Workshops

An update from our thirty-ninth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 1, plus some of the output published below In his second class in the spring 2021 series, William took us on a journey to the spirit world, looking at mysterious manifestations in fiction and popular culture, from Caspar the Ghost to the ghost of Hamlet’s father. We considered the different language used to describe ghosts and spirits, and the tricks used by writers and movie-makers to show us ghosts and spirits of people who aren’t really there. We saw excerpts of two versions of Hamlet, one in which his ghost father appears through a (somewhat traditional) mist, and anther more contemporary version where the ghost appears through the glass on an apartment balcony. We discussed some of the reasons fictional ghosts might appear, in particular (like Hamlet’s father), restless spirits who have unfinished business.   The Challenge: Write a story where a spirit manifests itself in non-corporeal form (a mist, a vision through glass, a wind, a scent) and/or has unfinished business. The Participants: Julia, Leo, Sierra, Mia, Lina, Lena A, Lena DN, Margaret, Maddie, Jaya, Peri, Sage, Delight, Hanbei, Helen, Gia, Pranjoli, Reese, Rachael, Mahika, Jonathan, Angela, Anna, Audrey, Charlotte, Grace, Tilly, Peter. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Andrew’s Will Peri Gordon, 11 Samuel had made a pact with his wealthy brother, Andrew. When Andrew died, he would leave half his fortune to Samuel in his will. But when Andrew passed, no will of his could be found. It left Samuel tremendously angry. At the same time, he mourned the loss of his brother. With his mind toggling between the two emotions, Samuel felt as if he were in a cage of steel, the robust metal reinforced by layers of grief and fury. He skipped work, skipped sleeping, skipped eating. He just sat in silence. But it only took two days for him to receive the shock of his life. He was sitting rigidly, the only movement on his body coming from the tears that would race each other down the man’s face, made even faster by the incoming wind. The moment this last concept was absorbed into his brain, Samuel sat up straighter, his eyebrows raised. All doors and windows were closed; the air should not have been swirling as quickly as it was. The air was heavy, too; it billowed, bounced, and seemed to breathe. And then. . . it spoke. “I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but I see no way to soften it. I have not been peacefully at rest for the past two days.” The voice was silky-smooth and deep. In fact, it sounded like a less self-assured Andrew. Samuel shuddered, wondering whether he had gone mad. He looked up, where the unexpected wind had formed and where the voice was coming from, and felt a warm, comforting sensation, as if he could sense Andrew’s body heat returning. Samuel knew this was ridiculous, as the hand of Andrew’s body had been cold. But after pinching himself, Samuel knew that this could not be a dream. “Andrew. What are you doing here? How can you be alive–” the moment he finished the word “alive,” Andrew spoke up again. “Of course I am not,” said his disembodied voice. “I am obviously dead.” Samuel protested, “But how can you be here?” The voice answered, “I am a voice and a mist. You might call me a ghost, or a spirit. And I have good reason to be here. An unfulfilled promise, specifically.” Samuel started to ask what that was, but then he remembered. “The pact. Andrew, why didn’t you create a will?” Andrew explained, “I died suddenly in the night. I hadn’t expected it or prepared for it. My brother, you know I’ve never been prepared. But now, I will provide you with what I always said I would. Half my fortune will go to you, and then I will be gone.” Delight Kim, 11Glendale, CA The Spirit of the Muffin Girl Delight Kim, 11 Muma always said, “No ghosts, Zeline. If you ever meet one, turn away and run.” before I went to sleep. And even though I knew the stories of ghosts were rubbish, it kept me awake. The soft rustling of the velvet curtains, the whispers outside my window and the small creaks in the old wooden stairs were always there. I always got a tense feeling that someone was in our house. The sounds frightening me, chilling my bones, holding my eyes awake. So I decided I would find the culprit. If there was one, anyway. Getting up at 1:37, known as the ghost’s minute, I crept down the hall to our praise room, the room where my family honored the dead. Amazingly, the candles were still lit and the bread and goodies that were from last week were mostly fresh. Then I noticed suspicious activity. There was no wind, but the smoke from the candles was curling and bending in an odd way, like hands molding tack putty. The bread was rolling around the table and I had to steady them a countless amount of times to keep them from falling. A munching and a “Mmmm,” came from behind me. I whirled around, grabbing a cross that Muma told me that would fend off unwanted spirits and I thrust it in front of me. There, a spirit, a girl no older or younger than me, was licking the dulce de leche frosting off a triple chocolate muffin. My eyes widened. She screamed and fell off the chair she was sitting on into a large bucket, but I didn’t. I was too frightened, anyway. The muffin flew in the air but was miraculously caught by some invisible force and led to an empty plate. “Who are you?” The spirit licked her lips. “What are you doing in my house?” She tried to get up but the bucket held still. “Y-your house?” I asked.