Do I Know You
February 3rd 2008 11:44
When I finally decided that I should actually learn something about the craft of writing and signed up for the Professional Writing and Editing course, little did I know what insanity awaited me.
For one thing I thought we would be taught. Silly me. What I actually found was that I was expected to teach myself.
Does this sound anything like sane? Well, sane or not it was true. Writers can't teach you anything about writing.
The trick is, that they guide you down the paths of your mind, help you open doors to creativity you had no idea you had.
At times they shove you into the darkness where you find that you are the light.
One of the dirtiest tricks is they tell you to write a story about a subject. You get twenty minutes to write it.
So, subject; "What would you say to your self, if you, at eighty years of age, could travel back to today."
The trick to this situation is just to write, not think. Anyway, for what it's worth, this is what I wrote:
But, before you read what I wrote, do the exercise yourself. And it has to be a story and you have twenty minutes.
There I am. Sitting on that bench over there near the Turkish Takeaway. God did I ever look like that scruffy sod.
As I sit down next to myself I, well he really, looks up. A startled look flashes across his face. Then a look of relief settles there.
I can't help myself. `Seen a ghost kid?'
`Ah... No. Just thought I knew you. Do I know you?'
`Do you want to?'
`Huh?'
`I said do you want to? Know me that is.'
With a look bordering on panic he says. `I think I do already. I just can't remember where.'
`Yeah, well it will come to you.' The thought of "In about thirty years'' crosses my mind. I press on. `Doing your shopping?'
`No. Just had lunch. Got a class in half an hour.'
`Bit old to be a student aren't you? You would have to be at least fifty three.'
`What? Ah, yes... No. That is I'm not to old to be a student and how did you know I'm fifty three?'
`Just a guess. What are you doing in school?'
`Writing, creative writing really'
`Good for you. I'm a writer myself. Quite successful really.'
`Was it hard? I mean being successful.'
`Yes and no. It did take work but then I've never had so much fun either.'
He stands and looks at me as if he is hearing echoes and says.`I've got to go or I'll be late.' As he starts to walk away he turns and asks. `Is there a secret to success? Something I should know?'
`Enjoy what you're doing'
For one thing I thought we would be taught. Silly me. What I actually found was that I was expected to teach myself.
Does this sound anything like sane? Well, sane or not it was true. Writers can't teach you anything about writing.
The trick is, that they guide you down the paths of your mind, help you open doors to creativity you had no idea you had.
At times they shove you into the darkness where you find that you are the light.
One of the dirtiest tricks is they tell you to write a story about a subject. You get twenty minutes to write it.
So, subject; "What would you say to your self, if you, at eighty years of age, could travel back to today."
The trick to this situation is just to write, not think. Anyway, for what it's worth, this is what I wrote:
But, before you read what I wrote, do the exercise yourself. And it has to be a story and you have twenty minutes.
There I am. Sitting on that bench over there near the Turkish Takeaway. God did I ever look like that scruffy sod.
As I sit down next to myself I, well he really, looks up. A startled look flashes across his face. Then a look of relief settles there.
I can't help myself. `Seen a ghost kid?'
`Ah... No. Just thought I knew you. Do I know you?'
`Do you want to?'
`Huh?'
`I said do you want to? Know me that is.'
With a look bordering on panic he says. `I think I do already. I just can't remember where.'
`Yeah, well it will come to you.' The thought of "In about thirty years'' crosses my mind. I press on. `Doing your shopping?'
`No. Just had lunch. Got a class in half an hour.'
`Bit old to be a student aren't you? You would have to be at least fifty three.'
`What? Ah, yes... No. That is I'm not to old to be a student and how did you know I'm fifty three?'
`Just a guess. What are you doing in school?'
`Writing, creative writing really'
`Good for you. I'm a writer myself. Quite successful really.'
`Was it hard? I mean being successful.'
`Yes and no. It did take work but then I've never had so much fun either.'
He stands and looks at me as if he is hearing echoes and says.`I've got to go or I'll be late.' As he starts to walk away he turns and asks. `Is there a secret to success? Something I should know?'
`Enjoy what you're doing'
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