Can You Tell a Story Using Only Verbs?
Walking, talking, sharing. Interrupted! Burbling, burbling, burbling. Gesturing. Walking, talking, sharing. Interrupted! Giggling. Nodding. Laughing. Burbling. Stopped. Scowled. Reversed. Strode. Relieved. Freed! Confused. Blinking. Watching. Considering. Running. Catching. Apologizing. Pausing. Grabbing. Sneering. Inhaling. Exhaling. Growling. Crowing! Stopping. Scowling. Re-examining. Departing!
Galumphs Away!
In an effort to provide a helpful headslap, I offer you this setup: Pandora Smelly old socks A crack in the sidewalk Rowboat oars The countdown Your job, should you choose to accept, is to make a story out of these elements and to delight us all.
Action Needed
Here’s some boring, banal “telling” that needs work. Eloise drank too much. She loved the tinkle of ice cubes in her rocks glass filled with bourbon. She knew she was alienating the one daughter who still lived at home, but Eloise needed the pleasure that drinking brought. Her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. It made her mad. Show us what’s going on here instead of telling us.
The Hardest Part
What is the hardest thing you have to face when you sit down to write? Once I know some of your answers, I will happily give you some challenges that guide you right into the belly of your particular beast.
Good News for Past “Beginning Writers Workshop” Participants
As of today, the content of the Ed2Go online course I taught between 2004 -2017 is now available–and a bit upgraded–in paperback form. You can find it at Amazon.com with the title, “Beginning Writer’s Workbook.” When I stopped teaching the course online, I kept the rights to the curriculum I had written. This workbook has taken the place of the course. I enjoyed teaching you all for many years, but in the end, the sessions got too big for me, and finding really good help was difficult. I’m very excited to have the lessons available once more. I hope you’ll take a look!
Night Ride
The two-lane highway is dark at 11:30 p.m. on a Sunday in November. Low piles of snow line the dry road, shining in the headlights, still clean though two days old. They still have 70 miles to go, and only a few cars and pickups appear at random intervals. The driver puts in a CD, chosen blindly in the dark, turning out to be a compilation made by a friend over 20 years past. Only 60 miles to go. Diet coke barely holds off numbing fatigue. Your challenge: Who’s driving?
I Pressed My Nose Up Against the Window
Inside. That’s exactly where I wanted to be. If I could have dissolved the glass and stepped inside, I would have made a dream come true. Here’s what I saw….
The Secret Room
We all have one. Accept that as fact. Think about the house or apartment where you grew up. Perhaps there was a small door near the floor in the back of one of the closets where it was dark behind all the clothes on their hangers. Perhaps you glimpsed it once or twice, wondered about it, but didn’t feel bold enough to open it. Picture it now. Perhaps you had a basement where your mom did laundry while you played on the cement floor or wandered around. Perhaps there was a big cupboard you were told not to open. It even had a hole for a key. You put your eye to that hole and could feel a soft breeze coming at you, but you couldn’t see in. Stick your finger in that hole. Perhaps there was a square or rectangle in the bedroom ceiling that led to an attic. Once, your uncle or maybe your mom’s boyfriend climbed a ladder into that dark space. You kind of remember that, but you’re not sure. You haven’t lived there since you were a kid. Get out the ladder and go up there. Your secret room. Go there now. Take a seat and look around.
It’s So Easy to Misplace Things
I used to have many special possessions that have gone missing over the years. I wish I had them back, but I’m pretty sure I never will. They’re gone forever. I do, however, have some theories about where they are. I’m around 98% sure I’m right. I used to have a dark green, 1949 Chevy Pickup Truck with a silver knob on the floor you stamped on with your foot to start the engine. I’m pretty sure the Libyans have it. I used to have a sparkly rhinestone tiara that I wore to my eighth grade graduation party along with a powder blue, full-skirted dress that was fun to dance in (plus dyed-to-match flats). I’m pretty sure Lady Gaga paid a mint to add this outfit to her wardrobe. I used to own an adorable Beagle named Katie who did not come back indoors after a quick foray outside one rainy night in Peoria, Illinois. I’m pretty sure she’s currently acting as mascot on a gun boat running drugs out of the Dry Tortugas. I used to have nice brown eyebrows, greatly admired by all. I’m pretty sure they’ve escaped onto the face of the Northern Barred owl who lives in the swampy part of my pine woods. I used to have a stock of home-grown, home-canned tomatoes in 48 Mason jars (quart size) that have been steadily reducing in number each time I look. I’m pretty sure those little elves who helped that damn shoemaker in the fairy tale are behind the theft. Little tiny footprints with pointed toes. Dead giveaway. What did you used to have?
The Morning
Theo stood at the bathroom sink, not looking at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. It had a crack in it anyway. His iPhone played “Old Town Road” on Spotify. The question was, Could he manage to get moving?