative and vy well-strung, in any event.
Re: Very clever.
Date: 2012-06-14 07:06 pm (UTC)I saw your post, Wemyss, with your exercises and I loved reading them. I will comment, once I am back in the countryside and have more time and leisure.
I was going to go with Newton, but then decided to have "new town" and "new street" be more like "artificial" names in contrast to the odd and mysterious place names that grow from the history of the place. If that makes sense.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-14 12:27 pm (UTC)The Soundscape of My Day
Date: 2012-06-22 02:12 pm (UTC)Day 3:
Describe your daily, common soundscape, from rouse to
turning inbreakfast.Over a million people are living in Berlin. There is a constant hum in the air, vibrating in the asphalt, in the walls of buildings, in the metal of your bike when you lean against it, waiting for the red light to change. It becomes inaudible in a matter of hours if one does not make a conscious effort to listen for it. It is nothing like London, though, where you will never forget the eight million people around you, not counting the machines, the factories, the cars.
Right underneath my apartment runs the subway, the U2, the red line, the so-called "Bauhaus" line. My station connects the central Alexanderplatz to the Eastern North, the neighbourhoods of Prenzlauer Berg and Pankow. There is talk of extending the U2, even further into Pankow. Every four minutes, more frequently during rush hours, a subway passes underneath the house. Approaching with a low purr it becomes a droning that makes the house quiver ever so faintly. After a few seconds the sound abates, decreases and ebbs away.
I don't wake up at 4 am when the subway awakes to life. I cannot even say 'not anymore' because I've never been woken by the sound of subway underneath my house. The birds in the inner yard are much louder, and sometimes they do wake me. There are sparrows, magpies and grey, white-necked pigeon, mostly. The sparrows start with the first light of the day, but soon the "Misanthrope" cuts in. He's a dark madge with shaggy grey wings who will rant for hours, loud, obnoxious, he certainly sounds very much pissed off. I am certain there is a whole lists of things that get him going but foremost are the Two-Legs and the Four-Wheels, followed closely by the fluttering sparrows.
The alarm of my mobile phone is always set (for 8 am, sometimes for 9 am) but I usually awake minutes before it goes off. It is some musical piece, but even though I hear it every day, I cannot now for the life of me describe how it sounds – something classical, a melody increasing in volume the longer I let it go. It is certainly very different than my usual cell tone, which is - predictably - a Harry Potter tune.
My morning routine has the clatter of dried dishes put away, the buzz of the electric toothbrush, water running, the shower runner, the wooden sound of the opening and closing of wardrobe doors, the rustling of clothes being put on, zippers closed. Eventually I open the computer and rouse it from its sleep, and before long the sound of incoming mails greets me.
Whoever designed computer keyboards so that now typing makes little sound – my eternal thanks. I am working on the computer all day, but all you hear is a faint echo of the former clack-clack-clack. I almost type as fast as I speak. Which is saying something. You would not want me to talk to you all day.
Cars drive by outside, people speak, yell, fight or laugh when they walk by on the pedestrian walkway a storey down below from my window. Softly the sounds of streetcars in the distance float by, even softer are the church bells' chimes. The baby of the neighbours downstairs is crying.
My morning routine usually ends with the ringing of the mobile. My friend calls, and we decide to meet for breakfast in the Café Rosa. Her voice is either bright or subdued, the first sign whether it's a good day for her, or another one struggling with depression. I snag my backpack and take the bike with me, to head off to the office after breakfast. The short bike-ride to Rosa, breakfast with its clattering of coffee cups and low background of voices and steam from the espresso machine, the longer bike-ride to the office along stores and cars – that would be another two pages of sounds, and having written this all on the train, I just arrived in Berlin and am off into the day.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-24 06:17 pm (UTC)I really enjoyed this, especially the part about the subway under your house. I like that you used "further" and not "farther" - it made me think not only about the distance of the subway line, but also the impact of central Alexanderplatz reaching deeper into Pankow (I have absolutely no knowledge of the layout of Berlin, I should add), like it's an attitude that will extend north east, as well as the actual metal and plastic of the subway. I also really like the rhythm of this sentence: After a few seconds the sound abates, decreases and ebbs away, and I can feel the train rumbling off into the distance. I worry that there is something a little bit redundant there though, but maybe that's just me failing to be poetic (it wouldn't be the first time).
I love the distinction between the bird calls and the use of "Two-legs" and "Four-wheels" is wonderful. The paragraph beginning "My morning routine" is effective, too. I can hear each of these sounds as you flick through them and, for me, the change of speed between this and the previous paragraphs marks the beginning of your active day.
I might have written "I type almost as fast as I speak" and maybe "You wouldn't want me to talk to you all day." Personally, I found the sentence about the baby crying a tiny bit awkward to read. I can't help but notice you use "neighbours" and also "cell tone" - but that's not really the point of the exercise, so sorry for being pedantic. I liked the ending very much; I think it is charming and fits well with the beginning, coming back to Berlin with slightly longer sentences that hint at the bustle of city life.
Anyway, sorry for going on. I'm not sure any of this is terribly helpful (I like your writing and can't really offer any good concrit), but I enjoyed reading your soundscape and I look forward to reading more if you continue with the exercises.
no subject
Date: 2012-06-24 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-25 08:42 am (UTC)It’s 2 or 3 am. It’s night. I’ve slept for almost 2 hours, maybe 4 if I’m lucky. The world (or my little world up here at least), is quiet. My feet shuffle on the ground, I’m so sleepy. I turn around on my way to the sheepcote and before me is the most remarkable sky I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing, red, blue, yellow, white, all mixed together in the most incredible way. The sunset (or sunrise? Could be either) is stretching over as much sky as it can. The clouds are tainted with the colours of the sun and I have a strange longing to be able to draw and paint such a beautiful sight. Suddenly, I’m not so upset over having to interrupt my sleep. I’m just so glad I got the opportunity to see this sky.