Descriptions

At this week's Uckfield Writers' Group, we did two exercises around descriptions.

Exercise 1: Describe something on the table without saying what it is.

I’ve used it now. Just two short hours ago it was fresh and unopened. I chose it carefully. For something so simple, there are so many choices. From Britain or across the sea? Plain or sparkly? Big or small?

I wanted to choose well. The novelty of fizzy spangles would soon wear off.  Much better a classic Moleskine that I can slip into my handbag and forget. 

Highlight the black area to see what I described.

Exercise 2 : to describe something in the town.

It goes mostly unnoticed on the busy corner. We don’t need it now with our Smart Phone maps and GPS.  But still it stands there, ready to catch a curious eye.

A child points and asks “What is it? Who put it there? And why? And When?

Mother hesitates, trying to catch a memory. “I’m not sure. I think it tells us how many miles to London.”

Answer: The bow-bells mile post outside Stead and Simpson. The bow and bells represent the Bow Bells church in London.

Highlight the black area to see what I described.

The secret of invisibility

Originally published on my other blog on the 7th of August 2014.

Anne waited patiently at the station’s coffee stand. There was no need to order, Hannah knew that she always had the same thing. “Here’s your mocha - with some extra chocolate on the house.”  Anne murmured her thanks and wondered how much consternation it would cause if she asked for an Expresso and a Guardian instead of her usual Mocha and Telegraph.  “Nice shoes. Are they new?” asked Hannah. “Yes.” smiled Anne “I thought I’d treat myself.” Hannah never, ever missed anything, not even a rather ordinary pair of navy court shoes.

A young man brushed past Anne, without even noticing that she was there. Just as he did every day.  He was tall, black, very good looking and, she was pleased to note, no longer had that stubbly beard. He had clearly realised that the fashion for beards was beginning to pass. He was rather eye catching on this country station. There were still very few people from ethnic minorities in the area and, in his crimson shirt and narrow-cut suit, Harry was as conspicuous as a peacock in a farmyard. He, and his older brother William, had been here since junior school. William had followed his father into the army while Harry was a wonder with technology. He was obviously absorbed in the Observer article on invisibility techniques that she could see on his iPad.

Harry read carefully. He was half annoyed and half relieved that the cloaking technology that he was working on was not mentioned. Relieved because his work had to be kept quiet for as long as possible.  Annoyed because he wanted to be able to tell his mum that he was working for the country’s defence just as much as William. She was a huge patriot and had, of course, named them after the princes. He desperately wanted to tell her who he was working for but she was such a chatterbox, half the town would know in an hour. In confidence, of course.  He was acutely aware that his work should only be shared when someone had a real “need to know”. It was just he felt she was disappointed in him. She proudly displayed William’s photo and medals but when asked about him she just went a bit vague and said “It’s something to do with computers. In London.”

He worked in Vauxhall, in the big building on the Thames that you may have seen in a James Bond film or two. He was more of a Q than a Bond. Right now he was working on the secret of invisibility. How many lives would be saved if their agents could simply walk into places unseen? He stepped onto the train and Anne got onto the next carriage, unnoticed.   Harry was unaware that they would share the journey, just as they shared a destination and an employer but she knew all about him.  The difference is that Anne was a trained agent, the veteran of many missions.  She had already discovered the secret of invisibility. Look ordinary; move around as if you know where you are going, as if you belong. Don’t be too smart or too shabby. If you wish to gain entrance to an office, walk briskly with a folder tucked under your arm. And best of all – be a middle-aged woman. Because you would be amazed at how many people fail to notice one of those.

Inspirations

• The character exercise we did at the last (16 July) Uckfield Writers session making me think about where people have come from and where they are going
• A young man brushing by me on a station platform
• An article on invisibility in the Observer newspaper.

Feedback

• Show, don’t tell – it would be better not to explicitly state “Anne knew the secret of invisibility” – we can figure it out from her following Harry to work unnoticed. Consider storyboarding.
• Consider having Anne as an enemy agent and show her slipping into the Vauxhall building unnoticed. (Own thought – invisible = just another Eastern European cleaner – Tanya not Anne].
• Read it slower.
• Provide copies.

Creating Characters

Moved from my other blog. Originally published on 17th July 2014.

I spent an enjoyable and informative evening at the Uckfield Writers Group. For me, the highlight of the evening was a session on creating characters. Jude asked as to base a character on a simplified version of ourselves by answering five questions.  I found this surprisingly difficult because, like most of us, there are no clear-cut answers. For example, I swing between pessimism and optimism.  I decided to choose pessimism, which shows itself in a tendency to be overcautious.

1. Are you male or female? Female.
2. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Pessimist
3. Do you have children? No
4. Are you urban or rural? Urban
5. Are you an extrovert or an introvert? Introvert

Then we answered a series of questions that grounded our character in a situation.

1. Recent Past: What did your character have for breakfast? Yoghurt.
2. In the world: What is the one thing your character always has with them? Phone
3. Progression: If your character was at a bus stop, where would they go on the bus? Station

In hindsight, having heard the others’ stories, it would be better to give a little more detail to provide a better insight into the character. For example: “Yoghurt, Waitrose organic”, would define a character differently to “Yoghurt: low-fat, bargain range.” and “Classic Nokia, with well-worn oval buttons” says something different to “The latest iPhone”.

We then spent 10 minutes writing a story about our character.  Here is a slightly tweaked version of mine.  I’ve adjusted it so to make it work as a pair with the second part of the exercise.

Elizabeth’s story

The morning started normally enough. Elizabeth had lingered over her diet yoghurt before heading in to work. There was a lot of mist for a July morning. She smiled slightly as she realised that, since moving from the city, she had started noticing this sort of thing. Amusement turned to anxiety as she wondered if the mist would delay the bus. She looked ruefully at her shoes. Killer heels might help her fake confidence in the office but they were hopeless for a dash to the station. What was that by her toe? A knife? How irresponsible could you get? A child could cut themselves on that. She picked it up; it was obviously antique. For a moment she wished she lived in the simpler time when this knife would have been in a man’s pocket as he went about his work.

Then the horse appeared.

For a moment Elizabeth just stared. This place was getting more ridiculously rural by the minute. She dropped the knife in her bag and grabbed a leather strap. This was either brave or foolish considering that all Elizabeth knew about horses is that they bite at one end and kick at the other. Maybe it was from the horse rescue. She would Google them and get their number. She fished around in her handbag with her free hand and …

 

… this was seriously odd. Her bag was like something out of a dressing up box. No phone. The smelling salts were not an adequate substitute.

                                                                                                   

“Ma’am?”

She looked up. A man was looking at her with smiling and unreasonably beautiful blue eyes.

“Thank you for catching him.”

After this we were asked to write a similar story about a character that is the opposite of the one we wrote about earlier.  Again, I’ve tweaked and tidied to dovetail the two stories.

Joe’s story

A cloud passed over Joe’s normally smiling face. If he didn’t find that horse and get it harnessed in time to take her ladyship to the London house, there would be trouble.  There were enough problems for carriage drivers with half the county travelling by train and the other half spluttering round in automobiles. If he lost his position, it would be the workhouse for him and his motherless boys. Then his natural optimism reasserted itself. Nonsense. Blackbird wouldn’t go far and there was plenty of time.

He’d been jumping at shadows since he’d found that granddad's knife was missing. He'd had to cut the rough loaf that passed for family breakfast these days with an ordinary kitchen blade. He remembered the day that grandfather his that knife. “If you get into real trouble just wish for what you need on that knife.”  Joe didn’t really believe in magic or fate but just the day before, he’d caught himself wishing for a clever wife who would keep him and the boys in order and help them learn about modern things like automobiles and railways.  He’d been turning the knife over in his hands at the time. Maybe he had lost it then. Never mind. It was bound to turn up.

He turned the corner and smiled. Things always turn out for the best. There was Blackbird with a pleasantly rounded woman holding one of his reins.