An update from the twenty-first Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday November 13 To continue with students’ workshop requests, this week we revisited an older topic: plot vs. narrative. We began with four exercises to be revisited later, writing down the thing that scared us most, the first sentence of a novel, a list of unrelated things, and a time that we lied when we shouldn’t have. To begin lecture, we considered the fact that while all plots are narratives, not all narratives are plots. Following this, we distinguished narrative as a general term that encompasses all stories, and whose events are incidental as well as connected by the conjunction “and.” Plot, however, was how a story is told, meaning that events follow “and so,” leading to a deliberate beginning, middle and end. We then discussed the significance of plot, how it provides a narrative with inevitability, connectivity, and consequence through its ability to imbue every individual action with meaning. Then, at the end, we played a game of “is it plot, or is it narrative?” with examples such as “The Dinosaur” by Augusto Monterroso, Ernest Hemingway’s famous six word short story, “Small Child” by Stephen Tuttle, and “Dog and Me” by Lydia Davis. The Challenge: Transform any of the first four exercises you did (thing that scares you most, first sentence of a novel, list of unrelated things, a time you lied when you shouldn’t have” The Participants: Nova, Lina, Josh, Emma, Penelope, Clara, Ellie, Simran, Alice B., Svitra, Sinan, Olivia, Audrey
Conner Bassett
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #20: What Is a Poem?
An update from our twentieth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday November 6, plus some of the output published below After receiving feedback about what students would like to focus on, this week we held workshop on the anatomy of a poem, asking ourselves “What exactly is a poem?”. To begin, Conner reinforced the importance of exciting the senses over making sense, defining a poem as something that prioritizes the mode of writing over the written content, that is more concerned with how it sounds than what it says, and whose language is sonic and aesthetic, not narrative. Over the course of the workshop, we read works such as “Pope John” by Bernadette Mayer, “The Snowman” by Wallace Stevens, “My hat” by Henry Parland, “Poem” by Ron Padgett, and, of course, “Mown Lawn” by Lydia Davis. We also briefly discussed Starry Night as a visual representation of the logic of poetry. The Challenge: Try and imitate the poem “Mown Lawn” by Lydia Davis. That is, take a phrase, any coupling of words, and do to it what Lydia Davis did to the phrase “mown lawn,” turning these words into new words via sound. The Participants: Emma, Penelope, Josh, Clara, Simran, Olivia, Shilla, Sinan, Alice, Audrey, Ellie, Ethan, Svitra, Lina, Nova Svitra Rajkumar, 13(Fremont, CA) The Earl Bear Svitra Rajkumar, 14 Just big enough to sit in your palm The Earl Bear whimpers It is warm, so warm that it is cold Pale and gray Or was it a rich amber? A shade that you know you’ve seen before But can’t seem to remember It smells of cedar and earl gray tea A mellow scent that races through the quarries Quarries that hold crippled carp Gorgeous fish full of imperfections Sparkling tails and glistening scales Prey to the Earl Bear and Predators to the Poppy Kelp Scarlet as fresh blood, the Poppy Kelp sways Under the current of the quarry. Ethan Zhang, 9 (Mclean, VA) The Armpit Monkey Ethan Zhang, 9 I owned an armpit monkey, For some reason I hated it. Maybe because it sounded like Harm-wit donkey. Everyone knows I hate harm. Harm-wit donkey sounds ominous, Even though harm-wit has no meaning. Also, an armpit monkey sounds like A chicken, literally. It shrieks mad, Shrieking the word yeet, Which sounds like yeast, Something that I also hate. Yeet also means throwing things, Something related to harm. I hate life. The armpit monkey ruined it.
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #19: Objects
An update from our nineteenth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 30, plus some of the output published below Continuing our run of workshops focused on concrete concepts instead of standardized elements of writing, this week we focused on objects because, simply, objects are weird! In order to illustrate this point, we began by looking at a shovel—yes, a shovel, because as it turns out Marcel Duchamp considered the shovel odd enough that he put one up in a museum. Next, we looked at some of the artworks from an exhibit by Katarina Kamprani, wherein she slightly transformed ordinary household objects—a hammer, a knife, for example—into unusable things, the idea being that the exhibit invites us to consider how strange objects are. We then discussed a few paintings—Still Life with Skull by Cezanne, Violin and Candlestick by Georges Braque, and Sunflowers by Van Gogh, to name a few, all of which presented objects in a distorted, alienating light. From our discussion of paintings we moved into a discussion of poetry, beginning with Wallace Stevens’ strange poem “Anecdote of the Jar,” in which the central object, a jar, seemed to transform itself and its surroundings with its strangeness. We also read “Perception of an Object Costs” by Emily Dickinson, which suggested that by perceiving an object, the object somehow eludes us and escapes our perception, two poems by Gertrude Stein—”A Box” and “Mildred’s Umbrella”—and “The Crystal” by Clark Coolidge. The Challenge: Three short exercises done in ten minutes each. First, choose an object either near you or imagined. Then, one: write a funny poem/story about your object, two: write a scary poem/story about your object, and three: write a sad poem/story about your object. The Participants: Audrey, Simran, Josh, Emma, Lina, Ethan, Shilla, Ellie, Olivia, Svitra, Sinan, Alice B Svitra Rajkumar, 13(Fremont, CA) The Deadly Jasmine Svitra Rajkumar, 13 It was getting late and Xyian still hadn’t found the last ingredient for the crabapple concoction she was making. She had picked the juiciest blood colored crabapples, some wild hibiscus nectar, yellow poppy seeds, and indigo sugarcane sugar. All she had left were deadly jasmine petals. Unlike the frightening name, the petals of the flower had an exotic flavor that couldn’t be found elsewhere. The deadly parts were the stems. If you were to come in physical contact with a deadly jasmine stem, they would drag you underground with them. However, Xyian was prepared. Her mother, having specialized in potion making, knew a lot about dealing with dangerous ingredients, and gave her special gloves to deal with them. Xyian walked into the dark cave that stood in front of her, pushing aside the long vines that creeped along it’s opening. She shuddered as the chilly air hit her face, and tugged on her coat’s hood.
