Johnathan Colourfield's Writing Exercises - 2. Session Two: 20th June 2011

Excercise One: Craft Scenes and Character Development Practice. Write in 350 words or less a description of a place to represent a character. However, the character cannot be present and no people can be present. Imagine the character through the descriptions of the place. The Kicker: The Character: A woman who works at a bakery who just won the lottery.

The rolling pin was laid there on the wooden worktop. The pasty was only half rolled. A headscarf was draped over the chair. The cushion was indented so someone had been sat there working. The bowl of spare ingredients had been spilt onto the floor. Normally it would have been cleaned up but not in this situation. The television was left on, a sin that had never been committed before in that bakery. The drawers were each open, the paperwork thrown everywhere. But one was empty, with a slight pattern where a bit of flour had splashed. The space was rectangular and quite small. The television played in the background and it was just finishing the episode of the lottery announcement with the winning numbers. Over the other side of the room, the bell rung as the door was slammed against the wall. Someone must have been happy.

Exercise Two: Valentines Day without mentioning: Valentines’ Day, cupid, love, flowers, hearts, February.

That beautiful day where those that are destined to be together declare between them what is right and what should be right in terms of their relationships. That day in the second month of the year on the fourteenth day where people in that simple euphoric state come together to declare their unified sense of euphoria. Such a beautiful day where the arrows of that delicate emotion really do come into play.

From the largest of declarations like getting a plane with the age old message to the smallest of box of chocolates and a simple peck on the cheek. But it is the relationship that is the most beautiful thing, I suppose. Isn’t it?

Exercise Three: Scene with at least one character without referring to that characters name. Idea is to find alternative ways of identifying a character.

‘Look’ he glanced over at the lady opposite him. ‘I know you are looking at me’.

In surprise she responded ‘I’m sorry but what?’.

He lowered his paper and leant towards her. ‘I know you have been looking at me.’

‘Yeah. Right. Sure.’ She went back to reading her book.

And he did the same, reading through the sports section.

She stroked her hair back and adjusted her skirt to lower than it was before. Licking her lips she looked at him and spoke. ‘Okay, maybe I was. What of it?’

‘How about we go for a coffee.’ He said reaching across. Following that he touched her knee.

She moved back, discomforted but then she released a small smile. ‘Sure. I’d love to.’

Exercise Four: Read the following extract. Then with absolutely minimal additions or subtractions of fact and detail, rewrite it in a romantic style. No length requirement.

Extract

My paternal grandmother, Florence, was a stout, mercurial woman who handed me a present nearly every time I came into her sight, with the probable exceptions of my birthday and Christmas. She was not a great believer in special occasions. Or rather, she believed in them but saw no reason to be overly literal about their observance. “This is for your birthday,” she would say for the thirtieth time in a year, handing me a box of Fanny Farmer lollipops or ordering me to try on a new pair of dungarees. My father may have exaggerated the details of his childhood, but to hear him tell of it, Florence was forever chasing him around the house to show him some “surprise”that he longed instead to find wrapped under a Christmas tree, preferably on Christmas. My grandmother didn’t have much use for wrapping paper either.

Edit

My grandmother on my father side always had such a strong presence. Florence. That was her name. She was stout and mercurial yet she always had a power over the people she met. She gave me a present everytime I came into her sight with the exception of my birthday and Christmas. She didn’t believe in the big occasion idea. Or rather, in her own exuberant ways she preferred to have no definition of presents. She preferred to have them not observed, rather than observed. ‘This is your birthday’, she would repeat over and over for the thirtieth time in a year. She would give me such wonderful gifts. A box of Fanny Farmer lollipops or she would bark at me to try a new pair of dungarees to see if I would like it. My father. Well, he would exaggerate the details of his childhood. The never ending presents, the lack of a tree. Florence was forever chasing him around the house to show him some ‘surprise’ that he would get. He longed. He truly longed for the chance; as a child, he would wish to find a small little present under a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. He wanted it but he wouldn’t get it, it just wasn’t Florence’s sort of thing. She never really cared for Christmas so she didn’t have much use for wrapping paper either, that amazingly strange lady I call Grandma.