Category: Writing

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Voice: A Writing Exercise

As part of developing my writing craft, I often attend workshops and writers groups. Recently at one of my monthly meetings we discussed voice. Each writer’s voice is unique and is compiled of things like word choice and syntax. Just like each writer’s voice is unique, the voice of each character they create also needs to be distinctive.

To demonstrate this difference of voice, we did a written exercise. We were to write a simple paragraph describing the last time we went out to eat. This initial paragraph was to be as absent of any voice as possible.

My example:

We went out to eat last week. I ordered a club sandwich. My husband ordered fish tacos. It took a long time for our food to arrive. We took our dessert to go.

We were then instructed to rewrite the paragraph from a different perspective and infuse a unique voice. We were given five different perspectives and in the time allotted I managed only two. Here they are:

A foreigner learning local dining customs:

I was new to the planet and Jen suggested we enjoy some of the local cuisine. I’d never had human food but I was hungry and eager to experience the dining customs of our youngest ally. We arrived by ground car at the local eatery; a place called The Cheesecake Factory. Jen’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of cheesecake. Upon entering the establishment, we were quickly ushered to a table and given a dish called bread and butter. Jen explained this was a kind of appetizer. It was bland for my alien taste buds but Jen devoured hers in short order. When the servant arrived, Jen ordered a dish she felt palatable for me; something called ‘Fish Tacos’. She seemed impatient with the length of time it took for our food to arrive but I enjoyed watching the humans interact. I observed that once food arrived, conversation ceased until consumption was complete and I rather liked talking to Jen. The fish tacos were pleasant enough but my appetite wasn’t satiated and I wanted more. Jen, however, said she would burst if she ate anything further yet ordered something called cheesecake to take with us. Upon returning to her home, we shared the dessert. When I bring this marvel called cheesecake back to my world, I will become a legend among my people.

A teenager on a date:

I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling so I kept them in my pocket as we walked into the restaurant.

“You cold?” he asked.

I nodded. I wasn’t but I was too nervous to speak. Jason and I had been friends for a long time but this dinner we were about to share would be the beginning of something new. The hostess took us to a small table out in the open and I felt the eyes of everyone upon me. Thankfully the dimly lit restaurant kept the flushing of my cheeks from being too obvious. I buried my head in the menu though I already knew what I wanted. I wanted him but I would have to wait for my dessert.

End Transmission.

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Faded Image

Sedro-Woolley, WA

The following story is fictional and inspired by the image above:

My mind is all over the place as I sort through the worn box from my past. I just unearthed it from my office closet where it hadn’t seen the light of day in nearly twenty-five years. It’s filled with letters and trinkets from my college days. When I come across the photo, I stop short. The box slides from my lap and falls to the floor but I make no effort to stop it. The photo has my complete attention.

I remember the day I took it. It was the weekend before graduation and the six of us were inseparable back then. We had just finished the last of our exams and decided to go for a hike. I fight the lump in my throat as my memory of that day surfaces. You’d think after so many years, the sting would have lessened but it hasn’t.

As I gaze at the fading image, I can’t help but think of the person I was when I took the picture and how much my life would change in the hours that followed. Little did I know it would be the last time we would all be together. It was the last picture of David ever taken. A few hours after this captured moment, his life would be cut short by a stray bullet from the rifle of a drunken hunter.

I recall my hands becoming sticky with blood as I applied pressure to the gaping hole in his chest. There was so much of it, the smell overwhelmed me and to this day, the sight of blood makes me faint. We tried to get help, but help came too late.

My hands begin to tremble and the picture shakes. The image blurs as my tears fall once again for my fallen best friend. I reach for the box but before I return the picture, I think better of it.

I set the newly framed photo on the mantle of my fireplace and trace my finger over my absent friend; gone but never forgotten.

End Transmission.

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The Affliction of Indecision

The following was inspired by today’s writers prompt:

Wednesday Writer’s Prompt
Lake Easton State Park, WA

Two paths stand before me. Both look well-traveled. One is wider, more open but the other, though narrow, looks more interesting. Which way should I choose?

Some pass me by and seem to take one path without any thought for the other. Some chose the other just as easily. Yet here I stand at the fork weighing the decision. I have no idea where either path will take me.

One path could become arduous with steep climbs and dangerous predators while the other could offer relative ease and safety. They both could be safe. They both could be dangerous. I don’t know which way I should go and I’m paralyzed with uncertainty.

More come and go and none seem to suffer my affliction of indecision. Some make suggestions for one path or the other but none have traveled either path so their words mean very little. They shrug and leave me behind.

A stranger approaches yet again only this time he stops and sits with me as I vacillate the fork in the path. He makes no suggestion of one path or another but offers to stay with me until I choose. I’m grateful for the company.

We talk about the possibilities and the need to be properly equipped for whatever either path may hold. My pack is well stocked with everything I should need as I came prepared for this journey. He reminds me this is more than most who’ve traveled either path have brought with them.

I stand and step forward ready to follow this man but he will not move until I do. He says he will walk with me regardless of which path I take but I must make a decision if either of us is to move forward. This helps me make a decision; knowing I don’t have to go it alone. Finally, I choose the more interesting path and he smiles. He picks up his pack and follows me. While neither of us knows what lay ahead, we will walk the path together.

End Transmission.

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Something in the Air

The following short story was inspired by today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt

Lake Easton State Park

The river is the only safe place to travel. The dead couldn’t swim. I long to return to the shore, to feel the warm sun on my skin and to give my weary arms a break, but I can’t. I can see them through the trees; their eyes empty, hollow. They stand unmoving like statues yet I can feel their dead gaze upon me as I maneuver my boat through the water.

I set my paddle down and take a moment to catch my breath. I’m out in the open in the relative calm and safety of the water. Up ahead of me the river narrows and I fear it may become shallow enough for the dead to reach me.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes as the gentle breeze caresses my face. I am so very tired and I allow my eyes to stay closed.

I feel the hull of my kayak hit something and sit up awake. How had I allowed myself to sleep? I’ve drifted toward the shore and I’m hung up on a tree just below the surface. I sense movement on the shore and the dead statues begin to move sensing I am nearby. I hear the splash as the dead hit the water and make their slow shuffle toward me.

I put my paddle in the water and attempt to push off the submerged debris. It takes me a moment. There is a current driving me closer to the dead who make their way across the shallow water to the edge of my kayak. I feel a thump behind me as the first of them arrive.

I’m free of the tree below the water but the dead have my boat now. I attempt to paddle free but there’s too much dead weight. I turn and use my paddle as a ram but the dead don’t flinch.

Closer and closer, they are nearly upon me. I pull out my pistol, only three bullets remain. I make them count. Two head shots and the dead weight is gone. I drop the pistol into my lap and pick up my paddle only to find another two ahead of me. Another head shot, another one gone but alas, there is little I can do against the fourth and the horde behind him.

I am certain this is the end but then there is a boom in the distance. It’s just loud enough to give the dead pause. The air changes and a green haze consumes the once brilliant blue sky. The dead remain still as they are torn between the new sound and me.

I remain frozen in place, unwilling to remind the dead of my proximity to them. The air changes, it smells funny and tastes almost metallic. The dead one in front of me sinks into the water. He makes a splashing sound as he does and I fear he has drawn the others to me but as I look around, I hear more splashes and see more dead falling.

It takes me a moment to realize what is happening. I have survived and the dead are falling. I’m alive and the dead are truly dead now. I paddle my kayak away from the horde and under the bridge. Through the trees I can see and hear them falling. Something in that green hazy air doesn’t agree with the dead. I only hope it agrees with me.

End Transmission.

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Wednesday Writer’s Prompt

I regularly attend writing workshops and recently I went to one that focused on marketing books using social media. While I haven’t published any books yet (emphasis on the yet), it’s a good idea to have a platform in place when I reach that point. To that end I have created an Instagram and Twitter account. To make these social media accounts effective, I regularly have to engage with them and be engaged by those who follow me. This is a challenge as I don’t often post much because I don’t think of my everyday life as being “post worthy”. I spend most of my mornings at my computer writing or studying and I spend my afternoons taking long walks and reading. It’s great for me as a routine goes but it’s pretty boring to post about day after day.

To help me with my social media engagement, I came up with a concept I can post about regularly. Last week I kicked off a weekly social media campaign called “Wednesday Writer’s Prompt”. The idea is to post a picture or text prompt each Wednesday as a writing exercise. I follow a lot of writers through social media and a few of them follow me so maybe it will catch on and inspire someone to write something. That’s the goal anyway.

Below is today’s writing prompt. It’s a picture I took near sunset at Lake Easton State Park a few weeks ago.                

Lake Easton State Park

Here is what I wrote for this prompt:

We’ve been walking this road for so long; from sunrise now to sunset. My feet hurt. I want to stop. I want to rest. The bugs are out, gnawing at what little remains of us. How have bugs survived when so many of us haven’t? Rest is coming, at least rest from walking. Rest from dying and starvation, rest from choking on the air and baking in the sun will only come if we reach where we’re going. I hope this road gets us there. So few of us left, so many miles to go.

End Transmission.

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Finding my Voice

NaNoWriMo2018In November of 2018 I wrote like a mad woman for National Novel Writing Month. I wrote more than 50 thousand words and was exhausted creatively when the month was over. I knew it wouldn’t take long to recharge my batteries though. Once the winter holidays were over, I’d get right back into it.

The best laid plans..

Shortly before Christmas, the Pacific Northwest was hit with a wind storm that knocked down a portion of our backyard fence. This was the second year in a row we had a section go down. While we were making repairs, we turned on the outside hose bib to mix some cement for the new posts. Ten minutes later, we discovered our kitchen had been completely flooded; our hardwood floors ruined! I had neglected to remove the hose from the bib prior to the first winter freeze and a crack had developed downstream of the isolation valve but inside the kitchen wall. Calls were made and a claim was filed with the insurance but little could be done until the New Year.

On New Year’s Day my husband and I were cleaning up dinner when my phone rang. It was my aunt and she was hysterical. My brother Eric was found dead in his basement apartment. He was only four years older than me. We raced to the place he was living and were greeted with blue flashing police lights. I was the first on scene but the rest of my family soon arrived. Shock and grief ripped through all of us as we tried to sort out what had happened, who had talked to him last, and what had possibly been the cause of his death.

The next day was my birthday and the day a crew came to my house to tear up our damaged kitchen floor. My family once again gathered and we went through what little my brother had. He was the definition of minimalist. What few possessions he had were brought to my house where they would sit in our garage until we were ready to fully process what to do with them. That evening we gathered in my living room and sat as fans droned on drying out my damaged floor.

Eric SketchMy writing skills were put to use when it came time for the eulogy. How could I possibly find the words that matched the giant of a man my brother was? How could I, the sister who knew him least, capture his life in a short speech? Somehow I found the words and I hope I did Eric proud.

I didn’t feel much like writing anything after that. A snow storm in February shut almost everything down in the Northwest. My flooring material was stuck somewhere unable to be delivered and repairs were delayed.

In March my youngest nephew went in for open heart surgery; the last in a three stage reconstruction. I was one of two people who would tag team his 24/7 care while he remained in patient at Seattle Children’s Hospital. Six weeks would pass before he would get to go home. Somehow during that time, our floors were finally replaced.

I still didn’t feel much like writing. So much had happened and life just wouldn’t return to normal. Things did settle down in April and May gave us a chance to breathe again. After two long camping trips, I feel that perhaps now, I am recharged enough to find my voice and once again write.

End Transmission.

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NaNoWriMo Recap

To achieve victory during National Novel Writing Month, a writer must write 50 thousand words of a story within the month of November. I’ll be honest, I was sure I could get it done with time to spare. After all, I was prepared and churning out only 50k at less than 1700 words a day seemed like a piece of cake.

I started out strong writing more than the required number of words during the first week of November. In fact, I was on track to finish in half the allotted time! Of course life has a way of creeping in and wreaking havoc on the best laid plans. Commitments to family, friends, and church often pulled me from my keyboard and there were days where my word count was next to nothing. Never the less, I persisted!

From November 1st through the 29th, I made progress every day. Some days I had nothing but time and the words flowed effortlessly; others I had just a few minutes to sit down and craft my story and nothing sounded good. As the days and weeks passed I began to wonder if I’d ever get to the 50k mark.

I outlined my novel prior to NaNo. I had detailed character biographies and a thorough understanding of the story I wanted to tell. Half way through week two I reached the end of my outline and the end of my first pass of the novel. I had just over 23k words. How was I going to reach 50k for the month if I was already at the end and not even half way there? I persisted, and it wasn’t easy.

I went back to the beginning of my story and cleaned up the language, added more description, slowed some of the scenes down a bit so my readers would gain better insight into my characters. With pass 2 completed I was somewhere around 35k words. Still not at the 50k mark but getting closer.

With pass three I looked at every storyline to make sure each had the attention it needed. I added scenes to show insight and change as my characters went through their plot points. I think I finished pass three somewhere near 41k words.

By this time I was in the last week of November and I needed nearly 2k a day to finish on time. I slowed the action scenes down and dove into my characters heads so my readers would feel everything my characters were feeling. 48.5k. I rewrote a major plot point, 49k, I added a scene 49.5k. I went back to the beginning again and worked through each chapter looking for places to enhance description or add witty dialog. Finally, on November 29th I reached 50,006 words. I kid you not; I finished the sentence and closed the document. My creative brain was zapped.

This is not my process. This is not how I usually write my stories. I outline then I write the sections that are most fun for me. Sometimes I can write anywhere from 3k to 5k words a day and when I get bored or creatively tapped out, I step away for days, weeks, sometimes months or even years before returning to a story. When I come back to it, I get excited again and spend several days adding 15-25k more to the story and again I leave it to stew until I’m ready to return. My usual method doesn’t yield quick results and it also explains why so few of my stories ever reach completion.

NaNoWriMo was a struggle for me, not because I couldn’t discipline myself to write every day, that was the easy part. It was hard to stay in the same story for a full month. To not only write it but to revise and edit along the way to get to a solid first draft was more challenging than I thought it would be. I learned a lot about how I write, how I should write, and how I can make it easier on myself in the future! I’m not sure I will do NaNo again but I believe in this case, it was definitely worth it. I have a completed first draft of a novel and that’s something I didn’t have a month ago!

End Transmission

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Resolve

I have been focusing on writing extensively of late and part of that includes writing scenes and short stories based on prompts I’ve found online and in books. The following prompt is from Writer’s Digest:

Prompt:  A Broken (Deadly) Resolution—Only two weeks had passed into the New Year and Tim had already broken his first resolution: Don’t kill anyone. Write the Scene

The following is what I came up with:

Resolve

Tim sat anxiously, beer in hand, as the clock began its final countdown. It had been a tough year for him. Not again, not in the New Year, he thought. This year would be different, this year no one would die by his hand.

Two Weeks Later

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Tim exclaimed.

He walked in circles, his hands pulling at his hair as he tried to figure out what to do. He passed a small metal trash can by the door. He kicked it hard. Unfortunately it didn’t fly into the middle of the room like he was expecting. Instead it hit the cabinet, bounced off, and collided with his right shin. He reflexively pulled back as the can rolled between his legs. Unable to maintain his balance, Tim went tumbling to the floor. This time, the trash can did fly out spilling its contents all over the fallen man who had just broken his New Year’s resolution.

The door to the quiet room opened.

“Doctor Brady, you’re needed in OR two,” the nurse said.

End Transmission.