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Writing Workshop #63: Character Sketches (Revisited)

An update from our sixty-third Writing Workshop A summary of the workshop held on Saturday April 23, plus some of the output published below In this workshop, William practiced the concept of fast sketching characters. Sometimes, less is more when it comes to detail, and a sparse description of a character is really all you need for your character to come to life for the reader. The writers saw examples from literature, including some from Beatrix Potter, Suzanne Collins, and Arthur Conan Doyle. As a mini-writing challenge, William showed two portraits (one a photograph of a man in New Orleans, and the other a self portrait by Rembrandt) and had students write descriptions of them in five minutes.  The Challenge: Write a character sketch that introduces your character’s physical appearance. The Participants: Pearl, Peri, Eric, Sana, Madisen, Anya, Sally, Amelia, Lena, Lina, Elbert, Yueling, Liam, Aditi, Delight To watch all of the readings from this workshop, click here.  Pearl Coogan, 9 (Purcellville, VA) Why Do I Have to Be Perfect? Pearl Coogan, 9 My hair was long and flowing and looked like a field of wheat on a sunny day. My eyes were as blue as the middle of the ocean and as soft as a the fur of a Pomeranian dog. My nose was symmetrical and fairly small. My lips looked as perfect as a supermodel’s lips. My skin was gorgeously tanned from countless days spent sunbathing at the pool and the beach and as smooth as a river rock. My neck was long and elegant, like a giraffe’s neck. My legs were also long and graceful. My body was thin and tall. The bikini I was wearing was the most expensive and fancy one available at the store. The top and bottom were both mostly orange, but the orange was surrounded by little black jewels that made the swimsuit look like a pool of lava surrounded by rocks. The coverup I had on over the bikini was all black and made of silk. Even my towel was leopard print and had gleaming gems on it. At least that’s what everyone thought of how I looked and what I wore. I liked to consider myself a normal person who looked normal and was not the daughter of two super-rich celebrities. At least at the pool paparazzis didn’t follow me around like a dog sniffing out a bone. At least at the pool, the only thing people said about me was about my fancy swimsuit and how tall and thin I was. No one could recognize me with my hair under a cap and goggles covering my eyes and all of my makeup washed off. That’s why I went to the pool every summer day. Taking off my coverup, I ran to the edge of the pool, ready to jump in. “No running!” The lifeguard yelled. I slowed down but still jumped in with a huge splash. The water was cold, but I didn’t care. Flipping onto my back, I swam across the pool on my back. When I got to edge, I flipped to my stomach and started swimming in a butterfly stroke, slipping under the rope that separated the 8-foot deep end from the 5-foot area. I took a deep, thankful breath as I got to one side of the deep end. I crawled out of the pool, and, just as I was walking towards the waterslide, a voice called out my name. The voice of my mother, Lili Joes, who was a famous singer. “Teri! Have you seriously forgotten about my concert today?!” A million gazes turned on me as everyone realized that the daughter of a world-famous celebrity was at the neighborhood pool. I buried my face in my hands, whispering, “Why do I have to be perfect?” Peri Gordon, 12(Sherman Oaks, CA) A Wasted Opportunity Peri Gordon, 12 For someone who claimed not to care what others thought of him—someone who spent most of his time working underground—he was extremely handsome. He had the eyes of an African elephant—reddish-brown, shimmering, and thoughtful—and his hair was as thick and shiny as otter fur. But his hair hadn’t been combed, and he wasn’t offering some captivating smile to complete his dazzling look—he wasn’t aware of the unique, natural sort of beauty he possessed. And his clothes were plain black and three sizes too big, like he was a snake in the process of shedding his skin. His involuntary charm was all there, but he himself wasn’t doing anything to add to it, because—again—he didn’t care what others thought of him. His brow was wrinkled—with concentration or concern, no one could tell—and his full lips could have been used in a math class to demonstrate parallel lines, making it even harder to pick up on his thoughts. Whatever they were, he was probably thinking with great intellect. He was a wasted opportunity—a boy who could’ve been beautiful, could’ve been a genius, if only he had given himself a chance. Eric Muller, 11 (San Diego, CA) Untitled Eric Muller, 11 Into the room walked a man of elegance and manner, his gait highlighting each step as a small show of dignity and each soft landing of the foot a show of delicacy. He dressed in a long black suit of an older time, and had on his head neatly combed and fashionably styled orange hair, which stopped at the edge of his ears in perfect symmetry. His face was distinctly elegant like the man himself, with shallow creases only beginning to intrude on his otherwise soft face, and his eyes were a calm pool of blue and gray, the colors intermixing in some spots as the two colors had blended together into a duller, more melancholy blueish gray. His lips were shallow and relatively colorless compared to some of the other party-goers, though they held in their own right a sense of grace. His cheeks were soft, peachy hills, and they rose only slightly from the rest of

Flash Contest #42, April 2022: Write a story where the character fails at everything—our winners and their work

Our April Flash Contest was based on Prompt #198 (provided by intern Sim Ling Thee), which challenged participants to write a story in which the protagonist failed at everything and ultimately didn’t succeed in the end. Unsurprisingly, this subverting prompt led to some the most inspired writing we’ve seen yet! Submissions ranged from a violin recital from the perspective of a snooty child to an unreliable narrator’s laundry list of past failures to an old woman’s battle with growing tomatoes. In one story, the unlikeable protagonist even smeared butter on their nemesis’ lawn! As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Curses!” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “Beatrice” by Olivia Owens, 13 (Jacksonville, FL) “A Failing Success” by Emily Tang, 13 (Winterville, NC) “Cypress Woman” by Ellis Yang, 12 (Los Altos, CA) “You Win Some, You Lose Some” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, New Zealand) Honorable Mentions “Dangly Necklaces” by Victoria Gong, 10 (Scarsdale, NY) “Learning to Fly” by Marin Hamory, 10 (Wellesley, MA) “The Last Leaf” by Kimberly Hu, 9 (Lake Oswego, OR) “The Performance” by Elizabeth Sabaev, 11 (Forest Hills, NY) “Gray” by Alex Zigoneanu, 11 (Portland, OR) Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) Curses! Lui Lung, 12 “’When people heard his name, breathed reverently in hushed tones, it was fear that swiftly rooted in their veins.’ Curses! That doesn’t make sense. No, how about… ‘It was fear that blasted through their minds in a paralyzing rush!’” In the shadowed city that had long since fallen asleep, in a small apartment building tucked on the very outskirts, all but a single light remained aglow. Seemingly the only soul awake at such late hours gave an approving nod at his own writing, fingers gliding rapidly across the keyboard without a noticeable sign of halting. “’Their hearts stampeded in a cacophonous rhythm, their thoughts stumbling over one another like dominoes sent tumbling with a mere flick of his finger. This city was a ticking time bomb, and I’—or he, sorry—’would be the one to detonate it into a booming eruption.’ Here comes the big ending, Murphy, the crescendo to the grand conclusion of the symphony! ‘And within the thundering outburst and from the rubble that remains, I am’—no, he is—’the last one standing!’” The villain pumped his fists high into the air, a triumphant man high off a victory. He glanced at his trusty sidekick, Murphy, who languidly stretched on the tabletop. “Well, my friend? What do you think? Does that strike fear in your heart?” The heavyset, orange tabby simply yawned, his little pink mouth falling wide open. “Oh, no, you definitely need to cut down on the tuna,” sputtered the villain, fanning the air before him at the ghastliness of the cat’s breath. As if he understood, Murphy lunged forward and clamped his jaw down firmly upon his owner’s forearm. The villain frantically shook his arm to free himself from his companion’s vengeful grip. “Ow! Curse you, feline demon! I will—” “So, this is what the great terror of the city does in his free time,” a voice mused coolly. The villain would have known who that voice was without having to turn around, but he decided that slowly spinning around in his chair would provide the dramatic effect he needed to hide the shock. Unfortunately, he leaned too far in one direction while attempting to spin and the chair promptly tilted over, leaving him in an uncoordinated heap on the floor. “Curses! My back!” The sound of Murphy hissing his discontent and then slowly lumbering off followed. Why, that traitorous ingrate! He straightened at once, lifting his chin with as much dignity he had left to muster from where he sprawled below. “Hah! This is all part of my plan, you buffoon!” It was not. The hero smiled indulgently, like she was only playing along to soothe his wounded pride. “Right. I’m sure getting exposed and captured was all part of your plan.” “You silly heroes these days. There is no prison I cannot escape,” said the villain pompously, although the sweat trickling down the back of his neck suggested otherwise. “Well, how did you find me? I wanted you to find me, though. Obviously!” “Obviously,” the hero agreed, her gaze flickering to the computer screen where he’d been starting a rough draft of his next magnificent work. “Just as obvious as you were when you were trying to hide. Really, who else would write and publish pages and pages of nonsense praising this city’s most notorious villain that no one reads?” The villain’s face flushed in indignation. “Nonsense? Nay, my blog oozes evil brilliance! And I’m a super-villain, for your information.” He paused, thinking of a clever, new strategy to fool his heroic rival. “I mean, forget that. It’s actually not my blog, because I’m not the man you’re looking for!” The hero looked entirely unconvinced, which was peculiar. The villain knew he was a spectacular liar! In desperation, he called for the assistance of his fearsome cat. “Murphy, my honorable companion! I’m sorry I said you had bad breath, just help me now!” A disdainful meow sounded from somewhere in the mess of old pizza boxes and unwashed laundry. “I will have my revenge on you,” vowed the villain darkly. “And you, too, you weak hero! Evil will always prevail over good!” The hero’s expression was now one of pity more than anything, and she gave his arm a gentle pat before securing the handcuffs in place on his wrists. “Alright, buddy, I’m sure the police will love to hear all about your plans for vengeance.” “Ah, yes, my plans! You’ll never know the plans I have for this city! Take me alive or take me dead, that brilliant secret will—” “You mean the top-secret plans that you posted on your blog?” “Curses!” Olivia Owens, 13 (Jacksonville, FL) Beatrice Olivia Owens,