April 19th, 2010

Workshop #7: Grammar

Workshop #7 was actually mainly about Images and Imagist poems, as I think I mentioned somewhere earlier, but we actually covered lots of other ground. Although it is really outside of my purview as the creative-writing person, I snuck in a grammar lesson. I really really want them to stop smudging stellar work with dumb grammar mistakes. I also want to put my foot down with the kids who say they are not “good” at grammar.

I think so many of these rules are like learning the multiplication tables or the provincial capitals–either you had a good teacher in grade 3 who made you memorize them, or you didn’t… The teacher I’m working with certainly does give some excellent grammar lessons, but the kids seem to have a deficit of years. You can get by in conversation a lot of the time–maybe always, depending on what career you choose–just by listening to how others talk and emmulating them, without knowing most of the rules of grammar. But it is much much harder to get written grammar in this way, especially for kids who don’t read except one forced. Lovely as it is to get self-righteous and say that reading for pleasure is a gift and parents just have to show kids blah blah blah, it doesn’t always happen. This is also an issue for kids who grow in homes where English is not the first language. They might hear tonnes of very erudite conversation, read books and watch high-end tv (or they might not), but if it’s not in English, it’s not helping them with their grammar.

So schools don’t teach grammar (I guess I can’t generalize, but mine certainly didn’t and I don’t know anyone else who learned English grammar in a systematic manner–do you?), and kids don’t always have the opportunity to pick it up elsewhere, and I end up with bright, engaged, insightful students who write things like, “She weared her prettiest dress,” and were genuinely startled to find out the past tense of “to lie down” is “to lay down.”

I am into good grammar, but I’m not fanatical about it–I roll my eyes when the grocer advertises “fresh” fish, but c’mon, do I know how to fillet a pickerel? He has his knowledge base and I have mine, and as long as we can understand each other, I don’t see myself as being in the position to make further demands. Chefs can’t make me stop putting barbeque sauce on my salad, and personal trainers can’t stop me from over-emphasizing cardio in my workouts, and fashion designers can’t make me stop wearing those turquoise fishnets I bought for $3 and which don’t fit…we can’t all be experts in everything, and sometimes, we don’t even want to be.

I am in favour of good grammar the way I am in favour of good etiquette–not as an end in itself, or as a stick to beat people with, but as a means of facilitating clear communication and conveying respect to the reader/person you are speaking to. Setting the table neatly shows care for your dinner guest’s ease and pleasure of dining. Yes, he could probably have gone and found a fork in the kitchen, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and yes, you do know what I mean when I say “I teared it open”, but it’s just that much more confusing, difficult, and less fun.

In class last week, I told the kids, “No one ever won a Nobel Prize for grammar”: it’s just a tool to get your point across. But they really need to get the tool–it makes their (good) work so inaccessible when I have to puzzle over when it takes place because the tenses are inconsistent, or who did what because the pronouns don’t match. I told them also that grammar is *not* a smart/dumb issue–if you’ve had less exposure to it, you know less, and it’s annoying that you have to make up for that, but all they need to do is sit down and memorize this stuff. Unfortunately, if they don’t bother, they will *look* dumb–I hope it wasn’t inappropriate to use that phrase with my students. Grammatical errors, being mainly simple and easily avoided if you just memorize the rules, look like they are made by dumb people when, in fact, they are mainly made by lazy people.

And then we did a bunch of conjugations and they had to copy things down off the board and everything–it was way old school. I hope it helped. I really think that good grammar will make their lives a lot easier–on resumes and cover letters, on school papers, work emails–people respect good grammar, because reading it is a lot easier than reading garbled stuff, and clean writing conveys respect for the reader.

All that said, in my little heart, I love language rules and am always eager to learn a new one, and to discuss and debate their usefulness and implications. I could talk your ear off about transitive and intransitive verbs, a topic very few people know about and yet very few people get it wrong in everyday writings. I don’t get to be smug, despite my copyediting classes and fervent adherence to the Chicago Manual of Style–I make tonnes of sloppy mistakes on this blog (as you likely well know) and in many other scarier places. The trick is not to just know a lot of stuff about grammar, but to know enough grammar to make clear all the other stuff you know.

RR

April 8th, 2010

Workshop #6–Dialogue

When I taught creative writing for the first time, last year, I didn’t teach dialogue. I claimed to have run out of time, and more or less had, but in truth I didn’t shift the schedule to accomdate dialogue because I had no idea how to teach it.

I think it’s inappropriate to relay compliments about myself, but a number of people have told me I write dialogue well, and most of the time I believe them. It seems logical that I would be good at it, since I love it! Definitely I’ve found that the things I find fun are also the things I can do well, but I’ve also find that people who are good at things can’t teach them. Did you ever have your math-brained friend try to tutor you in algebra? It’s horrible, right? Because they keeps saying like, “ok, and obviously the vector would go this way,” and they actually have no way of explaining it if its not obvious to you. Mathy people’s brains make too many math leaps and they can’t retrace their steps for someone whose own brain doesn’t leap.

What you want is a teacher who struggled and struggled and struggled with something, and eventually achieved some (possibly low) level of mastery. That person remembers every step of the process and is able to explain it clearly to the novice–a teacher that remembers what it is like to learn. Which is why I think my most useful lessons are on plot structure or self-editing or things of that nature–I struggle with those still, and my memories of my learning process are as recent as last night, so I can bring the kids some very well-rehearsed tips.

I am not saying I’ve “got” dialogue or am not constantly trying to improve–certainly I am, and there’s plenty of room to do so. But dialogue is the fun part for me and I do bounce along more easily with that stuff than anything. And it’s really hard to say why or how!

But for my students, I’ll try. Start with the thing that every creative writing teacher–and anyone who has even heard of the process of creative writing–would advise is that if you want to write dialogue, listen to people talking. Absolutely! And not just your friends–listen to as wide a range as possible. Eavesdrop in restaurants and on transit. Make note of how people use certain words and how they vary–dresser or bureau? Snow machine or skidoo? “Bay-gal” or “bag-el”?

Of course, the flip side of this is that really good, really readable fictional speech is highly stylized, and if you use real speech to convey character you would need the length 0f an evening (a whole first date!) to catch an even slightly accurate portrait. I don’t take notes and don’t record–indeed, I never quote directly from strangers. When I listen, I just want to get the rhythms of their speech, turns of phrase, that sort of thing.

What to leave out? Sneezes, burps, apologies for dropping things on the floor, long descriptions of what a mutual friend is up to, repititions, speakers losing their place in the story for no reason, giving of directions, self-absorbed monologuing (unless it both a. reveals a lot of character and b. is funny), conversations about the weather that are actually about the weather, way-too-plot-heavy-garbage (some people probably actually say, “I don’t think you love me anymore, Bruno. I think you have played me false” but they do not need to be immortalized in fiction).

In short: dialogue in realist fiction is *like* real speech, but *better*. So I brought hyper hyper stylist stuff–Pirandello, Beckett, Abbott and Costello. Oh, and it was funny stuff, too, at least in my opinion. I’m finding that the students feel the weight of “writing a story” really a lot–I wanted to remind them there’s supposed to be some entertainment value here.

And then I taught them how to punctuation dialogue and then…well, it was a short day so then we were out of time, but that was pretty much all I had anyway. How *do* you teach dialogue?

RR

March 31st, 2010

Workshop #5: Writing about the senses

Something weird has been happening to me–my senses are getting sharper! Not vision, unfortunately; a few days ago, I took my contacts out and then mistook an empty toilet-paper roll lying on the floor for a mouse (and what was it doing on the floor, we wonder). But hearing and smelling, yeah, it’s getting intense! Does this happen regularly to women in their thirties? It’s sort of an unlooked-for, and in someways unhelpful, bonus. I had a near meltdown at a meeting because someone was twisting her pen barrel against the nib, and the rubbing made a very high-pitched squeaking noise. Apparently no one but me could hear it, but I eventually had to halt the meeting and request that the pen be quarentined, lest my brain explode. I’m sure all neighbouring dogs were very grateful. And I swear I can smell supper cooking in every house I pass at a certain hour, and you wouldn’t believe the number of people in this city who get on the bus smelling of pot. I also uttered the words, “You bought a new brand of deoderant!” in an accusing voice, which is really something that, if you told me ten years ago I would be doing, I would have been profoundly shocked (and still sort of am).

Wow, everything I post has to have this big long personal preamble–sorry! What I’m getting at is, now is a good time to be doing the workshop I’m doing tomorrow, which is writing about sensory perceptions. I marked the first batch of assignments this week, and I can see that, as per usual, it’s the visual that reigns supreme. Not unusual, even with mature writers, but I really do want them to broaden out. I’m going to be doing the same exercises as last year, which involve giving them a specific sensory stimuli, and one that lacks obvious references (unlike say, the scent of roses or the taste of honey, there are few obvious cliches about the flavour of Bubblemint gum or the sound of Leonard Cohen’s voice) and inviting them to write about.

I think those exercises are useful for any writer to do at any age (and prettymuch always listening to Leonard Cohen is helpful) but the lesson I’m going to do beforehand is probably of less use to adults–a bit too elementary. But it’s going to be on to the difference between subjective and objective adjectives.

It’s so hard to remember being a kid and having a really narrow frame of reference and experience, mainly within the family and a group friends that might all have a similar narrow frame. It’s so hard to remember when I thought a word like “beautiful” or “fascinating” or “boring” had a universal, unassailable interpretation. I’m not looking forward to breaking it to the whippersnappers that they can’t say, “ugly wallpaper” and leave it at that, because every reader will have a different interpretation of the word “ugly.” Better to describe the brown and gold flocked velvet wallpaper objectively, and leave it to the readers to conclude for themselves that it is ugly…some might not do so (!) but that’s their perogative–perception is complicated.

I am so sure they are going so say, “But you say ‘awesome’ and ‘amazing’ and ‘super’ all the time. Those are totally subjective words.” Fine–so they are. But me talking (or blogging) is supposed to be subjective, or that’s how I justify it. And I’m also available to fill in the reasoning behind my judgements in person (or on the blog–really, just comment) whereas a narrator is not available to the reader beyond the last page of the story–it’s got to be all in the writing. Anyway, that’s what I’m going to tell them, and I hope they buy it, because then I’m going to ban all subjective adjectives.

I’ll let you know how it goes.
RR

March 24th, 2010

Workshop #4: Plot

Today’s workshop is on plot! Boo, I say, but I’ve found kids really do need this kind of structure–you need to learn the dimensions of the box before you can think outside of it. And it is kind of interesting for me to review the standard plot graph–it’s good to remember that that’s at least a possibility when I’m writing, and if I choose not to use it I should at least acknowledge that I’m choosing.

But I actually wouldn’t really suggest grown-up writers try writing an entire story by the graph–it’s not a terrible idea, but it’s a lot of work if you are in the middle of a project–to make it worthwhile you’d have to really invest some time in the story, so that the graph didn’t just dominate it. But, heck, if you are more disciplined than I, it probably would be illuminating, what you can do with that inverted tick mark.

Instead, here are a couple less ambitious exercises I often do with stories I’m working on, which I found help immensely plotwise. Maybe they’ll help you too:

1) Graph your plot *after* you get to the second draft. If you are finding that there’s something wonky about the pacing, graph the amount of event/dialogue/description per page and see if you are finding bits that are overloaded versus bits that are slack. In my classes today, we’ll definitely be talking about non-standard plot graphs–flat lines, loop-de-loops, parallel arcs, connect-the-dots…all work if you work them, natch, but I find I often don’t even know I’m doing these things until I write/draw it out. And it’s easier to improve the structure once you know what it is.

If the sketch seems to gimmicky, simply write yourself an outline–Jenny walks to the garden supply centre (two pages), Jenny remembers Derek ski accident (1/2 page), Jenny runs into Derek in the parking lot (4 1/2 pages)–to see if you can spot pacing errors. I never ouline at the beginning, but I find at this point it is really helpful to see where I’m spending my pages. This is especially helpful if it’s a double (or more) narration, or a story with a lot of flashbacks, or anything that’s important to keep balanced.

2) I’m going to have the kids base their first round of plot graphs not on their own stories but on back-jacket copy from novels–they’ll have the basic plots from those, and fill in the rest from their own brains (at least, this is the hope). For an adult, I would suggest doing this in reverse–writing a book-cover blurb for you own story at the midway point in the process. I find that summarizing a story in the manner of back-jacket copy is…well, just as horrible and painful as summarizing in any other context. When asked to summarize, my instinct is always, “I can’t, the story doesn’t work that way, if you want to know what it’s about read it, bah I don’t wanna I hate you.” And it devolves from there. But at least thinking about the book cover reminds me that this is a necessary process–someday, I hope to have the story *in* a book, and that book will need to have some sort of description written on the cover. Sometimes, the push helps.

If I’m *really* struggling with the summary, that’s probably a sign that there’s something wrong with the story–there should be a few elements that can be easily described, at least. You’re going to judge me for being self-indulgent, but sometimes I also try writing these summaries as reviews–glowing ones. And that of course *is* self-indulgent, but it is also true that if I write down the nice things I want people to say about the work, it reminds me of what my goals for the piece actually are–which is not always so apparent on the page. And, also, on a tough day, it’s nice to imagine someone saying nice things about my work.

So…that’s a few suggestions on working with plot. Feel free to add more if you have your own better/different plotting exercises, or to let me know if these work or don’t work for you. I hope the kids like’em.

RR

March 22nd, 2010

Good things happen

There are some things it is dumb to wish for, because they may not happen, because there’s nothing you can do to make them happen, and it doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things anyway. So when such things *do* happen, like, say, being given an elaborate bouquet of roses or being asked for your autograph on the bus, you don’t even have a response prepared, and have to just hope you somehow make your delight apparent.

When I return to complaining about how hard my life is, someone really needs to remind me that the above both happened to me this weekend

To read about some other good things that happened to me, you might take a look at my thoughts on publishing with Biblioasis, posted this morning on That Shakespearian Rag.

RR

March 12th, 2010

Workshop #3: Setting and real estate

March 9th, 2010

Sad Story Over

I’ve been working on one story since, pretty much, the new year, and I just finally finished a second draft. That doesn’t mean it’s done (hardly!) but it probably has the basic shape and elements the finished story will have. I don’t usually know how stories will end when I begin them–this is what some would call “having a problem with plotting”–but I find if I figure out the characters and their situation well enough, I will find their own logical momentum and there will be a natural next thing for me to write, and a thing after that, until there is a natural point to stop.

March 5th, 2010

Workshop #2–Character

Well, I’m completely not making good on my plan to post lesson plans ahead of the actual lessons to get your feedback on’em, but considering that on Wednesday I briefly stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk because I’d jammed two fingers into one glove-slot and wondered how I was going to cope (I worked it out) we’re lucky I managed to get the lesson together for the actual students.

And, when it came time to deliver said lessons, I also count myself lucky that my energy miraculously returned. There’s something about those eager, curious faces, their great willingness to learn and/or to laugh if I fall down…

So the character workshop was similar to last year’s except the kids took it in a different direction. When I asked where they have seen character descriptions before, they said the usual “in books” stuff, but also, on the backs of movies, on the backs of video games, on plaques at a museum, in biographies (one long character sketch), and then, even more interesting, on your passport or your driver’s license!

I love that, because sometimes I do get lost in the “big” “emotional” issues of character development and not bother about “little” details like how old someone is–not “early twenties” but birth year and date. Not, “from southern Ontario” but pick an actual town on a map. These things make a difference to character icebergs, I think–although it sure would be odd if my students think they have to actually use all this stuff in their stories and start describing every character with height and weight!

So, yes, upcoming, a very dates/places/numbers intensive character sketch from me–I’m not sure what style, but maybe a la fight stats in a video game–which actually, come to think of it, probably won’t be entertaining at all to you guys, but might be useful to me.

And maybe then I’ll get some sleep. Have a good weekend, all!
RR

March 3rd, 2010

To Do

I haven’t posted any events in a while, in part because I have been, as I may have mentioned so busy I haven’t been going to many. But here are some I do plan to attend, because they are awesome and I will soon be (I hope, touch wood, fingers crossed, etc., etc.) less busy. If you are also less busy, perhaps you are interested in:

–the University of Toronto masters in creative writing showcase and gala tomorrow night. Should be some good readings, possibly some wine and cheese, and a nice opportunity to clap for Andrew when he is awarded a prize!

–Bad Dog theatre improva at That Friday Show, (appropriately) this Friday night. Hilarity, uncertainty, and pay-what-you-can–how ideal?

And if you are, sadly, too busy to go out, be comforted that I fully understand.

RR

March 1st, 2010

Endings

I’m off to Waterloo tomorrow to do a reading for and have discussion with a group of high-school students who have been studying one of my stories, “Fruit Factory.” Doing such a talk is a rare honour and a treat for various reasons, many obvious, I’m sure (what human doesn’t like it when people pay close attention to something that that human has worked very hard on?) One that might be less obvious is that, since the teacher can guarantee that (at least most of) the students have read the entire story, I can read and discuss the ending.

Endings are very very difficult to write–Sam Shephard said in the New Yorker that, “I hate endings… Just detest them. Beginnings are definitely the most exciting, middles are perplexing, and endings are a disaster.” And he’s been writing for 30 or so years and is thought to be one of the foremost playwrights of… Oh, despair. What hope is there for the rest of us?

Obviously, the rest of us struggle on, and when we hit on an ending that we think is good and resonant and true to the rest of the story while also surprising and maybe even illuminating in some way, we are damn proud of ourselves–it doesn’t happen very often. It’d be nice to get to share it your own self occasionally.

Of course, I’m not kidding myself that my stories are rife with suspense, nor am I of the opinion that knowing the ending of something “ruins” the pleasure of reading the rest. But structuring a story, arranging what happens when, is hard too–almost as hard as writing an ending. In separate places, I’ve seen story experts as impressive as Alice Munro and John Metcalf say they don’t necessarily read stories from beginning to end in sequence, but rather jump around, like moving from room to room in a house (that’s Munro being paraphrased there–I’m sorry but I’m not going to be able to find these citations).

That makes me sad, although it makes some sense, too. Certainly I can gauge the emotional tension and intensity, the sense of humour, the clarity and poetry of language if I start in the middle, but I don’t get the events as the writer lived them with the characters, and how he or she wanted to place them in my imagination. You can take someone’s temperature in lots of places on their bodies, but if you want to know how that person is actually feeling, it’s best to just let them tell you (hmmm, is that metaphor working?)

I put a lot of deliberation into making the order of the story make sense to the characters and their worlds–so that’s how I want it to make sense to the reader too. There’s no reason why a story won’t be enjoyable or interesting or perfectly understandable out of order–but that’s not how I meant to do it. You might not love it, like it, or even get it the way I did, but I want to give you every chance.

So I don’t read endings aloud at events where I assume no one’s read it. They might not be going to read it, actually–this might be our one and only encounter–but I’d generally like people to enter the story at the point I worked out as the beginning. So I read beginnings, for the most part, or whole stories if they’re short enough, when I do public readings.

But! I like my endings, too! Some of them took a dozen drafts and years of work–if I feel like I finally got it, I take a lot of pleasure in the words as they fell into place and I enjoy sharing them aloud. And even if I do feel like I nailed it, I am very much open to feedback to the contrary–there’s always next time–and there’s nothing like reading aloud to elicit an honest answer from some people.

So whenever I know the audience has read the work, I choose the ending as my selection to read aloud. This has only happened a few times and I’ve never done “Fruit Factory”‘s ending before. So this evening will find me at home standing on a chair, praticing and tomorrow–who knows what they’ll think!

RR