A Writing Exercise

I was given a writing exercise yesterday in a workshop that I have been attending.  The teacher is a very smart and talented, as well as quite likable, woman who is an MFA student and fiction writer, whom, while I was unaware she would be teaching when I signed up for the class, I already knew from other writing events in the community.  I signed up for the class to provide some structure and impetus to get a bit of work done, which I did, and, while most of the students are not experienced or "serious" writers, I find it valuable to have a writing community.

The exercise guidelines are somewhat broad, and do not really provide a framework beyond the essentials of the voice.  The piece is to be written from the perspective of a character who is different from the writer.  Specifically, three categories are provide: region, age, occupation; of these three, at least two must be altered.  It is intended to be a fairly short piece, but I want to see if I can give it a full shape.






"I know the trails," I say, "my Dad takes me on them.  He even says I know them as good as he does."

He's looking at me, and he looks calm, but I'd be worried if I was him though.

"How long ago did she run out there?" I say, standing up tall.  It sounds like a good question like an adult should ask.  He probably don't think I'm big enough, but I can help him.

"One time my dog, Lucky, he ran out.  Took a bit to find him, but he was okay...

He is taking a look at his watch.  His other hand keeps on shaking, and the tags on that collar he's holding in it keep clinking.  I still always wonder if Lucky would have just come home, but Dad said it was a responsibility, because we were the ones who take care of him and make sure he is safe.  So we had to go find him. 

"I'll help you find her," I say, smiling.  Mom always says that you should have a big smile.  She wouldn't want me talking to strangers, but she is always saying to be helpful, besides, it's the dog needing the help.  You can help a dog... 


He looks at me.  "Cmon," I say, walking towards the woods, grabbing his hand.  He's got a kind of a smile now too.








I am not sure how entirely well that actually fits the assignment, and it could be a bit shorter than was the intent, and I don't know how great I did on the voice.  Their is a lot implied in it, but I wish I could have felt stronger about capturing the voice a bit more.  I am not unhappy with this, though, and I restrained myself, largely for the purpose of keeping a certain emotional tone to the piece.  In some ways, it was probably driven by the idea of that implication, the idea of communicating something to the reader that the speaker is unaware of.  At the same time, I recognize that this entire story is not anything truly original, and I can easily imagine that others have done the exact same thing before, and likely better.  I mean, it seems a fairly obvious set-up and I am not unaware of it in that sense.  For me, here, this is purely about attempting to do something, for the purpose of developing the skills to execute these types of actions within a story.  While it is certainly cliche in this guise, the output is secondary in this case to the practice itself.

Indeed, ironically, by focusing on not trying to be unique or original in this exercise, I am, in a way, freeing myself to focus solely upon using those tools and practicing with them.  Visual artists imitate as they learn, and may even continue later in their career, copying from works that they find stimulating in some way.  As well, some will practice drawing certain motifs or images.  By working with images that they are familiar with, the goal shifts away from the normal artistic mode and towards concepts related to practice and learning.  The measure of a works success in such a light is not about it's artistic merit, but the technical facility of it's production.  For the artist who is doing such work in practice, the rewards are in the ability to apply those skills later in other contexts.

In the same way, I think that by allowing myself to use a story form that is so familiar, even in the general content, I was giving myself a chance to explore a particular aspect of writing, to probe into it in a way that I would not if I were doing a more serious work.  In a sense, it is similar to a gestural sketch, where it is not an attempt at a complete work, or even, necessarily, aiming at creating such a piece, but is instead just a quick exploration into a direction.  The lack of seriousness, here, is a positive, as it is a freeing aspect.  I don't need to be burden about the quality, or about the actual piece I have written, even, if I don't wish to be.  That is not meant as a disparagement of what I wrote above, but instead the attitude that I am attempting to cultivate even as I enter into such work.  The point is to see it as exercise and experimentation.  The freedom of not worrying about what qualities the ultimate product displays is immense, and it allows for a lot of room to play and grow.

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