An update from our sixty-first Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, March 12th, plus some of the output published below In this workshop, William went over the concept of Stream of Consciousness. He emphasized the lack of traditional structure in Stream of Consciousness writing, and the wondering and wandering nature of the style. The writers saw examples from literature, including Virginia Woolf and T.S. Eliot. As a mini-writing challenge, William played a clip from a silent French film and asked the writers to imagine a stream-of-consciousness from the perspective of the woman in the film. The Challenge: Let the thoughts of your character run freely. Focus on sights, thoughts, feelings, sounds. The Participants: Agatha, Eliana, Lauren, Yueling, Liam, Stella, Kate, Elbert, Peri, Anya, Rachael, Ananya, Kelby, Iago Peri Gordon, 12Sherman Oaks, CA Bad Dog by Peri Gordon, 12 Her Hand reaches Stroke, stroke I love— No, don’t leave Wait— Slam Alone School. Tail Chase, chase, pant Where’s the food? Yesterday’s was good Combined with stroke stroke and music from black and white thing Hoop jump! Treat Hoop jump! Treat Hoop jump! Treat Hoop? Not again Run away Couch Click, flash, see myself tiny Soft hand soft hand stroke stroke Just like her Still at school? Ahhhh Treats without jumping Happyslurplick Couch suddenly gone Suddenly hard brown tiny balls Food! Yuckyewwblech! Like when I licked the old woman’s skin She was so nicesweetgentle but I should have never licked her skin But she was so nicesweetgentle Just like her Still at school? Bite Yuckkyewwblech! Brown balls go flying Deep voice “Bad dog!” Shrill voice “Waffles! Bad dog!” Waffles I think that’s me Or is it sweet round thing with little boxes? I think it’s both But “bad dog” usually means me Usually followed by angry shouts “Bad dog” comes after things like ripping up bed Or running away Or I guess making food go flying Is it even food? She would never give it to me Deep voice and shrill voice people aren’t as nice She is nicer Still at school? Ugh Couch Wait Wait Wait Close eyes Peek Close eyes Peek Blurry silhouette outside Door opens Run run run trip run run run ouch run run shatter noise she’s home!!! Kisskisshappyslurplicknicesweetgentle I love her Soothing voice almost blocks out deep voice and shrill voice saying “Bad dog!” “Bad dog” is okay when I can hear “good dog” too
Writing Workshop
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #31: Irony
An update from the thirty-first Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday March 12, plus some of the output published below By popular demand, this week we focused on writing the concept of irony. We began with a few basic definitions of irony: the difference between what something appears to mean versus its literal meaning, the difference between what someone says and what someone means, and the subversion of expectation. We then discussed four different types of irony, beginning with the most common form, dramatic irony, defined as when the reader knows something that a character does not know. Olaf from Frozen, for example, we identified as an example of dramatic irony as he sings about loving summer while we, the audience, know the summer is what will be his demise, an ironic device also found in the form of Ahab in Moby Dick. The second type of irony we discussed was situational irony, defined as when the expected outcome of a situation is reversed. One such example of this was found in The Wizard of Oz, as the four primary characters in search of the great wizard found out his appearance was just a charade, and that the characters had within them what they were searching for all along. We also, of course, talked about Alanis Morrissette’s infamous song “Ironic,” and changed a few of her unironic lines so that they were actually ironic. The next type of irony we discussed was verbal irony, defined as when a character says the opposite of what they mean, exemplified by Polonius in Hamlet when he says “to thine own self be true,” the irony being that Polonius is himself a lier and a con-artist. The final and most complicated type of irony we discussed was formal irony, defined as when a work of art calls attention to itself as a work of art. In order to reinforce this type of irony, we looked at Ron Padgett’s poem, “Poem,” and the artwork of Jackson Pollock, which calls attention to itself as a painting by representing literal paint on a canvas. The Participants: Amelia, Penelope, Emma, Sophia, Nova, Gwynne, Lina, Josh, Quinn, Ellie, Samantha, Ethan, Amber, Alice The Challenge: Write a story, scene, or poem that uses at least one of the four forms of irony discussed. To watch more readings from this workshop, like Emma’s below, click here. Emma Hoff, 9(Bronx, NY) Irony Emma Hoff, 9 “You can climb up the rope,” said Sarah to Lucy. And she almost wanted it to be true because she meant to say, “I won’t be able to stand it if you fall off again.” Johnny thought he could get straight As if he pretended to be listening while he was really drawing his teacher, but he was caught after a whole month of him acting and was told that report cards would be given out in three months and that he should give up his whole charade.eds courage to build a school ! Belle’s fish was going to die, and she didn’t want her mother to get rid of it by flushing it down the toilet, but the fish died while Belle was in school, and Belle’s mother couldn’t stand looking at its dead body, so she disposed of it and got a new fish which she claimed was Belle’s perfectly healthy “old fish.” Belle never guessed and neither would Johnny have if he hadn’t been told. And Lucy fell off the rope and Sarah ran outside and cried. And Sarah read this very poem and thought about Lucy, and Lucy read it and thought about Sarah, and Belle finally guessed what she would never have guessed and Johnny remembered. And Belle’s new fish swam around until it, too, died, but Belle was guarding it with a pitchfork. And this poem unspiraled like a ball of yarn and stuck to Johnny’s cheek and made him sulk. And Lucy pretended to hug Sarah but slapped her instead, and Sarah did some more crying. And the rope in the gym sat depressed and sad and decided that it would never be climbed again, and Johnny’s drawings of the teacher were found by Sarah, who gave them to Belle, who gave them to Lucy, who gave them to the unclimbable rope, covered in post-it notes and protecting every last line of poetry that comedy concocted.
Writing Workshop #60: Pseudowords
An update from our sixtieth Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, March 5th, plus some of the output published below For today’s workshop, William built upon his previous workshop on stream-of-consciousness but taken in a different direction: nonsense words. William challenged the writers to focus on sounds, made-up words, saying the “unsayable.” We heard a poem of made-up words, the Klingon war song, and a poem in Elvish. Then the writers tried a 5 minute writing exercise in which they were encouraged to make up words. After, the writers watched some scat singing and double-talk comedy videos. The Challenge: Use pseudo words within a story or a poem to say something beyond words. The Participants: Agatha, Kelby, Peri, Lauren, Yueling, Rachael, Elbert, Liam, Iago, Anya, Kate, Stella Pelpesu Pelsoo (Five-Minute Writing Piece) Peri Gordon, 12Sherman Oaks, CA by Peri Gordon, 12 Pelpesu palei lepasu pepoo Perstali hofana hopsalli soo Pelmasu selfasu falelu falee Pesafa safa fipsifee Melsti melfopo pelmif sifa Pelpesu pelsoo Elefaso elwasu Pelpesu pelsoo Pelsa feeliofip Pelpesu pelsoo Lololefipfip celso Cesse Pelpesu leamell Deeper than English (Main Writing Piece) by Peri Gordon, 12 Lily tucked her laptop under her arm and headed outside into the Sunday morning fog. Her feet knew the way; they were so used to carrying her where she was going that it was barely a voluntary movement. Her legs walked calmly, allowing her mind to drift. Her English assignment was to observe nature, something she had already been doing every day for the past four years. But today was different. Today, she had to write about nature, and she wasn’t at all sure whether she was up to the task. Sure, she knew every nook and cranny of the forest. Sure, she could describe every detail by heart, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted the reader to feel the forest, the way she did. Her piece needed depth, depth that the English language could not give her. She sat down on her usual tree stump, which was two feet high and the color of chocolate. She closed her eyes and let her instincts guide her. Her fingers began to type. She wrote: I see the tree stump: preet, sliff, cerlous. I feel it, grudie yet solseena. I listen to the air. It says, “Shee shee selsa shee sho seeeeeee.” It rustles the treetops with a shtet and a tibbletoo. Beneath my feet, the curusutu, bloi grass frimfoops, and a squirrel shutalets away with a yeep. The sky is cleepy and selfessen, and the sun is an oorious togopot. There is so much to explore, so much to willawave and croprast and yuptop and yerm. Yoo repsendin kee toom fwee! Monday did not go well. Lily held her breath, and her teacher read her report aloud—actually, it seemed more like she scukbeaded it. The other kids sleed at her from the other side of the plaso maso room. Lily’s teacher skudded and yued at her. So did her classmates. Finally, the teacher said, “What is this nonsense?” Lily sighed with impatience. “Mrs. Campbell,” she finally said, “would you please stop spleefing at me?”
