An update from our fifth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 15, plus some of the output published below “The turn is the most important literary effect since Homer wrote his epics… It is the dramatic and climactic center, the place where the intellectual or emotional release first becomes clear and possible.” -T.S. Eliot “If there is no turn, no transformative moment, then the poem is a journal entry, at best a laundry list of reflections and anecdotes, or what I think of as a ‘litany of relapses’–the barren passage of time unthwarted, moving predictably toward a predictable end.” -Gregory Pardlo For this week’s Writing Workshop, Conner turned our attention towards the multitudinous uses of the “poetic turn.” Building off an earlier talk on “veering,” the class began with a group analysis of the poem”Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” by James Wright. We then defined “the turn,” in its purest form, as the point when “a text breaks its deepest and most characteristic habit.” Next, we turned to one of the shortest stories ever written, “The Dinosaur,” by Augusto Monterroso, noting how the story’s independent clause, “the dinosaur was still there,” constituted a turn from the dependent clause, “When he awoke.” Thus, we learned that turns can even occur within a single sentence. We then turned to one of Kobayashi Issa’s haikus in order to denote how turns can constitute hypocrisy and contradiction. Following our discussion of Issa was a reference to Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, which, in its ending, represented a turn into magical realism away from its prior logic of realism. Our penultimate literary reference was that of Lydia Davis’ short story, “Mown Lawn.” We turned to this story as a depiction of multiple turns within a single space—in fact it was a story made up almost entirely of turns! Finally, as a warm up to our final prompt, we spent a minute trying to write out the last two lines in John Ashberry’s poem, “This Room.” The Challenge: Write a story or a poem that uses a “turn.” For example, this can be a turn like the constant shifting in Lydia Davis’ “Mown Lawn,” Issa’s haiku that had an ironic, imagistic shift, or like the turn in Ashberry’s poem, “This Room,” wherein he turns to address the reader. The Participants: Georgia, Jackson, Lucy, Sophia, Svitra, Liam, Aditi, Emma, Zhilin, Simran, Noa, Julia, Sasha, Sinan, Harine, Isolde, Josh, Sena, Alice, Samantha, Emi Isolde Knowles, 9,(New York, NY) The Bird Isolde Knowles, 9 The bird sat on the branch pruning its feathers. They were brilliant blue like the ocean. A butterfly carefully landed in a flower as its delicate wings beat it down. The beat of a woodpecker could be heard in the distance. A cow moved in a not too distant farmhouse. The bird cocked it’s head hungrily at a trail of ants working their way through the forest, every couple of ants carrying a leaf. A twig cracked under a heavy boot sounding not nearly as sinister as the truth behind it. Swoosh! The bullet struck the tree directly under it. The bird was off its perch and flying into the distance a split second later. The ring of the shotgun seemed to echo out. “Harry,” the hunter’s wife called from inside the cabin. “You’ve already caught us a quail, now leave the poor birds alone.” “Calm down. I can’t seem to catch anything anyways,” the gruff man replied. “There there; you should come inside and get your rest. Do any of your clothes need to be stitched up? I’m going to town to buy some new thread either way.” Aditi Nair, 13, (Midlothian, VA) Abandon Aditi Nair, 13 Bubble. Bubble. She watched her drink bubble. The green clear, plastic container Amazed the little girl. It was so perfect, Yet imperfect. Bubble.
Writing Workshop
How Stories Work-Writing Workshop #4: Dialogue
An update from the fourth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 8, plus some of the output published below This week’s workshop on dialogue was led by the inimitable duo of Stone Soup ’20-21 Intern Anya Geist, 14, and Stone Soup contributor Madeline Nohrnberg, 14. The workshop began with a warm up activity challenging participants to write a scene of dialogue between two characters who hate each other talking about the weather, without ever explicitly saying they hated each other. For the purpose of their lecture, Anya and Madeline focused on various techniques of dialogue, beginning with an excerpt from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest in order to show the technique of conveying lies. The next technique discussed was how to make dialogue seem realistic. Anya and Madeline had participants pick out lines from an excerpt of S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders in order to pinpoint instances of realistic dialogue. Following this discussion was an excerpt from The Secret Garden that Madeline used in order to showcase the use of accents in dialogue. The next technique discussed was tone and context. We read an excerpted discussion between Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, in which Dumbledore’s playful tone and unwillingness to address McGonagall’s more serious topic of discussion conveyed the complexity of subtext within dialogue. Then, in order to convey emphasis, Anya and Madeline utilized an excerpt from Madeleine L’Engle’s The Moon by Night that used italics in order emphasize specific words. In conclusion, Anya and Madeline summarized their techniques by grouping them into two categories; one, by using tone as in the case of The Importance of Being Earnest and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and, two, by using informal language to make dialogue sound realistic as in the other three examples. As always, at the end of the lecture we wrote! The Challenge: Either as a stand-alone or as part of a larger work, write a scene where the dialogue and exchanges between the characters are expressive. The Participants: (Anya and Madeline) Georgia, Jackson, Lucy, Sophia, Svitra, Liam, Aditi, Emma, Zhilin, Simran, Noa, Julia, Sasha, Sinan, Harine, Isolde, Josh, Sena, Alice, Samantha, Emi Emma Hoff, 9,(Bronx, NY) Practical Advice Emma Hoff, 9 “I drew a good picture today. You wanna see?” I asked. “I heard that if you cut off a chicken’s head, it’ll keep running. That true?” asked Uncle Morris, puffing on a cigarette. “Why are you asking me? And anyways, what does that have to do with art?” “Know it or not?” “I don’t!” “It’s true.” “What’s the point of this?” “The point of this, Robin, is ‘cause I’m trying to tell you that silly pictures don’t matter. Silly pictures won’t make you a living.” “Artists make money.” “Not with silly pictures. Not with silly childish pictures.” “I’m not a grownup yet! I’ll get better as I grow! Anyways, you haven’t even seen the picture!” “It of a chicken?” “NO!” “It of a cow?” “Stop playin’ around, Uncle Morris!” “I ain’t playin’, Robin.” “Then what are you doing?” “I’m here to take care of you, you know that, Robin. Your parents said that if something ever happened to them, I gotta take care of you. Something happened. You’ve been on this farm for months, and you still don’t understand that you gotta be a farmer. Everything else, too dangerous. I want to keep an eye on you. I don’t want you to die like your parents did!” “I’m not going to.” “How do you know?” “I just do. Drawing isn’t dangerous. Loving doing what you love to do isn’t dangerous.” “Robin, let me tell you a story. About your parents.” “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!” “Have it your way.” “Uncle Morris, don’t you understand? Being a farmer… it might not be dangerous, but no one likes farmers. No one I know, anyways. The kids at school call me Pork, because of how I hang out with the pigs, and draw them.” “Don’t listen to them kids. They don’t know anything. You, however, need to know that you are a farmer, through and through!” “But I’m not! I love animals, but I don’t like butchering them. Heck, I’m a vegetarian! I don’t want to work in fields all day. I want to draw nature, but not harvest it!” “Lazy girl.” “I’m not lazy! I just like drawing! Don’t you understand?” “I don’t. Not at all. But I’ll agree with you… for now.” Sena Pollock, 14,(Madison, WI) Somebody Else’s Sister Sena Pollock, 14 “Come on, we’re going to be late.” “Okay, okay. I’m coming. Just let me finish the chapter.” “No, you can’t. You have to come right now. Otherwise I’ll miss the first part.” “It’s just your stupid dancing rehearsal. It’s not like a job interview or anything.” “It is not stupid. And at least I have the courtesy to not make you late to one of your playdates with your weird friends.” “They aren’t playdates, we just go to the park and hang out. And they aren’t that weird.” “Sounds like a playdate to me. And what do you mean, they aren’t weird? You spend all your time talking about how weird they are.” “That’s different. I mean it in a good way.” “What
Writing Workshop #41: “Critters” and Multiple Perspectives
“Critters”Hand-Colored Zoological Photomicrographs by Ernst Heeger, courtesy of Hans Kraus Gallery An update from our forty-first Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday May 15, plus some of the output published below We started this week’s workshop with a visit to New York! Photography expert Hans Kraus showed us around his Park Avenue gallery, sharing a selection of the beautiful nineteenth-century photographic drawings composed from insect parts, microscope magnifications, and even prints made from living material in the gallery’s current exhibition, called “Critters.” One of the key images from this show was William’s jumping off point for this class. We looked at the photograph – composed of wing scales from a Hawk Moth – considering how the similar but slightly different shaped and coloured objects in the image relate to each other, or not; how groups and sub-groups might form and interact depending on how we look at or think about it. We moved through examples of writing from a previous class by Georgia Marshall, as well as Virginia Woolf and Jane Austen, and listed to a quartet from Fidelio, all of which presented multiple characters in different, sometimes parallel, interactions with one another in different group formations. The Challenge: Write a piece from the perspective of 3-5 characters. They might appear in a single group, multiple groups or alone; they could be interacting, avoiding interaction, moving away from one another. The Participants: Peri, Lena DN, Maddie, Gia, Madeline K, Pranjoli, Reese, Margaret, Wesley, Julia, Rachael, Chelsea, Jaya, Lena A, Mia, Delight, Lina, Helen, Hanbei, Peter, Sage, Sierra, Mahika, Anna K, Audrey, Angela, Jonathan, Grace, Charlotte, Iago, Nova, Madeline, Nami. Lina Kim, 11Weston, FL Alone in the Wind Lina Kim, 11 As I walked home from school, I glanced at the kids outside, playing basketball and soccer and baseball somehow all combined into one game. They called it ‘basketbasesoccball’. For a second one girl saw me watching and I quickly shifted my gaze away, looking down at the sidewalk covered in chalk drawings. I pretended to be interested in them, trying to push the girl’s attention away from me, but instead she walked up to me. “Hey, do you wanna join us?” she asked. I stood there, paralyzed. I’d always tried to hide in the shadows—but here, there was no shade, not a single tree. The only shelter from the beating sun was on the bench with the covering—which was inside of the basketbasesoccball court. With people sitting on it. I shuddered at the very thought. Sweat trickled down my forehead, but not from the heat. “Robin?” she asked. I flinched at my name. “No thanks,” I managed quietly. She stared at me for a minute, then shrugged, getting back to the game. I watched as they laughed and played, shooting hoops and kicking balls into the net and making home runs. I’d always been invisible. I looked around at the barren earth around the school. There wasn’t a single plant—not a shrub, not a blade of grass, not even a weed. I’d always wanted to do something about the lack of nature. Instead of staying any longer and risking someone talking to me, I headed straight towards my house. It wasn’t exactly home. Nothing felt like home to me. It was just a house. My house. No, my mom and dad’s house. They cared about me, but they just didn’t go about it the right way. They tried to get me to be out in the world, out in the sunlight, when I’d rather be sitting in the shadows of a large redwood tree in the middle of the forest, drinking in pure nature. I reached a small forest. It wasn’t exactly a forest, just a place full of grass and trees, and it was really small. Still, I made a split second choice. I looked both ways and ran into the wilderness. I decided to climb a tree. I hadn’t done that in years, ever since I fell from one at four years old and broke my right arm. But that was seven years ago. I put my foot in a small dent in the bark and pulled myself up into the middle, where the trunk split into several branches. It was a nice hidden place. Suddenly a large gust of wind swooped around me, somehow grabbing me and throwing me into the air. A tornado? A hurricane? I reached wildly, trying to grab a branch to hold onto, but I was too far. The wind swept me into the sky. I felt myself dissolving into the wind, becoming part of it. I scrambled desperately in the air, but soon I was only wind. No one would remember me. I was invisible. And I still am. Forever. Sometimes I still wish I could go back, make friends. But I know I will always be part of the wind. Immortal. But sometimes I didn’t want to be. What was the point of never dying when there was never anyone to keep you company? Even if I could be seen, if I was still immortal, they would just move on and I would be left, friendless once more. Alone in the wind. Anna Ko, 11Saint Louis, MO The Midnight of our Friendship Anna Ko, 11 They were happy and content. They had all they needed. Three friends together. But their bond wasn’t that simple. Their bond had its ups and downs, like the tide. Sometimes, they would click. They would understand and know just what to do. But sometimes, they were annoying as the squirrels and rabbits which continued to terrorize their garden, always huddling around to see how they could help the other. But never, never, had they ever had such a situation. When they were young, they had first met. But as they grew up their interests started to differ, and they argued more. They had their moments, but slowly, over time, it just started to collapse like a half-demolished unkempt structure. No one noticed
