February 12th, 2009
Writing Exercises: Newspaper Character Sketches
Using a daily newspaper (or internet variants thereof), do any or all of the following:
–write a typical day’s schedule for one of the letters-to-the-editor writers
–write a resume for a baby listed on the Births page, 30 years in the future
–write a holiday-greeting letter for one of the people listed in the Personals/Matchmakers pages
–write a Facebook profile for someone who posted one of the classifieds under “Misc.”
I’ll post whatever I come up with for this exercise in a couple days!
I don’t know if you drive / if you love the ground beneath you
RR
February 10th, 2009
Going pro
I’m proud to say I’m now a member of the Writers Union of Canada.
One two three four five six switch
RR
“I cannot eat beef or pork” in Japanese
Po-ku to bi-fu wa taberu koto ga dekinai.
Yes, I am using the anglicized cognates (rumoured to be completely comprehensible to Japanese-speakers) rather than the correct Japanese (which would be “Gyuniku to butaniku”). And that is because this sentence is very long and hard, and my head is already very full of many important facts like how many mililitres in a cup (250), how to tighten a screw (righty-tighty), and where my emergency back-up telephone is in case the normal telephone breaks, which happens often (bottom shelf of the linen closet).
Po-ku to bi-fu wa taberu koto ga dekinai.
I’ll get it–no problem!
Forget about what I said / the lights are on and the party’s over
RR
February 8th, 2009
25 Meals (with meaning)
1. IV Lounge 10th Anniversary Cake courtesy of Dani Couture (who tagged me in this meme, and probably created it, such wonders that poets are).
2. May 23, 1979–First birthday cake, which I did not consume but only looked at, owing to parents’ theory that babies can’t eat cake (they ate it).
3. Summer 1982–First self-made meal: Two peanut-butter sandwiches, d carried into the yard on cookie sheet (second sandwich was for brother).
4. Similar time as #3–English-muffin mini-pizzas with *ham* on them, offered at a childhood friend’s home; small Rebecca’s first inkling that the world was indeed vaster and more curious than she could ever have dreamt.
5. Vacation Wednesdays, 1982-1988–Fried clams at Howard Johnson’s restaurant, favourite American food.
6. Lunch hour, 1989-1992–Swamp food–trail mix adaptation that my Kim, Mary, Jen and I worked hard on. I think it contained pretty much anything that came in small discrete units–nuts, dried fruit, candy, corn chips, breakfast cereal, popcorn, pretzels.
7.Spring 1992–Pizza and French fries, Old Port of Montreal,
8. June 1992–Chicken salad, tossed salad, buns, chocolate pudding with banana chips on top–Family Studies final project.
9. Tuesdays, 1992-1997–Grilled cheese sandwiches and oatmeal cookes, the only things my high school caf made decently.
10. 4x a year, 1992-1997–Exam pizza.
11. Summer 1994–Roasted nuts in a paper sack from streetvendor, NYC.
12. March 1996–Chocolate hazelnut crepe, also from streetvendor, Paris.
14. September 1997–Bagel, eaten while walking up University Ave., first food eaten as resident of Montreal.
15. October 1997–Pizza Hut pizza and those little garlic bread strips–grad food.
16. 1997-1998–Bow thai pasta, crunchy cheese, counted juices, melon/kidney bean salad, black jello, an awful lot of egg salad–RVC caf food.
17. 1997-2001, post-dancing–Madonna pizza (cheese only), eaten while walking down the street.
18. 1997-2001, as often as possible–shish taouk, extra turnips, eaten while walking down the street.
19. Summer, 2000–First sushi experience, California rolls, Afshan’s place.
20. March 2001–Crackers and soup, brought to me by Anne-Michelle to prevent death by flu.
21. February-April 2002–Bag lunch in glamourous food court that I could not afford.
22. 2002-2005–Jaime’s peanut squares, popcorn out of bins, morning glory muffins, rice krispie squares, bagels with lactose-free cream cheese, Entemann’s coffee cake, and mini-mentos…oh, the Proofville Buffet.
23. Summer 2005–Toronto’s little India, my discovery of barfi.
24. September 7, 2008–Eden Mills Lit Fest, first sweet potato pie, the day I first saw my book!
25. Today–Winterliscious with the gang from #14-19–very excited!
February 7th, 2009
One-Moment Exercise–Results
(10 minute freewrite on the prompt in the last post, unedited)
He’s still tasting the goddamn date square. It’s been over an hour and some fierce regret, but it still pastes his tongue, his gums above his wisdom teeth. He is dying for a sip of water, has been for a while, but he didn’t dare take a finger off the wheel with Iz watching, and the rental-car office is so tiny and wobbly looking it seems like it might not even have running water. Plus, every time the clerk looks up from the computer, the file, the computer, he is glaring at them. At them both, but Judge feels like the kid can sense it was Judge behind the wheel when they hit the median, though he wouldn’t go as far to say “at fault.” Judge wouldn’t go that far at all.
It’s hot in Ohio. It was hot in Ontario too, but in that province it was also dawn, which gave your clothes some clearance from your body. Now everything is slicked tight, even the baggy canvas of his shorts, even the thin cotton of the street-stand t-shirt that says, Fest. It is a generic t-shirt, bought for four-dollars in Outremont when he spilled red wine at a party and ran downstairs to see if he could by a new one. For four dollars, he didn’t care what fest, all though here, in Ohio, with the rubber-decal letters sweating to the hair on his chest, he panics briefly that someone might ask him. Not Iz, of course; Iz was at the party.
She also smells like date squares, which is not helping anything, the cinnamon-fruit dust that hangs in the shared air between them. And she stands so distant from him, while firmly occupying the same wicket at the wood-veneer desk. She is keeping her distance? Or she is trying not to touch in the confined space where to touch means to stick, and sweat.
Why is the clerk not sweating? How can a modern business establishment not be air-conditioned? What is wrong with Ohio? The shallow bowls around the kid’s eyes are not even shiny, his forehead dry, his tight small braids tapering neatly to the back of his neck. The clicks of the computer are dry and precise, too, but in Judge’s mind, each one is thousands of dollars.
February 6th, 2009
Exercise–The Single Moment One
Wednesday evening I went to the info session/meeting/dinner for me and my writing/teaching/administrating colleagues at SWAT/Now Hear This. It was very exciting/friendly/delicious/scary, because very very soon, I’m going to be entrusted with some actual high-school students, and expected to teach them something, and that will likely be every adjective mentioned above (except delicious).
In an effort to calm down, I will of course be over-preparing. I have a wealth of classroom experience from the other side, because I have had so many good writing teachers the past 11 years or so. So I will be culling through memories and notebooks, trying to find what helped me most. I’ll also be asking around to find such things that helped *other* writers–if you have recommendations or fond memories (or, in fact, bitter memories that you would like me avert for future generations) please drop me a line/comment.
I actually used to love writing exercises, and find they work well in a classroom, where everyone’s used to obeying orders, and it’s tough to order anyone to “think freely.” Exercises are a trick to free you up in tight parameters, and to that end, usually they are timed. I prefer 10 minutes for the ones I’ll be running, but if you are playing along at home, obviously I won’t be checking your work!!
Single-Moment Exercise
Describe a single moment in the life of a character. It could be someone in a piece you’ve been working on and got stuck in, or someone you just invented clean out of your head. If you are really stuck, use yourself, right now. Describe all five senses as the character is experiencing them: the taste in her mouth, the feel of his clothes, temperature, comfort-level, smells, feeling of health or illness, what’s in her field of vision/aural landscape, and of course what’s on his mind. Do not move forward into ramifications–these are unknown–and try to stay away from flashback unless the character is dwelling on the past. Stick to immediate perception as much as possible.
Ok, go!
I’ll put up my exericse on the weekend, in case anyone’s curious.
Outside the thunder’s jealous / of the way you shake
RR
February 4th, 2009
Silent Readers
You wouldn’t know it from the internet, but there are people out there who enjoy reading books and never talking about them. It’s not a secret; if a book falls out their bags, they’ll say, “Oh, there’s my book!” But that’s about all they’ll say. Some people just like to read–it’s what they do in transit, in waiting rooms, in bed before they fall asleep. They’re happy when they find a book they really like, and sorry when something that looked promising turns out to be bad. But they don’t really understand why I’m so interested in knowing *why*, and certainly not at such great length.
I’ve always been semi-opinionated, and the more time I spent around other readers, institutionally and socially, the more voluble I’ve become. It’s not that I think I’ve got it all right, but I sometimes maybe believe that I can express my opinions in a way that might interest someone else, and that then they might say something back that is interesting to me.
Sometimes that pans out and sometimes it doesn’t, but what with my lack of television or car troubles, what others are reading is my go-to question during cocktail party/dinner party/waiting room lulls. And that’s how I know about the silent readers; they tell me a title and then fall silent again. Sometimes they volunteer that it’s pretty good, or sort of boring. Sometimes they say where they bought it; sometimes they ask me what I’m reading.
With people I know a little, I can be pushy, asking the genre, what it’s about, where they heard about it (always a favourite question of mine). But sometimes you can just tell, however happily this person is reading his or her book, however knowledgeable s/he is about the material, it’s just gonna be a non-starter as a conversation.
It shocks me every time, but I’m pretty sure it’s true: many astute readers don’t know who published the book they are reading, or what year it came out or where the author is from. They haven’t read the reviews and they never hear about the prizes. I think, for these readers, books iare a personal space, a private interaction, and the astute reading goes on while the reader’s nose is actually in the book, not in the conversation afterwards. To live in the world of the characters and settings, to experience the story (fictional or not), without analysis but with empathy–that’s a really pure form of reading, is it not?
I’m always excited when I look up from a book and realize I was reading like that–without (much of) my own consciousness because I was inhabiting the characters. It doesn’t happen very often, and when it does I usually eventually step back and try to figure out how the author did that, because I am a writer and want to know how to do everything. And, because I am a social writer, I go find out other people’s opinions and see if they know why that book is so good.
I love doing that; if I had no one to talk books with, I’d be miserable. But that silent part of reading is pretty amazing. When I worked in bookstores and libraries, it used to make me crazy that people came in looking for books and couldn’t tell me the author’s name, only the main character’s…but now that I think about it, isn’t that exactly what an author wants?
Some years later / by the soda coolerator
RR
Fair & Balanced Reporting
Though I try to show a positive viewpoint of life on Toronto transit, I have to admit that today a man did spit in my hair. Then I went and sat at the other end of the bus (etiquette tip: the *only* right thing to do when someone spits in your hair is go somewhere else; that is not an opening for dialogue). In my new seat, I told myself firmly that I hadn’t been done any harm and it didn’t matter, but I was feeling slightly shaken, as if the naysayers about public life might have scored a point somewhere (and, perhaps, they did).
At the next stop, a man got on and sat down one seat over from me.
(beat)
Man: I gotta say, I really like your stockings.
Me: Oh. Thank you.
Man: I got a three-year-old daughter who loves flowers, and, man, if she saw those, she would say, beautiful.
The score is at least even, I’d say.
May you could spare her
RR
February 3rd, 2009
Derby Day!
It’s that time of year we all look forward to, when the A Place Oscar Derby is posted! Make your choices and remember you may have a slight advantage this year, for though I have won the Derby several times in the past, this year I’ve actually seen some of the movies (though not as many as I’d thought; how can I’ve Loved You So Long not be nominated for *anything*??). Actually seeing the films may throw off my fabled ability to guess things accurately at random, so this will be a pitched battle, I’m sure. Get in on it!
A side note is that I’ve seen a *lot* of good movies this year, for various reasons, but one is that the good movies out this year happen to be the sort I like. I really don’t go in for anything with “epic” or “sweeping” in the tagline, no matter how brilliant it may be; just not my thing. And I don’t dig war movies (there’s a few exceptions). Such are my standards that if there’s no character-based movies being made in a thoughtful, intellectual, Oscar-worthy manner, I’ll happily watch character-based goofball comedies and purported junk.
This was a very good year for the character-based film, of both the intellectual and junk level, and some delightful confusion between the two resulted. No matter who wins the Derby, or the statuettes, I’m feeling really well-entertained.
I look a little bit older
RR
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