Update time…before I dream…
Last week, it was my turn to read some of my work in my creative writing class. I got a lot of good comments…which helped a lot of my writing woes from earlier in that week.
I read the latest draft of the prologue to my epic poem. I’m the only grad student in the class (it’s just a time filler until I finish my thesis) so I’m kind of a big fish in a little pond, but the students did have some great comments and suggestions (not just “it’s bad” or “it’s good”). They all seemed very impressed. I got comments regarding:
-The unbroken chain of repetition of sound from start to end. (I’m really glad this was noticed as I’d worked hard to create it.)
-A lot of them agreed that they felt the emotions in the piece and that a lot of writers did not do that for them (cha-ching!!!).
-One girl kept her mouth closed the whole time. Finally, prompted to speak, she said that she didn’t want to sound rude or negative (uh…oh….I thought)…and then proceeded to talk about how the piece disturbed her…that it was really well written and it disturbed her and she probably would be thinking about it that night and maybe loose sleep. I don’t know why she thought she’d sound rude. Her description of everything indicated that all the effects I wanted the prologue to have on a reader (I try to be very conscious of pacing and effect) seemed to work (you just never know until you read it to an audience). Yay! Disturbing is the effect I wanted. It’s not a happy scene.
-They noticed, and enjoyed, the importance of the colors used. Particularly black, white, gray, and red.
-They seemed to like that the thing that came to save the little girl was a grey, broken winged spirit…rather than a glowing white, pure angel.
-“Dude, you are deep…DEEEEEEEEEEP.” Not the most in depth comment I got…but every ego boost helps.
-The best comment I got, was from a girl who said that in fiction, and even in first hand accounts of child abuse (the prologue is about a little girl who is hiding in bed, with the bump-scrape sound of her abusive, molesting father coming up the stairs) she always felt sympathy and horror…but she never felt the emotions directly, as if she was there……but, she said, she felt like she was there, real time, with that little girl (or as the little girl during the story). THAT is what I thought I was overshooting for when I thought of the prologue all those months ago. I thought I wanted the reader to see from that height and feel claustrophobic and trapped and feel the ominous bump-scrape sounds coming up the steps. I’m very happy. I also realized that, should my fiction get sold and published…people are going to assume that I had a really bad childhood.
After all the glowing comments, I opted to float back to my room rather than walk, after class.
Later, I realized that, in my opening chapter, the broken winged spirit goes through a red door and PAINTs IT BLACK. In the second chapter, that same sorry, fallen angel KNOCKS ON HEAVEN’S DOOR (in a dark and sad sort of way). And, in a later, interlude chapter, I try and incite a bit of SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL. And yes…music playlists affect fiction…
Friday I got to see my brother get knifed to death on stage for a production of Wait Until Dark. I also finally got my sword on Friday!!! Now I can actually practice all those things I learned in stage combat class.
Friday night, I and some Eureka friends (fellow alums and current students) partied…and somewhere along the way, a perverse revel spirit possessed the party and it became a topless party. Then it became a pass dollar bills to people in creative ways party. And then it . . . well . . . imaginations are fertile fields.
Did I ever tell you I can read brail?
Game on Saturday. I didn’t make it to the Pimps and Hoes party at Eureka…and I wish I had.
There’s more…but I’m exhausted…it was a long and fun weekend…