2. exercise - Scene writing

[wildsweetone]

If you liked the last exercise, then here's the second of the set of three. Feel free to do the exercise or ignore it. Posting is not essential but it's always neat to see other author's work.

The last exercise I posted was for a scene that contained change in some manner but did not involve characters. Here's the second exercise from the hollylisle website:

Write a scene in which a single character moves through one location in a limited period of time, saying nothing, and makes a single change that moves the story forward.

Saying nothing? Hmm. There's a challenge for me.

 

[Guest]

The directions read simply, but this was difficult. - Perdita
-------------------------------

She began to watch the evening news on television. During a commercial for jewelry—diamonds are forever—the tears returned. Quickly she put on shoes, grabbed a sweater and her keys and ran out of the flat into the street, as if she could simply leave her pain alone by itself in her living room. She laughed a little queerly at the image of it, her pain, sitting in front of the TV set, a little homunculus of loss.

She walked faster and faster, turning haphazardly at each new intersection, walking around a block if she had to wait too long to cross the street, all the while sobbing loudly, blinded by her tears and not caring about the people who passed by looking disturbed at the sight of her.

She stopped at the entrance to the rose garden in Golden Gate Park. Suddenly she noticed it was a beautiful sunny day. The garden was crowded with people strolling about the lawns. She entered and went about all the roses, drifting from one old variety to another, stopping at times to take in a fragrance and feel the silk of petals on her lips and cheek. As she breathed in the unique scents she closed her eyes and wished she could die simply for the loveliness of it. She felt invisible in her pain, but could smell her grief in the perfume of the blooms.

Then she laughed for the first time in weeks, thinking, “I must record this.” For weeks she had no idea at times what she was crying about, could not imagine now what she might find out, but knew she must write until she did. At her desk she began her narrative of loss.

 

[Alex De Kok]

Thought I'd give it a go, so here goes:

The rising sun slanted along the steep cobbled street, glinting from windows and empty milk bottles waiting for replacement. A breeze stirred the litter in the gutter, lifting it, stirring it, droppping it, re-sorted, only to lift it again with a fresh eddy. A figure turned the corner, suddenly shadowed hugely as the low morning sun threw his shape the full length of the street. Whistling tunelessly the postman made his way along, delivering the few items of mail for the residents.

Harry stopped at number fifty-four, studying the envelope. He'd brought many pieces of mail to Ellie from assorted publishers, but he knew that it was usually her manuscript being returned yet again. This wasn't. This was a slim envelope that obviously could contain only a letter. Or a cheque, perhaps. Wishing Ellie all the luck in the world, Harry popped her mail through the letter-box.

- - - - - -

I always want to add dialogue. Plain description comes hard to me.

Alex

 

[gauchecritic]

The tinkle-tinkle bell above the door, calling to absent, white apron decked assistants, is stilled by a quick, veined hand. Rows of sugar candies bear silent witness to the intrusive, night clad, visitor.

She stands, shocked still, by the manifold aromas swirling in her stealthy passage across newly swept wood. Sense invading liquorice combines with sour-drop lemon, wrapped within a dark chocolate cadence.

Four paces have taken her to the centre of the bare click-clack floor. "Six or eight." she remembers with recounted youth. In her mind she can see the shining of the wooden counter, only suggested by the barest outline before her wide-open eyes. It will do. To the right, she points with a cutting hand, ancient, even then, creaking wooden steps on a gliding library rail, to deliver sweet filled jars to efficient teenaged hands and weighed out, counted or plucked to be pressed into tiny, grasping fingers and greedy waiting mouths.

Running the length of two walls the darkest, brightest, blackest ebony, daily polished, forms an impossible, solid, high-rising barrier to small chattering faces intent on looking with-their-eyes-not-their-hands at mountain sized volumes of confectionery. Now, crisp paper covered, lit only by dull outdoor gas-lights.

With gleeful childish laughter in her mind fading, she measures careful sure steps to the yard high surface. There the till. Touch. Here, the folded counter. Lift. Two steps. Remembering small eye level she kneels and reaches. Testing weight, she draws the jar to her lap. Safe comforting weight. With no little exertion, spindly fingers turn the large lid, unscrewing, releasing aniseed to strike her almost every heightened sense. This one. She reaches forward once more to slide the next jar into the vacant position and replace that space with the re-sealed container.

Standing, she arches her aching back, turns and re-paces to the centre of the room. With startling swiftness the entire room brightens as she remembers that she did not pull down the trap. There, before her eyes. Open and tale-telling. Too late. Unwillingly she vanishes.

Gauche


The exersize gave me the idea and also caused me to cheat a little bit because the character moves through 2 distinct time periods as she is a 'time cop' making the smallest necessary adjustments in time in order to maintain the future.

 

[MorganHawke]

An exercise - Scene writing

"Write a scene in which a single character moves through one location in a limited period of time, saying nothing, and makes a single change that moves the story forward."

***
Celeste wandered to the coffee machine on the kitchen counter and her hot pink fuzzy bedroom slippers slapped on the black and white tile. She dragged her fingers through her tangled black hair and yawned before pressing the auto-timer on the coffee machine.

She stared briefly out the night-darkened kitchen window. Abruptly, she stuck her tongue out at her face reflecting in the dark glass. She heaved a sigh then yanked the tie of her battered, but still fluffy, yellow bathrobe tighter around her orange flannel pajamas.

Yawning again, Celeste turned from the narrow counter to head back to the bedroom. She blinked blearily as she passed the kitchen door and frowned. Stopping by the door, she rubbed at her eyes then leaned down to peer at the lock button on the handle. Frowning, she stood up then shrugged. Yawning once more she grabbed the door handle and gave it a twist. The lock button popped out with a loud snap.

Celeste wandered back toward the bedroom, leaving the kitchen door unlocked.

***

 

[Dirty Slut]

My contribution...

Early morning sun light tickled my face, fondling the round underbelly of my breasts at the same time. The bed linen rumpled, and empty next to me save for the pillow where a single budding red rose with a pink ribbon tied around the stem lay. A reminder of last nights heat, or a request to start the coffee pot brewing? I gathered the rose up gently, allowed the scent to unfold in my nostrils as I made my way to the kitchen. The sound of the shower running like yesterday's rain following my silent foot falls as I basqued in the freedom of my nakedness. Perhaps living together wasn't such a bad idea after all.

DS

 

[wildsweetone]

Wow these are great. I've finally had a chance to write something tonight. Here's my attempt.

~
He stood on the edge of the beach unaware that the tide had begun lapping at his feet, unaware that the wind was whipping the salt spray against his bare chest. All he wanted to do was stand and watch the sun drown.

Jake hadn't seen the sun set in over six months. Today he'd arrived home, stripped, then walked directly to the beach. Crashing thunderous waves with the seagulls screeching overhead before landing on the sand and fighting for the crabs, were music in his ears.

The sun sat, bobbing on the horizon for long moments before beginning its slow sinking. The sky, shot with orange and pink, reflected a golden pathway that he could have walked on.

He did walk, along the beach. With his eyes on the horizon he didn't see the bottle until his bare foot kicked it. Cursing loudly he bent to rub his bruised toes. Jake picked the bottle up and threw it into the nearby grey metal bin. Something white flew from the bottle as it travelled through the air, was collected by the wind and tossed into the tall seaside grasses.

Willing himself to walk on, his legs instead carried him to the paper.

 

[raphy]

Okay, I have some time now. I'll give this a shot.

--

She wasn't there. Ellison had known she wouldn't be before he came. He'd been here countless times before, past the dirt and the rats, the smell from the wireheads face down on the unforgiving asphalt. In here, where the sun couldn't reach, it was cooler and darker without the bleached-bone tint that hurt his eyes. The only light filtered in through a tiny window in one of the walls, high, small and inaccessible.

He didn't know why she stayed in a place like this. Maybe she had no other choice. Her gear was where it always was, at the back, behind a hanging curtain that looked like it used to be a rug at some Vegas casino. In this place, anything was possible. Pushed the curtain aside, looked for her deck.

Covered in filth, the keys almost stuck together with grime, a flat black slab of FujiCorp electronics. The jack on the side, bright, shiny, polished chrome. A sliver of light in the dark. Probably the only clean thing in the entire place. He uncoiled the cable from his pocket and jacked in, slotting one end neatly into the Fuji and the other end into the socket just behind his ear.

This wouldn't take long, and besides.. She wasn't there.


Well, he doesn't actually make a change, but he's about to, and I thought it was a better ending.... *grins*

 

[MathGirl]

Oopsie.......

Parmeee...... Scuse ........

 

[MathGirl]

Saying nothing?

". ..... .... ... ... ... ..... .. her fase kiked down another dor on the weigh out and didnt' say a dam thing."
MG

 

[Dirty Slut]

Are we critiquing each other?

If so... Wildsweetone: According to the way I read your scene, the sun sets three times. However if you move paragraph one, and make it paragraph three it would work better.

DS

 

[MorganHawke]

Wild Sweet One - Did it Right.

Dear Wild Sweet One,

"With his eyes on the horizon he didn't see the bottle until his bare foot kicked it. Cursing loudly he bent to rub his bruised toes. Jake picked the bottle up and threw it into the nearby grey metal bin. Something white flew from the bottle as it travelled through the air, was collected by the wind and tossed into the tall seaside grasses.

Willing himself to walk on, his legs instead carried him to the paper."

Regardless of any editorial blunders you might have made, this portion of your piece, fullfills to the letter, the requirements of the excercise.

1) a single character

2) movement through a location in a limited period of time

3) no dialogue

4) The character took an action that would allow for a logical change in the plotline; hinting that actions - plotline- would continue.


You did the excercise Right.

"Write a scene in which a single character moves through one location in a limited period of time, saying nothing, and makes a single change that moves the story forward."

 

[Jenny _S]

Try this...

This might be somewhat perverse, but it fits the requirements

He approached cautiously remembering the hour or so he had followed her awaiting his chance. But his dogged determination to follow her had finally paid off. This, he knew, was his chance.

As he drew close he stopped and looked around. He saw no one and gingerly reached out his hand. His fingers moved lightly over the leather of the bicycle seat he knew "she" had been perched on just moments ago.

The softness of the leather still warm from "her" tight round ass excited him. He began to feel a stirring down there, between his legs as he bent bringing his face just an inch from the seat.

He inhaled the fragrance long and slowly, savoring every moment. The lust growing within him. No longer flaccid, his penis was now semi-erect and his hand moved down to fondle it's hardness through his pants. And as he did so it began to throb.

The mixed pleasure of the chase across Soho, the feel and fragrance of the leather and the tender manipulation of his cock made this seem a day among days. A day never to be forgotten.

He took another deep breath, savoring the aroma of the warm leather. His hand moved faster on the head of his cock through his rough pants. His other arm wrapped itself around object of his desire, holding in the crook of his elbow it like a lover holding his beloved.

There seemed at that moment to be nothing other than him and the leather seat. The rest of the world faded into oblivion as his desire rose to a new height. Then he body stiffened as his jism spewed down his leg.

He backed away from the bicycle. His breath coming is short gasps. His eyes glued on the object that so captivated him. Fumbling in his pocket he felt the short handle wrench. Would he dare that the seat with him?

As he again reached for the seat "she" came out of the shop. He quickly turned and tried to appear as though he were window shopping. But he saw her out of the corner of his eye mount the object of his desire, his lover and peddle off down the street.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He climbed to the top of the bridge and jumped.

---dr.M.

 

[wildsweetone]

Dirty Slut

According to the way I read your scene, the sun sets three times. However if you move paragraph one, and make it paragraph three it would work better.

Hmm you've given me food for thought. Here's my comments:

All he wanted to do was stand and watch the sun drown.

It didn't set in that sentence. It says he wants to watch it set, not that it has set.

The sun sat, bobbing on the horizon for long moments before beginning its slow sinking.

The sun is beginning its setting. It still has not set.

Even to the end of the scene, the sun has not actually been said to have set.

I think 'Jake hadn't seen the sun set in over six months.' would make for an interesting first sentence. Perhaps mixing the first couple of paragraphs might make a difference to how you read it. I'll play around with it over the next day or two.

MorganHawke Thanks for your comments.

'Regardless of any editorial blunders you might have made, this portion of your piece, fullfills to the letter, the requirements of the excercise.'

I can see one blunder I made, there's a comma missing. Please feel free to go through with a fine tooth comb. I'd like to learn where I messed up.


...Sorry all, I'm not able to read the others just at the moment. Will get to them as soon as I have a spare few minutes.

 

[MorganHawke]

Write first - Edit later.

"Regardless of any editorial blunders you might have made, this portion of your piece, fullfills to the letter, the requirements of the excercise."

I can see one blunder I made, there's a comma missing. Please feel free to go through with a fine tooth comb. I'd like to learn where I messed up.

The original exercise said Nothing about needing perfect grammar.


Write first - Edit later.

Self-editing - as you go - is one thing, but keep everyone else's comments to a bare minimum and Do Not let anyone else edit (or comment on) your grammar until After your story is DONE!

I learned the hard way that allowing anyone else to edit BEFORE I finish a story is a BAD THING. Even in short stories, editing (or allowing others to critique,) before I've completed an entire story causes a huge amount of frustration. ("What do you mean I have too many 'ands'?")

You think short stories are a pain to edit? Try whole novels!


I have a pair of professional editors that love to go through my work. (They're actually fans.) I have learned the hard way to REFUSE to give them even a single chapter until I've written: The End. I can tell you horror stories about the guilt-trips they like to use on me! Their favorite line is: "But you'll be done that much faster!"


This is a LIE!

Rather than face the days it takes go back through the whole damned manuscript and fix every little nit-picky thing that they just HAD to mention - which I'll probably have to change again anyway for plot continuity... I'll stop writing, sometimes for weeks, sometimes even longer.

I have several proof readers who do read my unfinished stories. They tell me the Important stuff:
- Is the story Boring?
- Did you find yourself skipping over paragraphs to get to the 'Good Stuff'?
- What did you skip? (Don't bother with 'why' they skipped a paragraph or two - the answer is always the same: "Nothing was happening there.")
- What do you think is going to happen next?
(This is probably the most valuable question to ask. If they can figure out Exactly how the story is going to end when only half-way through - then you need to add at least one major surprise.)


Write first.

Nit-pick the grammar AFTER you're done. First drafts are SUPPOSED to have errors. If they didn't then editors wouldn't feel needed.

 

[wildsweetone]

Re: Write first - Edit later.

The original exercise said Nothing about needing perfect grammar.


Write first - Edit later.

Self-editing - as you go - is one thing, but keep everyone else's comments to a bare minimum and Do Not let anyone else edit (or comment on) your grammar until After your story is DONE!

I learned the hard way that allowing anyone else to edit BEFORE I finish a story is a BAD THING. Even in short stories, editing (or allowing others to critique,) before I've completed an entire story causes a huge amount of frustration. ("What do you mean I have too many 'ands'?")

You think short stories are a pain to edit? Try whole novels!


I have a pair of professional editors that love to go through my work. (They're actually fans.) I have learned the hard way to REFUSE to give them even a single chapter until I've written: The End. I can tell you horror stories about the guilt-trips they like to use on me! Their favorite line is: "But you'll be done that much faster!"


This is a LIE!

Rather than face the days it takes go back through the whole damned manuscript and fix every little nit-picky thing that they just HAD to mention - which I'll probably have to change again anyway for plot continuity... I'll stop writing, sometimes for weeks, sometimes even longer.

I have several proof readers who do read my unfinished stories. They tell me the Important stuff:
- Is the story Boring?
- Did you find yourself skipping over paragraphs to get to the 'Good Stuff'?
- What did you skip? (Don't bother with 'why' they skipped a paragraph or two - the answer is always the same: "Nothing was happening there.")
- What do you think is going to happen next?
(This is probably the most valuable question to ask. If they can figure out Exactly how the story is going to end when only half-way through - then you need to add at least one major surprise.)


Write first.

Nit-pick the grammar AFTER you're done. First drafts are SUPPOSED to have errors. If they didn't then editors wouldn't feel needed.

All the above is excellent advice. I felt the same way several times early on in my writing. I don't allow that to happy any more unless I need some kind of purposeful direction.

Thanks for your comments MorganHawke, they are much appreciated.

As this was merely an exericise, I am of the mindset that what I wrote may be pulled to pieces. My other works in progress don't get to see the light of day until I am ready for them to be 'out'.



dr. m 'He climbed to the top of the bridge and jumped.'

This makes me think that the story is ended. To my way of thinking this is not a specific event that will continue on with the character's own story. Unless of course he sprouts wings and flies off into the next adventure.

 

[damppanties]

Re: Re: Write first - Edit later.

dr. m 'He climbed to the top of the bridge and jumped.'

This makes me think that the story is ended. To my way of thinking this is not a specific event that will continue on with the character's own story. Unless of course he sprouts wings and flies off into the next adventure.

The character doesn't have to die. This could be the first sentence in a story.