An update from our sixty-first Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, March 25 To start the workshop, Conner told us about the book The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker. However, before we jumped into what those plots were, we explored the meta-plot, which Booker argues every story uses in some way. The meta-plot has several stages: the anticipation stage, the dream stage, the frustration stage, the nightmare stage, and the resolution. The sequence of these stages is similar to a story arc. After learning about the meta-plot, we talked about the seven narratives: overcoming the monster, rags to riches, the quest, voyage and return, comedy, tragedy, and rebirth. After investigating these seven plots, Conner drew what they looked like; the quest, for example, looked like a series of ups and downs, with an extreme conflict and climax at the end. The Challenge: Write an outline of a story that uses one of the seven narratives discussed in the workshop, then write the actual story in exactly 100 words. The Participants: Emma, Sarah, Ava, Stella, Catherine, Ana, Aarush, Anushka, Samarina, Amaya, Miya, Annie, Seva, Eric, Yueling, Madeline, Lina, Nova, Josh, Alice, Genevieve
narrative arc
How Stories Work-Writing Workshop #2: Plot Vs. Narrative
An update from our second Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday April 24, plus some of the output published below In the second Writing Workshop of the Spring/Summer Session led by Conner Bassett, we discussed the differences between plot and narrative. Firstly, 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. Next, we moved into a musical exercise as a means of further distinguishing plot vs. narrative, listening to an excerpt from “So What,” by Miles Davis, and an excerpt from the third movement of Beethoven’s Fifth, coming to the conclusion that the meandering, roaming tune from Miles Davis better represented narrative, while the building, crescendoing nature of Beethoven’s Fifth represented plot. To wrap things up, we discussed the sequential narrative of Don Quixote, and the taught, precise plot of the story of Moses. The Challenge: Choose one of three paintings between Starry Night by Van Gogh, The Scream by Edvard Munch, or Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. Once you’ve chosen a painting, write a story or poem that progresses towards a conclusion, the conclusion being the image of the painting. Nighthawks The Scream Starry Night The Participants: Helen, Jackson, Olivia, Sena, Isolde, Harine, Emma, Svitra, Josh, Aditi, Audrey, Emizzi, Noa, Sasha Sasha D, 10Moseley, VA One Starry Night Sasha D, 10 “Shake a leg Gabby, we are going to be late!” Papa yelled at me. “I’m tryin I’m tryin!” I yelled back. We ran, ducking under people, trying to get to the bank. Mama and Papa forgot to pay the bills because we are moving out of our house. Papa is desperate to get money out of the bank so he can use it to pay bills. Mama has a night shift, so I have to come along. Papa can be mean when he gets stressed out. That’s why I tried not to say a word while we were walking. Mama and Papa are also going on a date in 2 hours. We don’t have enough money to hire a babysitter, which means that I must come along. They say that when I am 15 I will be allowed to stay home all by myself. But that feels like forever! “We are almost there, Gabby!” Papa exclaimed. I did not say a word. I knew Papa would’ve cut me off. Papa burst into the town’s bank, Country Side’s Coins. Everybody stopped and stared. I tried to act like I didn’t know him, but everybody in town knows who we are. “Welcome Mr. Collins.” Mr. Merryson said with a smile. I gasped. “Mr. Merryson!” I yelled. I ran around the desk to give him a BIG hug! “Long time no see, Troy.” Papa said, shaking his hand. “Will you be able to watch me tonight while Mama and Papa go out on their date?” I asked Mr. Merryson with puppy dog eyes. “I am afraid not my little Gabby.. Mrs. Merryson is very ill. I must make sure she will be okay.” Mr. Merryson said with depression. “Oh. Alright. I hope Mrs. Merryson feels better!” I said, sounding gloomy. I stood over by the front entrance, waiting for Papa. Mr. Merryson and Papa talked most of the time until Papa realized it was 8:30 at night. Mr. Merryson gave Papa the money, and we rushed to Mama’s job. Mama works at an Appliance Store. Folks around here mostly call it Amazing Appliances. “Papa? We should take a carriage there. It’ll be faster.” I suggested. “No, Gabby. You don’t understand-” “But I do! I do understand, Papa!” “No! You do not!” Papa said. I could feel a tear slowly slide down my cheek. We kept on walking in silence. We had arrived at Mama’s job. “Oh, Gabby!” Mama yelled. Mama ran to me and picked me up. “Mama!” I said as we hugged. On our way to their date spot, Papa let me ride on his back. “Look, Mama, Papa!” I said as I pointed up to the sky. One little dot had appeared. Several appeared after. Papa looked at the sky too. “You know what? We don’t need a fancy restaurant…..” Papa said. “Huh?” Mama and I both said. Papa put me down and crumbled up the reservation paper and threw it in the garbage can. “Why would you do that?” I asked. Papa just smiled as he held my hand, as well as Mama. As we walked all the way home, Mama and Papa were talking about things I did not understand. Once we got home, Mama and Papa got warm blankets from inside. “ I wonder.. ” I thought to myself. Mama and Papa came out with 3 blankets. Papa lay down the 3 blankets on the soft, newly cut, green grass. He laid on his blanket, put his hands behind his head, and sighed. “What are you looking at, Papa?” I asked. “The stars!” Papa said, still looking at the stars. “Oh!” I said. “May I do that as well, Papa?” I asked, looking at Papa. “Of course, Gabby!!” Papa said. I got in the same position as Papa. I smiled as I gazed up into the sky that was lit up by these little dots that go by the name, Stars. “Mama?” I said. “Yes, Gabriela?” Mama replied. “Can I name the stars?” I asked. “Well… if you would like…” Mama said, confused. I squealed silently. “That one is Sarah, this one Sam, Sadie, Samuel, Rachel, Brady, Briley, Ryan, and Katy!” I only named a few.
Writing Workshop #29: Rhythm, Phrasing, Cadence, & Narrative Arc
An update from our twenty-ninth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday November 21, plus some of the output published below This week William returned to talk about rhythm, phrasing and cadence in writing, with a focus on the impact of short sentences, and the relationships between music, painting, and writing. We read sections from Song of Hiawatha (Longfellow, 1855) for its rhythm, Moby Dick and A Tale of Two Cities for their defferent versions of extra-long sentences, aloud, thinking about they impact of these stylistic choices on the reader. We listened to some performances of evocative music such as Beethoven’s 5th Symphony (the short sentence of its “Da-da-da-da”) and Rimsky Korsakoff’s “Flight of the Bumblebee,” comparing and contrasting with more lyrical, flowing phrases. The Writing Challenge: Chose one of these three approaches to your piece of writing: – Short first sentence… – Start in the middle with long ranging stances that may be held together with the glue of dashes. Don’t be overly concerned with perfect grammar on this first pass. – Write in short sentences. Entirely or mostly. The Participants: Madeline, Helen, Liam, Keyang, Anna, Lucy, Samantha, Charlotte K, Anya, Jonathan, Tilly, Margaret, Olivia, Angela, Ava, Emma, Maddie, Enni, Ying, Analise, Nova, Rachael, Madeline S, Juniper, Janani, Lucy, Georgia, Elbert, Suman, Lena D, Sophie, Tegan, Peri, Lina K, Charlotte M, Nami. Araliya, 11Sandy Hook, CT The Statue Araliya, 11 I ran as fast as I could. Dashing through the thick brush. The moon followed. I heard loud footsteps behind me. I ran faster. Then I came across an abandoned building. I ran towards the building as a dark figure approached the clearing I had been at before. The dark figure looked around to see where I was. With no luck of finding me, it walked away. Once the dark figure left, I went to look around the abandoned building. I came across a statue of a raven. I looked into the ruby red eyes of the statue as though to be alive. As I walked away, I looked back to see that the raven statue was gone. I look around wondering where it could be because I know that it could not have just come alive and walk away, could it? I ran out of the building terrified. I ran back into the woods just to find the dark figure running towards me. I turn around and I run into the raven statue. I look back to find the dark figure and then it hit me. The dark figure was the raven statue. The dark figure was a shapeshifter. Lena D., 12Coarsegold, CA A Room, My Room Lena D., 12 The floorboards creaked as I entered the hallway. My bedroom door was open a crack, so I pushed my door back as I entered my dark room, the fan looming over me like dozens of eyes. I turned on my lamp which hadn’t been dusted in weeks The photos of my photo collage stared at me as I remembered when I took those photos. Me when I was eleven, with my brother on the day before Easter. A photo of my grandparents’ cat. All of those memories enveloped me like a blanket that secured around me. The sun shined in my eyes as I closed them, wondering what it would be like when I grew up. I leaned against the cold wall against my bedroom and wished that this pandemic would stop. Underneath the photos, there lay a cardboard shelf, which I hadn’t put anything in there in days My desk, which I got when I was ten, had a bunch of stuff on it. Christmas cards for my friends Sketchbooks for me to draw on. A photo frame with pink fabric that had a rainbow embroidered onto it. On the left there lay a turtle lamp, which my grandmother gave to me. On the right, there lay a can of my pens that I hadn’t used that much. Next to my bedside table, there lay a bookcase, which I turned into a dresser. I bought a mirror with my own allowance, and beneath there lay my hairbrush. Dust. Nothing but dust. Clouds came into the distance, pouring sudden raindrops as I looked out my window, listening to music with my headphones plugged into my ears. Not a noise. I took my headphones out of my ears to hear loud birds chirping in the distance as I crawled under the blankets to hear my dog barking, at a package that just arrived. Peri Gordon, 11Sherman Oaks, CA Uncontrollable Peri Gordon, 11 It would only spread. It was huge. It was larger than any other that I’d seen, even on television. It was picking up speed faster than I could bear, faster than anyone could control. It ravaged buildings, which couldn’t control their stillness. It murdered people, who couldn’t control their small size. Orange, red, yellow, who knew? It was all those things that we are not. We are not powerful, or unstoppable, or undefeatable. The fire was still picking up speed. I ran. My friends ran. My family ran. We all ran. We didn’t know where, or why, or how. We were weak. We were tired. The fire was angry, punishing. Why? I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to save anyone. I couldn’t bring my home with me. I hoped to bring my friends with me, my family with me. Because I understood something. The fire wasn’t controllable. But neither were we. Enni Harlan, 14Los Angeles, CA Cunning Enni Harlan, 14 The sea is dark. The sky is darker. The waves are murky. The air is clear. The floor is shaking, this way and that, jerked around like a kite in a storm. I cannot see my feet, and yet I feel them trembling, planted on the moving deck. Waves crash against the scarlet hull–at least I know it was scarlet in daytime. At night, where we stand, the
