More Intergenric Writing

I am inspired this week by the idea of texts reflecting on each other. I came across some writing I completed for an MA in Creative Writing at UNSW a few years back. The activity was to create a text where the main character reflected on the genre they belong to. 

Exercise

Take a generic form – fantasy, detective, romance, etc. – and try to write a piece which inverts, parodies or plays upon the recognisable conventions of the genre. Try using a narrator or protagonist who is themselves aware of the generic expectations, ie. a self-reflexive narrator or a self-conscious character who wants to enact his or her life according to some filmic of fictive template.

In the modelled response below I chose a Pinocchio type character and combined fantasy with reflection. I use third person narration and interject with first person to show the character's ability to reflect on the conventions of the fantasy genre he belongs to. 

Try it, it's a bit of fun. You can do anything with this. 

Modelled response

Harry pushed himself up off the ground and brushed the gravel from his pants. All the way down the tunnel he felt his head bounce like a ping pong ball from one side of the wall to the other.  He felt a pang on his forehead and rubbed the lump, which had slowly appeared. Harry squinted his eyes and clenched his teeth like a Cheshire cat. Grin and bear it thought Harry. He knew that by the end of this sentence the pain would gone and sure enough it had.

Harry looked around him. Where was he now? So far today, he’d tackled a dragon, chopped off its tale and ate it for breakfast, and outsmarted a talking eagle with a clipped wing. Not that it was that hard for him. He did have an extra long nose, which doubled up as a sword when the need arose and as you can imagine in a fantasy story, that was quite often. His breath was a deadly vapor which could send even the liveliest of beings into a deep sleep. They were handy, thought Harry, these special gifts that is, for he really wasn’t that brave after all. Nine times out of ten, Harry got out of trouble through pure accident. He would turn around at the right moment and casually knock out his enemy with his nose. Heaven forbid he actually had to be brave and fight for real.

By the end of his very adventurous days, Harry’s nose would get a little bit sore. One day while he was walking back to his village, he rubbed his nose soothingly and wondered why it had grown so big. It wasn’t always this way. A friendly man with a grey moustache running down his chin stopped him and said that his nose was so long because he told lies. Lies, thought Harry. Of course I tell lies. I live in a fantasy world. Everything is a great big lie. I tumble down tunnels, fly on the backs of eagles and body surf down waterfalls, all before breakfast. I never expected anyone would believe all that. But they do.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinocchio#mediaviewer/File:Pinocchio.jpg

Dialoguing in prose poetry

The prose poem as dialogue comes from Hazel Smith's The Writing Experiment and is about writing a short narrative in poetry form through two people speaking to each other. The focus is on what the characters say to each other and how they interact rather than the characters behind the voices. We do however get a good sense of the characters and a storyline through their exchange.

What you can do

Think of 2 characters. Write a short dialogue between the 2 characters about a subject that is important to them. Think also about the message you might like to convey through the exchange between the 2 characters.

Write down the page and incorporate natural elements of speaking. In other words, don't be too concerned about writing grammatically correct sentences. Try to mimic speech.

Sometimes when we start a dialogue in our heads, the characters start talking to each other. You can actually hear them. Go with your characters and let them lead you when you are writing.

Each time a new person speaks, start a new line. This will help the reader to follow who is speaking.

An example

The present

Can you stop that?

Stop what?

Tapping your fingers on the table like you’re playing the piano.

I am playing the piano.

Well can you stop it?

If you like. 

What’s that you’re doing now?

Tapping my feet.

Why are you tapping your feet?

Too much energy I guess.

Why have you got too much energy? Are you nervous?

A bit.

What’s making you nervous? You don’t get nervous.

Not normally, no.

What’s different about now?

A couple of things.

Like what?

Can’t say right now.
Why can’t you say?

Can you stop with the questions? You’re making me nervous.

You were already nervous. It’s not my fault you’re tapping your fingers and toes.

Ok, I’ll stop tapping. I’ll put my hands under my legs. Go back to reading your book.

It’s a good book. Mr Pip.

I know I’ve read it.

You’ve read everything.

Not everything. I haven’t read War and Peace.

Who has time for War and Peace? Are you tapping again?

No, just got a twitch. I have something for you.

What is it?

It’s in the bag.

What bag?

The bag at your feet. Here.

You got me a present. That’s so sweet.

Open it.

Ok, this is so exciting. You never do stuff like this. Why did you get me a present?

Just open it, you’ll see.

Ok, oh my God, it’s not. It’s not is it? You wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t what? Oh my God no. 

Oh, I thought maybe. You know it’s been 3 years.

Can you just open the present?

Okay, it’s something soft and squishy. You got me something soft and squishy.

Can you just open it?

I’m trying. You wrapped it real good.

Yeah, I got a bit excited with the sticky tape.

Nice paper.

I wanted it to be a bit fancy.

Oh that’s so sweet. A tightly wrapped squishy thingy in fancy paper. Here, let me give you a kiss.

I hope you’re okay with it. Like, I hope you’re ready.

I don’t quite know what to say.

Oh, don’t be upset. I want to make you happy, not sad.

You got me a squishy toy for a puppy.

Yeah, I thought we could.

Could what?

Well, you know, get another one.

Another puppy?

Yeah, maybe a golden retriever like you wanted last time.

Not a staffy?

Not a staffy.

What if it gets out again? 

I don’t know. Don't worry about that. Look it squeaks.

You’re making me cry now.

Am I?

But in a good way.

A good way.
Yeah, a good way.

Fragments

Today I am inspired by an activity we completed at the Bruns Writers' Group. The idea came to me from a writers' retreat I participated in in Ubud, Bali with Sarah Armstrong and Alan Close. The idea for the activity came from Michael Ondaatje's 7 or 8 Things I Know About Her (A Stolen Biography). You might like to check out the original. It is so good it's sublime. The link is below:

http://exceptindreams.livejournal.com/289600.html

What you can do

You can complete this writing activity from many different perspectives. For example by thinking of a character, or a setting, or a scene. let yourself come up with random headings. Free write about these headings. These become your fragments. They are also great for getting to know your characters/settings/scenes. You never know when some of the ideas will find their way into your story.

An example 

For the activity below, I was thinking about Gracie from the novel I am co-authoring with Katherine Pratt. 

The butcher shop

She remembered the butcher shop at the end of the main street and the sawdust on the floor and the swinging door that knocked her out when she was not watching one time she entered. She was mucking around too much she was told later and deserved sense to be knocked back into her.

Sanity

It’s under the bed hiding from the masses who believe in certainty and logical order.

Dog chain

Clumsy refused to wear one. He’d squish and squirm whenever someone came near him with anything that vaguely resemble a leather strap, falling over his paws as he tried to get away. Not that it was needed much on the farm. He had to wear one when we went into town to collect personal supplies from the local store. We would tie him to the side of the ute and he would moan at passers by. He snapped at a girl’s fingers one time when she put her hand in to pat him while he was sleeping. He was so startled that he reacted as if he was biting a fly off his back. 

Cow in the barn

Early in the morning, in the darkness before the day broke, Maisy the cow, howled like the wind for Gracie to come milk her. Gracie had had the cow since she was a calf, born from Old Billie’s cow on the neighbouring farm some 10 years before. Maisy was given to Gracie as a birthday gift. Gracie embraced her like a mother would to her newborn baby. On this day, Maisy fell ill, heaving a violent bile out of her mouth onto the dirt floor she had laid on all her life. The vet was called and a decision made. It was as simple as that.  

A farewell

Gracie shivered. The night was as cold as she could ever remember, her feet stiffened and her finger cramped as if she were hyperventilating. Ollie’s hand touched the glass and spread out further as the bus drove off. She could see mist escape his mouth and cloud up the window. He disappeared into a white fog.