If you read "Interactive Writing: Part 1" then you'll know exactly what this is about. I'm going to put in three activities this time, and that way this will be the last post about these silly writing things.
I did write one other one, but I'm not going to put that into my blog because it's tied too closely with the story that I'm writing (and should be working on now instead of doing a blog entry) and I'd rather not share it yet.
First up is: "Show, Don't Tell" which of course is a phrase that you will have heard if you've ever had any instruction whatsoever in creative writing. See if you can guess the profession of the protagonist in this short passage:
She leans on the reception desk, tapping her acrylic nails on the hard surface and examining those on her other hand. It’s almost time to get them rebalanced. The bell rings - finally, something to do, it’s been such a quiet morning - and a woman enters the shop.
“Hi, how are you this morning.” Her smile is big and friendly - make the customer feel welcome and comfortable.
“Good thanks Peg, and yourself?”
“Fine love. Are you just having the usual today?”
“Of course I am, you know me!”
The client goes to sit in a chair and Peg follows, gathering the tools of the trade. She adds an apron to her own uniform, and an apron to the customer. She looks into the mirror in front of her and takes the time to tidy herself up a little. Then she begins to work, and they chat.
“Did you see Debbie Ringer?” the client asks, in that voice people use when they have juicy gossip.
“I did, Margot, I did, and let me tell you I wouldn’t have let her do that. Whoever’s been looking after her should be sent back to school. It shouldn’t been done or it should’ve been done different.”
“And the tan, Peg, did you see?”
“It is a bit shocking,” Peg said, tactfully. She paused a moment and reached across to a nearby shelf to get the purple spray-bottle she’d forgotten whilst gathering her tools.
“It’s orange!” Margot cries, cackling with laughter.
“Hold still for me, will you dear?”
“Sorry Peg.”
“This enough off? Little shorter maybe?”
“No, no, that’s a perfect length.”
As Margot tries her best to hold still and Peg continues working they exchange more gossip.
“Sarah, Max’s youngest, is gaining weight - word is that she’s pregnant!”
“Someone saw Don Butcher in town with another woman.”
An hour later, Peg finishes work.
“You look fabulous Margot!” she exclaims, not modest in the least.
Margot primps in the mirror before paying and leaving, and Peg gets out the broom to tidy up.
Okay, so, next piece. This activity is called "PROSH Retro," and we had to write about PROSH from two different perspectives. I don't think I did it very well - this piece kind of sucks so feel free to skip it (or just stop reading here). But I kind of like the characters that I made up so I might use them in something later. NOTE: It has two parts.
Characters: Fabian and Yasmin are a couple who are doing PROSH together. Fabian does not want to be doing it, but Yasmin is really excited about raising money for all the charities.
Part 1: Fabian
It is half past four. In the morning. I’d say that I’m not entirely sure why I’m out on the Oak Lawn with a bunch of drunk idiots at half past four in the morning, but that would not be the truth. I know exactly why I’m here. It’s because Yasmin didn’t want to do this alone, but she wouldn’t let me talk her out of doing it. This rave is going for way to long. It’s cold and not even fun. Also, our costumes are totally lame. Why did I let her do this? Because I’m a good boyfriend, that’s why. And I guess it’s nice that we get to spend time together. Oh gross, someone just vomited right next to us.
“Come on Y,” I say, “let’s go somewhere else.”
We move further away from the rave. Yasmin doesn’t complain because she’s not into the rave either. She just loves to help charities, which is one of the things that I love about her. But when helping charities involves getting up at four o’clock to drive to uni, well, I lose some of my supportiveness. I actually don’t think that selling the papers is going to be that bad, you know? I mean, who doesn’t love harassing randoms around Perth? I don’t know how much money we’ll make. Yasmin wants to make heaps. I don’t care that much - I’m sure that we’ll get heaps overall - I just really want to sell the pile of papers that we get. I’ve already managed to convince her that we don’t need to stay for the dumb parade, so maybe we can go home and sleep for the rest of the day. I’m so glad I don’t have any afternoon classes on a Wednesday.
Part 2: Yasmin
Fabian pulls me away from the rave. To be honest, I was kind of having fun. I mean, I’m not high or drunk, which is good coz it means that I’m not spewing like the guy who nearly got vomit all over Fabian’s shoes. But I look really hot in this fairy costume, and it’s so much fun to dance, even though it’s nearly five o’clock in the morning and I am SO tired.
“Aren’t you just so excited Fab?” I ask, even though I know he’s not.
“Sure, Y,” he says, and I’m really pleased because I can tell how hard he’s trying to use a normal voice instead of sarcasm.
I really love to help people. I volunteer a lot and I always donate to charities. But this is also a chance to dress up in a silly costume and hang out in the city with my boyfriend for a morning (even if it’s a bit early), and it is going to be awesome. The Oak Lawn is going to be so gross after this!
“Smile Fab, this is fun,” I yell, and he tries.
I hold his hands and dance. He rolls his eyes, but he does a little groove, and I think that I might be getting him into the PROSH mood.
“The music’s so loud,” he says.
I roll my eyes and don’t tell him that that’s kind of the point. He gets a grumpy look on his face, which seems ridiculous because he’s wearing pixie ears.
And now, the last piece that I'm going to share is "Image into Text". We had to choose a picture and write a piece based on the emotions of the picture. Can I put images into my blog?
Apparently, yes. That's the picture that I used, and (just to be different) I wrote a poem. Dad helped edit it. It doesn't really have a title, but I was thinking "Nostalgia" because that's what it's about.
Things were better, back then.
Rain always seemed wetter, back then.
I’m sure night-time was darker, back then.
And weren’t autumn leaves crunchier?
I’m sure they were, back then.
Shelves were sturdier, back then.
Surely cleaning took less time, back then.
And wasn’t the old couch comfier?
I’m sure it was, back then.
Food tasted better, back then.
I just know people were friendlier, back then.
Could it be because I was younger?
Things were just better, back then.
Thanks for reading - hope I didn't bore you too much. Comments appreciated, as always.
♥Nancy♫
