AWRs's Creative Writing CrashCourse! ~1

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Hello! Glad you have decided to join the CrashCourse!

During the next few months we will visit stories, talk about stories, write stories, use new techniques, talk about more stories, try different types of stories, eat stories, sleep stories, and dream stories!!! Squeeeeeeeeeee! There will be Flash fiction, novel-snippets, short stories, micro-stories, journalism, magazine entries, poetry - prose and poetic, everything! And anything I don't dream up you are welcome to suggest!

The whole idea is to get us talking and writing again. It may also help a few of you who are stuck in a rut or looking for things to do or just bashing your head against writers block or lack of writing.

How it works? I, or another person, will start something like this each month (this is the August Course, despite being a day early thanks to work obligations). There will be a topic but unlike the assignment there will be no definitive topic or genre and no judging. Instead, hopefully, there will be discussion and writing. I don't just want you to just write a story! I want to know why you wrote it, what your struggles were, what you enjoyed, any suggestions you'd make to other authors - so on and so forth!

Let's discuss the art of making something.

For the first month, let's try something we all do well! Write something ... anything! The topic is open. I want you to write within your comfort zone - you know what this is. If you are great with cyborgs then go Sci-Fi, if you love Elves then go Fantasy. Remember, I don't only want to see a story from you! I want to see your though process, what you struggled/enjoyed, why you like this genre, what is comfortable about it. Then people can talk with you about it and you will hopefully talk to them about their stories! Reviews will also be part of this process as suggestions on how to improve.

That's the plan, at least. I am kinda nervous about launching this but think it might be cool and more towards what the Admins want! More talking!

So! Go, young authors with massive imaginations and incredible prose! Write :]

For obvious reasons, don't go writing bloody novels! These courses will only be one month long and you don't need to take part in all of them. Obviously you'll need to post your story and/or thoughts in the month applicable because we will be posting a new Course next month. Also, please only post stuff you wrote for this or very recently! This isn't a way to get cheeky reviews and should be recent and relevent. This should also be fun. If you really are struggling, tell us in this thread! Maybe we can talk about the plotting stage instead or brainstorming but let's talk about it and do it together!

[Allya]

This is just a snippet I threw together today at lunch. It may be something I can join together with something else I wrote recently. Not sure yet. Anyways, it's not done. It's basically just an idea waiting for a bit more direction.

With a click, thick metal doors slid open in front of Dio and bright white light poured into the shadowed hall where she and her escorts stood waiting. As soon as the opening was wide enough the two uniformed men silently gripped her arms and walked her through the corridor. The clattering of their steel-toed boots echoed off the white floors and walls, heralding their approach. Dio’s bare feet made no sound as the men dragged her across the floor.

Frantically she looked right and left to look for anything that might tell her where she was but saw nothing that would help her to get her bearings. The men to her left and right said nothing and looked so similar she could hardly tell them apart. They led her through a maze of bright corridors, many with doors and offshoots running to other parts of the compound. At first she tried to count the turns but as they journeyed further into the white she quickly lost track of their course.

Finally they stopped in front of a door that looked just like all the other doors and rapped against its metal frame. As the door slid open Dio raised her head to peer inside and came face to face with a squat, furtive man in a red lab coat. He nodded and moved aside as the men carried Dio into the room and set her on an examining chair. Once the chair registered her presence arm and leg restraints snaked from hidden compartments to wrap themselves around her wrists and ankles. Dio struggled briefly as the cool metal tightened around her but then decided it was better to watch and wait. She sat up as far as she could and watched as her escorts exited the room and the door slid shut behind them.

She watched as the man in the lab coat reviewed the information on his tablet for several minutes, muttering to himself before flipping to another screen. Unlike the whitewashed corridors the lab was crowded with clutter and all manner of bubbling contraptions. The whir of motors, the chatter of caged animals, and the slosh of moving liquids combined into a raucous chorus that battered her ears and buzzed through her head.

Her new captor looked up from his tablet and walked over to her chair. He pressed a button on the small console to the right of her chair and it started to move upright so that she was in a seated position. “Alright then hmmm,” his mustache twitched as he looked from her to the tablet, “do you know why you’re here?”

“What?”

“I said” he looked up and behind her, “oh, uh just a sec.” He walked behind her and Dio heard a series of three beeps and the sound of another door sliding shut as the laboratory din became more and more distant. When the room became silent she heard his footsteps coming back towards her. He looked at her and placed his hand gently under her chin to lift her eyes to his. “Ok, where was I? Oh, yes. Do you know why you’re here?” Dio said nothing and turned her gaze away from him to focus instead on the space directly in front of her.

“I see. Well my name is Rom and you are,” he flipped through his tablet “Bel Dio Swann.” Dio continued to stare directly ahead of her. She hoped that if she gave him nothing then she would prove no use to him. He smirked and chuckled to himself. “Bel Swann, I asked if you know why you are here.” Still she said nothing and he grasped her chin tighter to force her eyes on his. “Bel Swann you are here because your eyes are black.” He dropped her chin and walked over to the right side of the lab while continuing to speak. “I happen to be in great need of black eyes at the moment. I do not, however, need your tongue. If it is of no use to you, I can remove it.”

“No.”

Rom smiled to himself. “See, now that’s better. So tell me Bel Swann, why are you here?”

“Black eyes.”

He nodded. “That’s right dear. Let’s get started.” Rom pressed the button on the console beside her chair and Dio felt it start to tilt backwards. He pressed something cold against her arm and she heard a small hiss escape as he removed it from her arm. Her vision started to get fuzzy and her breathing was slowing. Dio tried to focus on the ceiling above her to keep conscious. Rom leaned over and she felt his hot breath lick her ear as he whispered “Just let go. There you go. This won’t hurt a bit.”

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Ooooooo! Interesting.

So, Allya, what is your comfort zone? Is this it? What do you generally stick to? I've noticed you tend to lean towards poetical descriptions and usually very psychological things.

I liked the story. It has a lot of potential. You definitely had me wondering from the beginning - which is good, although I did wonder why you made it seem like she was there willingly at the beginning because that confused me slightly (unless I misread it).

Was the story just something that popped into your mind? Sounds like the latter, given that it was hammered out at lunch. Or were you thinking out the encounter? Do you have much of an idea where it is going? Is this how you generally work your writing stuff? Do you like what you made with the story or think there are bits that definitely could be better?

Personally, I would have liked to have known more about her emotions and perhaps if you'd encorporated a little fear in there as well? Shrug!

Tell me stuff :] Let's get talking!

[Allya]

Yeah this just sort of popped into my head so I threw it together. When I bother to write stories I tend to write the kind of stuff I like to read which is essentially fantasy, sci-fi, and horror that explores the psychological aspect of those genres. When I wrote this I hadn't yet decided if Dio should be afraid..I sort of felt more bewildered and resigned to fate. Maybe detached is the right word? Like she's a peon and so this is just what happens. But I could see where fear would be appropriate and it might be good to rewrite thinking that way.

My biggest problem at this point with this story is..now what?

The thing I like the best is the names I came up with. I'm terribad at names but I like these and even like using Bel instead of Miss.

When I do short stories I just sort of imagine a situation and start writing. I then go back once I have an idea of an ending and fix it.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Ah, now bewildered does make some more sense and resigned a little. I would throw in a lot more "She looks about confused" and "She looks distant" or "She looks away regretfully" - something to really clue the reader in on this. I just assumed scared because I would be in that situation and you didn't really give the reader much on emotion of the situation. You did a little later towards the end with her reaction to "Black eyes" but it was lost in reader-confusion (with me, anyway!).

Please don't take that the wrong way!

So, why do you like fantasy and sci-fi and the psychological side of things? If it helps, you could throw some ideas about where the story could go in here. I'm sure a few would be interested in helping with brain-storming! :]

[Allya]

Well I was thinking about having her wake up in a sensory deprivation tank with a voice coming in through an unseen communication device and telling her what to do. Black eyes being indicative of some sort of extra-sensory ability that this scientist is trying to hone. But I dunno f I want to go there but because it seems very "Fringe" and I don't even love that show.

I like the exploration of human reaction to unusual situations because I think that these type of stories give readers a unique way to explore humanity. Its a good way to explore everyday issues without outright talking about them.

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Allya; when you write your poetry how much time do you spend searching for just the right word? The word that expresses -exactly- what you're trying to say?

I'm curious if the variety you use in your peotry is something that just comes to you, just flows effortlessly as the rhythm of the process takes over. . . Or if you sit down with a thesaurus and scour it for hours until you find the expression you're seeking.

I ask because this could use that. Not necessarily the thesaurus, but an extra once or twice over and some more interesting words. The environment of the story wasn't clearly described, but the language used gave it a very sterile, lifeless feeling.

It was a pretty sharp contrast to what I'm used to seeing from you, so I was wondering if that's because you usually spend more time choosing words for poetry and your first drafts of your more poetic works are equally simplified; or if it's just something to do with writing prose.

I know, personally, when writing prose I tend to use words I wouldn't normally use in conversation and it just comes to me because that's the way I see it in my head. However, if the poetry bug strikes me, I generally churn out fairly direct uncomplicated strings of sentences or sentence fragments and try to pass it off as "artsy."

Seems as though you might suffer from the reverse condition.

Also, another thing I catch myself doing a lot and thought I might point out, since I saw it a bit here and thought it might be worth discussing; my characters tend to alway be "looking" or "watching" or "gazing" at things. As though every sentence begins with how the world appears to the character him/her/itself. It's a habit I'm trying to break because it creates a story in which I, the reader, get the impression that my -whole- experience with this world is completely dependant on the character. As though the world only exists if the character is there to observe it and nothing stands independantly.

I've been making an effort to have more sentences that simply describe the environment matter of factly. Rather than, "Bob looked at distant hills crested with tall pines tickling the the swollen underbelly of the oncoming storm." it'd be more akin to , "Thedistant hills were crested with stands of pine trees bla blah blah blah. . ." Bob doesn't need to be there for trees to be there.

Similarly, I've been trying to incorporate more senses than just visual. How things sound, smell, feel (physically), etc. I guess it's just so easy to get a mental picture and describe what you see in your mind, but really, there's so much more happening all around you all the time, I've been trying to make an effort to catch the rest of it.

[Allya]

As far as the poetry, it depends. If I'm telling a story it takes longer. If I'm describing a feeling it takes like 10 minutes. The rhythm and rhyme part just happens. It takes longer to figure out what I want to say versus how to say it.

This piece in particular was a rough draft. I was working on another piece for this but when I reread what Reffy posted at the start of it seemed to me like she wanted something unrefined so that the group could discuss the process of it as opposed to dissecting something that I was "done" with. Usually when I do prose I throw up the framework of a scene and then go back and fill in the missing parts after I'm done fleshing out the narrative. Does that make sense? (I had a few after work so I'm really asking!)

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Eliza leaned against the cushions of the sofa, facing the wrong direction that the seating had originally intended. Instead she looked forlornly out of the window, her frown matching the over-cast and depressing sky. Thick and heavy rain lashed the window. It drenched everything in sight and stretch for miles beyond her imagination. Small rivers ran around the house, turning the haven into something more akin to a prison. She had her knees tucked up under her body with her torso leaning against the plush cushions. The cheerful and pretty pink dress she wore completely out-of-place. The tap-tap of rain and silence was only occasionally broken with sighs of resignation.

Some great Summer this was turning out to be and it wasn't even a thunderstorm; just rain and lots of it.

Another huff from her small mouth caused something to flutter against the window, which stood mere centimetres from her button-nose. Her head turned to one side, ear coming to rest on the soft cushions of the deepest blue with patterned flowers. She spied the disturbance. In the corner of the window hung a fragile web, crafted and created delicately by small and spindly legs. It twisted and turned and fluttered with every breath, like the first dream of the night, desperately clinging on in the hopes of not being dashed to pieces.

In the middle sat the smallest spider Eliza had ever seen. Too small to even see the pattern on his bottom, although she suspected and hoped it would be beautiful. What she didn't and couldn't see was the waistcoat he wore and the eight boots tied neatly with big bouncy bows and the small knife and fork that was stowed away in a pocket, with instructions on how to build a web in another well crafted pocket.

A large sigh sent the web rippling. With nothing else better to do, she spoke quietly to the creature who happened to be sharing this miserable day with her, for it appeared that he also stared out of the window. “Good day, Mr Spider.”

To her surprise the small arachnid answered, although in a voice also to quiet and high-pitched to hear. If it hadn't been for the depressive day she would never have heard the voice, given the noise she usually made and she would never have given something so little the time of day. “Good day! You must be joking.”

Long and almost painful seconds dripped by, like the droplets of rain that struggled to reach the mud as it crawled down the window, only to be smashed and tumbled by other bigger bully raindrops. Why would a spider speak? Wondered Eliza, while the spider pondered the very same thing. Why would a girl speak with a spider? Had spiders always spoke but nobody had ever tried speaking to one? Were they simply too quiet for normal days? Or were humans just not interested?

It was Eliza who broke the silence, feeling stupid and horrible for never having tried speaking to spiders. After all, she spoke to every other living creature! But that was only ever the big ones, the ones she thought interesting like dogs and cats and horses. “What is your name, Mr Spider?”

“Spinnekop,” he said little else, unsure of what to do now. Eliza was unsure but she thought she just heard the arachnid sigh. “Can't rain all the time.”

“You are a very tiny spider.” As if this needed pointing out for little Spinnekop would have fit underneath one of Eliza's badly chewed fingernails. “What do you eat?”

“Nothing currently. Not with this weather. I'd be washed away!” If spiders could feel emotions then this one was probably considerable peeved.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. Famished.”

“But what do spiders … as small as you … eat?” Eliza wondered if it was perhaps rude to keep pointing out he was so small. Her mother had always said she had next to no tact and if spiders did have emotions it probably wasn't a good idea to jangle them! Especially since he was the only thing to speak to right now. Day time telly couldn't compete and her friends were suffering the same rainy fate. “Perhaps I can find you something?”

“Perhaps but I-” Before Spinnekop could finish Eliza had thrown herself off the sofa to find food for her new guest.

She was back within seconds in a flurry on thundering feet across the carpeted floor. She leapt up to the sofa, causing it to rock, before offering what she had gather to the house guest that had eight legs. It was a slice of brown bread. Eliza had reasoned that it was healthy because her mother had insisted on feeding it to her.

Spinnekop took one look at it with eight eyes. From within the small waistcoat he pulled the knife and fork, and then hesitated. “I couldn't eat that. It is too big for my mouth! My knife would scarcely even scratch it.”

“Can't you at least try?” Begged Eliza, who'd begun to worry about being a bad hostess.

“But I'm not a herbivore or eat things like that!”

“Then what do you eat?” She continued without skipping a beat, suddenly aware of her picky guest and his rude manners that should be laid to rest.

“Spiders are carnivores. Did you learn nothing at school? Please try again?” He sounded desperate as the little voice drifted into Eliza's ears but obviously trying to gain a meal and keep a friend.

“I do not know what one of those is … I could try but I doubt it would be what you want.”

“It means I eat meat, large child of the house.”

“Meat? Like humans and children and other spiders?”

“Do I look like I could eat you. My mouth couldn't fit more than three of your strawberry blonde strands of hair. We eat flies and bugs, and sometimes other spiders, yes.”

Eliza slumped down into the sofa, finally pulling the bread away as an offering. Her delicate fingers pulled the bread apart as she mushed it into dough-balls and popped them into her mouth. It occurred to her suddenly that she did have some meat. Her mother had bacon in the fridge, they'd had some for breakfast that day. With a squeak of joy she was off once more on the quest to feed the guest with the small belly and tiny waistcoat.

Well, uh, yeah! Woo! Draft - very much so! It isn't finished either, mostly because I don't know how to finish it.

This story started out with an honest question I've frequently asked myself, especially of money-spiders. What does the smallest of the small spiders eat? There aren't flies that small and they'd be luck to catch one of those anyway! So it got me to wondering. That's how this was born.

When thinking about writing something I usually go with the most challenging and fun idea. I love to give myself a challenge and usually set myself more boundaries than is necessary! Silly, probably, and it is more likely to handicap me - but that is how I roll. When the assignment comes up, for example, I always think "Hmmm, what can I do that is different? What can I try this time? How should I challenge myself? What could be the silliest and most fun idea that I could delve?"

For this story I had planned to write something Fantasy or silly or just plain childish. That is my forte, my comfort zone. I naturally fall into this catergory, and usually without trying! This is a huge pain-in-the-ass later when I actually want to write adult-things and cut-out the childness. I find it easier to create usually harmless and interesting creatures that wouldn't be out of place in a Dr Seuss!

With the spider I had planned to make it a little more "Fantasy" than it had actually turned out - like the girl offering dust for him to eat and so on. However, I came up against the issue of how much the girl should even offer him and then how many times can he turn her down and what should solve his hunger (which I considered a cupcake he could live in but that would nullify the "I'm a carnivore, you idiot" moment). After three food groups I knew the story would become boring! I also didn't plan to have a spider with an atitude! Or a girl who appears older than say 5years. I'd hoped it would be more fairy-tale ... but then, I suppose it is most of the way there.

I did struggle with the ending and still don't quite know where it is going.

It may also be too flowery with the descriptions and stuff, but given half the chance and if I know it isn't for a competition, I will go over-board with the fun and creativity - which you guys know I have oodles of! I like to have fun with my writing.

The other biggest problem I have with writing - and somewhat relevent to the topic and discussion thing - if I don't feel people are enjoying my stories, or even reading them, then I lose my momentum and will to even write.

Anyways, space for discussion!

(After-thought! I may even Dr Seuss this and make it even more childish. It would make a very sweet illustrated book ... g'nite AWR. Glad to be writing again.)

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Well, the answer to your question "What do tiny spiders eat?" is simple. . . tinier bugs. but I doubt that's the direction you had in mind for a whimsical story like this, I mean, in a world where spiders wear waistcoats and speak to little girls who speak to them, I'm tempted to believe that Eliza would probably attempt to have a conversation with any other insects she might encounter in her search for spider-food.

Assuming they talk as well, Eliza might have some difficulty feeding them to her spider friend. This, of course, paints you into a a bit of a corner. So much so, in fact, that you may as well just go full blown fantasy, shrink your little girl to spider-size and have them go on an adventure seeking tiny spider food (which would be obviously easier to spot if she were tiny too.)

What solution that might drive toward... I'm not sure, but it's a direction.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Not a bad idea ... but I never intended this to be any kind of long. Having her find all the bugs a small-spider could eat would take a few pages >.> Although cute! I wanted the typical fairy-tale with maybe a little Dr. Seuss whimsical thrown in there.

Anyways, partial rewrite:

Mary starred at the dreary day,
wishing the rain would go, go away,
along with the heavy steel skies.
Dreams of a fun Summer merely lies!

She blew a sad little huff,
and some thing moved with a wee-puff.
It caught her shiny blue eye.
A small spiderweb she did spy!

In its midsts a minature spider sat.
Very, very small but still a bit fat,
wearing a tailor-made waistcoat and top-hat,
with shiny black boots, as smug as a cat!

With nothing else better to do,
she asked the spider, "So, how are you?"
A squeaky and small voice followed:
"I'm okay but my tummy is hollowed!"

Shock and awe shook her to the core,
"But you should not talk, according to lore!"
"Well I am, and I can, and I do,
and I'm still very hungry too!

"If I don't get food I will die"
"But you are too tiny to eat a fly.
What does something as small as you eat?
Finding food for you must be a feat!"


TBC