Not All That is Written Goes Into a Story
Not All That is Written Goes Into a Story
Practicing the craft.
From Ursula LeGuin's exercises in Steering The Craft https://goo.gl/FyKYtm
The first exercise: Being Gorgeous
Being Gorgeous
Moisture dripped from the leaves--ferns, vines, orchids, and the round leaves of the giant tree; filled the air and planted inaudible droplets on the skin--cheeks, forehead, arms, ankles--like an unseen jacket against the cool grey day. The flutterings, slitherings, jumping, and hopping among the leaves--flashes of blue, green, red and slow and fast movement crept, crawled and leaped sustained by air and water. In her lungs the air was soft; breathing a quiet rhythm, a secret music filled with the air around. Anna said, “You know that play The Steam Room? What if waiting for God was like this?”
________________
When he entered, what was left was things. He walked to her dressing table and touched each jar one by one. He opened one--Spikenard and something, an evening under the stars. He opened another and sniffed--faint earth in red powder. He opened them each, one by one and mixed all the contents on the table top. There was the white robe ready for the Christening hanging from the wardrobe. Her writing desk was clean except for a piece of thin vellum and a pen. He bent to look at the vellum: a quick note unfinished. Dearest Mother, I miss you. I feel alone. I am afraid. You said it would be like fire and joy...
He turned to look at the bed. The stripped mattress was covered in fresh bleached linen. He bent over and looked under the bed to see: nothing but the sunlight through the window lighting a bright spot on the floor on the other side of the bed. Not one piece of swaddling cloth. Not one drop of blood. He put his hands on the bed and raised himself up off the tiled floor. He put his face to the mattress; nothing of her. Nothing of a child. Nothing of a blue baby. Nothing of Julia.
#amwriting #writingexercise
http://goo.gl/ej3aQH
Practicing the craft.
From Ursula LeGuin's exercises in Steering The Craft https://goo.gl/FyKYtm
The first exercise: Being Gorgeous
Being Gorgeous
Moisture dripped from the leaves--ferns, vines, orchids, and the round leaves of the giant tree; filled the air and planted inaudible droplets on the skin--cheeks, forehead, arms, ankles--like an unseen jacket against the cool grey day. The flutterings, slitherings, jumping, and hopping among the leaves--flashes of blue, green, red and slow and fast movement crept, crawled and leaped sustained by air and water. In her lungs the air was soft; breathing a quiet rhythm, a secret music filled with the air around. Anna said, “You know that play The Steam Room? What if waiting for God was like this?”
________________
When he entered, what was left was things. He walked to her dressing table and touched each jar one by one. He opened one--Spikenard and something, an evening under the stars. He opened another and sniffed--faint earth in red powder. He opened them each, one by one and mixed all the contents on the table top. There was the white robe ready for the Christening hanging from the wardrobe. Her writing desk was clean except for a piece of thin vellum and a pen. He bent to look at the vellum: a quick note unfinished. Dearest Mother, I miss you. I feel alone. I am afraid. You said it would be like fire and joy...
He turned to look at the bed. The stripped mattress was covered in fresh bleached linen. He bent over and looked under the bed to see: nothing but the sunlight through the window lighting a bright spot on the floor on the other side of the bed. Not one piece of swaddling cloth. Not one drop of blood. He put his hands on the bed and raised himself up off the tiled floor. He put his face to the mattress; nothing of her. Nothing of a child. Nothing of a blue baby. Nothing of Julia.
#amwriting #writingexercise
http://goo.gl/ej3aQH
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