Dead in the Water: Writing Exercises
I feel the need to compile a list of writing exercises, especially ones that would push a writer (me) out of their (my) comfort zone. Although, if I were to be picky, I would say “but not into metrical territory”; I just don’t hear meter, like I don’t hear the beat in music. I’m willing to give it a try, but after spending six hours looking up stresses in a dictionary I’m going to hate you. Be warned.
I’m thinking more of things like—
If you usually write long lines (or poems), write short lines (or poems).
If you usually use a narrative style, try to write an associative poem.
And there’s the one where you write about a topic by not addressing it—e.g. two people are concerned about X but talk about everything BUT X—and somehow the poem reveals what X is. Or you describe a photograph by all the ways it is not the person/object it represents. Negative space is always a good idea.
Or a list of words that must be incorporated into the poem (Another S, I’m not so brave as to try for specific end rhymes—primarily because I don’t have the metrical skill to carry it out—but I’ll incorporate the words somewhere).
Even better: more structured exercises.
Write a mirror poem (I don’t know what else to call it), where at the halfway point you reverse the lines without changing them. For example, I wrote this one five years ago (yikes) when an instructor first introduced me to this exercise:
Superimposed, do I find myself beautiful?
Pierced, blinded by trees; in fragments:
mouth swallowing countryside, eyes
watching my reflection in the glass
(but only when I sit by a train window)—But only when I sit by a train window
watching my reflection in the glass:
mouth swallowing countryside, eyes
pierced, blinded by trees; in fragments
superimposed do I find myself beautiful.
That’s the general idea, anyway.
And the Room Exercise, which I rather like:
Spend ten minutes or so taking notes on a room, starting with very general questions and working to the specifics, like:
Where is the room located?
How large is the room?
Where are you in the room?
Who else is in the room?
What can you see in front of you?
To the left?
To the right?
Above?
Below?
What is the largest object in the room?
What is the smallest?
The brightest?
Is there any activity going on?
Who is doing the activity?
What are they doing?
Are you involved?
Why or why not?
Why are you in the room (or not in the room)?
etc etc
And then go back into your notes and find the poem. The first time I did this, the “room” ended up being the guard box at a border crossing… no one said the room had to be literal.
The problem is, I’ve done all these exercises at some point and, helpful as they were, I find when I try to redo them now I get stuck on the previous poems I’ve done, especially if the previous poems have any personal weight for me.
I’m just so tired of the prosy voice that’s creeping into everything I write (not to mention all the d*mn relationship poems. Why is that? I don’t do relationships. Why am I writing about them?). I need something new, something to break me out of this rut, something to make me sweat a bit.
Any ideas?
An Immortal Drug Addict with Wings: Insta-hit, people
I’ve said it before, but here we go again: Steph Swainston’s The Year of Our War is one of the best books I’ve read in the last few years and definitely the best sci-fi novel.
The main character is an immortal drug addict who can fly—how could it not be good?
I’ve been watching the bookstores in the U.S. to see when they’d start carrying this book, but today was the first time I saw it on the shelves. Of course, this was the first time in five months that I’ve been in a bookstore, so who’s to say it hadn’t showed up before?
(Well, and not watching all the bookstores, clearly. Just the ones I passed. Ok, the ones I went in. Which, as I said, wasn’t very many. But I thought very hard about watching the bookstores, ok? I already owned the book; it’s not like I was worried about getting it or anything.)
At any rate, there was the book, all shiny on the shelves, in a fancy American cover. I have to say, I like the British cover better. It has more class. And next to The Year of Our War? That’s right—the sequel! I didn’t even know the sequel was out yet. Yes, I know; if I’m such a fan of the author, I should have known it was out. I was busy. Life was in the way. But when I had time, I wished the sequel was available. And now it is.
I now own No Present Like Time and am itching to dig into it, but I promised myself I’d wait until I got on the plane tonight.
Ok, maybe until I get to the airport.
Well, I’m waiting for my ride. That’s sort of like waiting at the airport.
Just one page, that’s all.
Maybe a chapter.