Jack, Julian and a buddy
I haven't spent all my time riding horses and watching movies this summer. I actually signed up for some edumacation.
Read any book on writing and the first piece of advice will be "Know your craft." I have spent far too little time learning about writing, instead wasting my time dreaming about my first published book, or my first public reading. I should write a book about putting the cart before the horse. (At least I have some knowledge of the latter...)
Since I cannot quit my day job to spend more time at a university (and good God, isn't 11 years of college enough for any person to suffer?) and I could not swing tuition at an online course the likes of which NYU offers, I settled for something less prestigious but still acceptably acceptable: Writers Digest "Writers Online Workshops."
I began with a course in grammar, which brought home a much-needed reminder that I do NOT know it all. Then, unable to wait for that one to finish, I joined another on the personal essay.
The biggest challenge in both of these classes was one I did not anticipate: word limits. Suddenly, I am expected to tell a story with six characters in three locales using dialogue and elaborately descriptive prose, all in 250 words or less.
I can't even tell someone my NAME in less than 100 words!
For example, our first writing assignment in my grammar class was the following:
In no more than 100 words, write a paragraph or two describing the room you're sitting in right now. Make an effort to use every part of speech at least once. Use all of your senses, not just sight, to try to give your instructor a real sense of the space you're working in.
How many of you have seen my office? Okay, not many. But it is a three-ring circus, and I laughed out loud when I imagined compressing it into 100 words. Here is what I came up with:
Frequent bouts of work-induced narcolepsy inspired me to create a home office featuring the best of the county fair; copious junk food, loud and varied music, brightly-colored wall hangings, and a genuine petting zoo. Alas, the city forbids goats, nor is there room for a Ferris wheel.
The intrepid visitor will encounter a multitude of scents upon entry. There is chocolate (cleverly hidden for its protection); hay and pine bedding of two loquacious guinea pigs; and the odors—oh! So subtle!—which waft occasionally from the canine assistants sprawled at my feet. It is no wonder the cat is disgruntled.
The instructor's feedback was mostly positive, with the standard criticism for any novice writer, "Show, don't tell." I can't argue with that, but when she said I lacked descriptive words I had to complain. How does one write with one's typing hand behind one's back? Where is there room for my adjectives? Still, I went back to the drawing board to add more color. I also added 48 words, but it came out a little better, I think. Here is the more colorful version:
Frequent bouts of work-induced narcolepsy inspired the design of my office, which includes the sounds of Lollapalooza, the tastes and smells of the county fair, and sights from a year abroad. Grunge riffs dominate, but songwriters of the 70’s occasionally interject a little love and tenderness.
Secret caches of Junior Mints and Hershey Minis drive visitors to check every drawer—if only they knew to check behind the books! World maps, oversized posters of the Foo Fighters and Soundgarden, and arabesque-patterned fabric from Egypt paint the walls in blue, red, green and yellow. My petting zoo comes complete with a white and brindle pit bull (tragically flatulent); a twenty pound, caramel-colored mutt—all legs!—who erupts in shocking fits of barking that only she will ever know the reason for; and two loquacious guinea pigs tunneling through mounds of fresh hay.
No wonder the cat is disgruntled.
So for the next few weeks in intend to subject you to some of my assignments. God knows I can't be happy with just an audience of one instructor and five fellow students.
Read any book on writing and the first piece of advice will be "Know your craft." I have spent far too little time learning about writing, instead wasting my time dreaming about my first published book, or my first public reading. I should write a book about putting the cart before the horse. (At least I have some knowledge of the latter...)
Since I cannot quit my day job to spend more time at a university (and good God, isn't 11 years of college enough for any person to suffer?) and I could not swing tuition at an online course the likes of which NYU offers, I settled for something less prestigious but still acceptably acceptable: Writers Digest "Writers Online Workshops."
I began with a course in grammar, which brought home a much-needed reminder that I do NOT know it all. Then, unable to wait for that one to finish, I joined another on the personal essay.
The biggest challenge in both of these classes was one I did not anticipate: word limits. Suddenly, I am expected to tell a story with six characters in three locales using dialogue and elaborately descriptive prose, all in 250 words or less.
I can't even tell someone my NAME in less than 100 words!
For example, our first writing assignment in my grammar class was the following:
In no more than 100 words, write a paragraph or two describing the room you're sitting in right now. Make an effort to use every part of speech at least once. Use all of your senses, not just sight, to try to give your instructor a real sense of the space you're working in.
How many of you have seen my office? Okay, not many. But it is a three-ring circus, and I laughed out loud when I imagined compressing it into 100 words. Here is what I came up with:
Frequent bouts of work-induced narcolepsy inspired me to create a home office featuring the best of the county fair; copious junk food, loud and varied music, brightly-colored wall hangings, and a genuine petting zoo. Alas, the city forbids goats, nor is there room for a Ferris wheel.
The intrepid visitor will encounter a multitude of scents upon entry. There is chocolate (cleverly hidden for its protection); hay and pine bedding of two loquacious guinea pigs; and the odors—oh! So subtle!—which waft occasionally from the canine assistants sprawled at my feet. It is no wonder the cat is disgruntled.
The instructor's feedback was mostly positive, with the standard criticism for any novice writer, "Show, don't tell." I can't argue with that, but when she said I lacked descriptive words I had to complain. How does one write with one's typing hand behind one's back? Where is there room for my adjectives? Still, I went back to the drawing board to add more color. I also added 48 words, but it came out a little better, I think. Here is the more colorful version:
Frequent bouts of work-induced narcolepsy inspired the design of my office, which includes the sounds of Lollapalooza, the tastes and smells of the county fair, and sights from a year abroad. Grunge riffs dominate, but songwriters of the 70’s occasionally interject a little love and tenderness.
Secret caches of Junior Mints and Hershey Minis drive visitors to check every drawer—if only they knew to check behind the books! World maps, oversized posters of the Foo Fighters and Soundgarden, and arabesque-patterned fabric from Egypt paint the walls in blue, red, green and yellow. My petting zoo comes complete with a white and brindle pit bull (tragically flatulent); a twenty pound, caramel-colored mutt—all legs!—who erupts in shocking fits of barking that only she will ever know the reason for; and two loquacious guinea pigs tunneling through mounds of fresh hay.
No wonder the cat is disgruntled.
So for the next few weeks in intend to subject you to some of my assignments. God knows I can't be happy with just an audience of one instructor and five fellow students.
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