Writing Exercise and suchlike.
May. 28th, 2007 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wordwhackerI have, thus far, dropped the ball on doing a writing exercise once per week. Clearly I need to set aside a particular period in which to do this silly thing. I have no self-discipline. NONE.
I finally took a swipe at the last exercise I posted, though, whose results you are welcome to view below. I chose to write on:
387 - Hamburger shop on wheels eats up family funds (exercise, 300 words)
The first sign of trouble was the alarming amount of oil the old hamburger truck wanted to drink. Dad asked his brother Steve to come over and have a look at it when he was off - which, for a well-known mechanic in a small town like Tuerville, would be approximately never. The request, which had been outstanding for several weeks, finally went through when Dad offered a steak off the new grill and a couple of cold ones as payment for services rendered. On a sunny Tuesday afternoon uncle Steve's grimy shop, passed down to him by my grandfather, was mysterously closed for business while he checked out the hamburger stand on wheels that had just set my father back twenty grand.
"Shoulda brought her to me before you spent that on her," he chided, his voice tinny coming out from under the hood. Dad didn't say anything, but he knew he was right. Being the oldest of five boys, he was notoriously resistant to listening to advice from the youngsters.
Mom fried up some steaks while the boys worked. It was hot that day, no clouds, a breeze off the water the only relief. It cooled the sweat that pooled on their upper lips, in the folds of their arms and n the back of their necks. Greasy rags mopped foreheads and left dark smudges and grit, smeared generously when they'd swipe the sweat away with a forearm, distracted, not even thinking of the heat outside. They were consumed in the head of the engine, when they'd start her up to hear her run; the head of the financial knot getting tighter.
My uncle swore. "You paid too much for this thing."
"Don't remind me."
"I'll do her, Frank, but the parts alone are gonna set you back. And you haven't seen the end of it."
---
I originally went into this exercise wanting to concentrate on description, but instead it wound up being about detail. I may come back to this setting at some point and play with this exercise a little more. I have John Steinbeck on the brain and I think it shows, not that I'm suggesting it's anywhere near as good - just similarly-minded in its intent (this is something that it might be fun to work toward, if I come back to this - getting feelings across with ostensibly neutral descriptions and physical details.)
Now to get back to work on the short story I fully intend to actually finish before the month is out, as well as that novel I should be editing.
I finally took a swipe at the last exercise I posted, though, whose results you are welcome to view below. I chose to write on:
387 - Hamburger shop on wheels eats up family funds (exercise, 300 words)
The first sign of trouble was the alarming amount of oil the old hamburger truck wanted to drink. Dad asked his brother Steve to come over and have a look at it when he was off - which, for a well-known mechanic in a small town like Tuerville, would be approximately never. The request, which had been outstanding for several weeks, finally went through when Dad offered a steak off the new grill and a couple of cold ones as payment for services rendered. On a sunny Tuesday afternoon uncle Steve's grimy shop, passed down to him by my grandfather, was mysterously closed for business while he checked out the hamburger stand on wheels that had just set my father back twenty grand.
"Shoulda brought her to me before you spent that on her," he chided, his voice tinny coming out from under the hood. Dad didn't say anything, but he knew he was right. Being the oldest of five boys, he was notoriously resistant to listening to advice from the youngsters.
Mom fried up some steaks while the boys worked. It was hot that day, no clouds, a breeze off the water the only relief. It cooled the sweat that pooled on their upper lips, in the folds of their arms and n the back of their necks. Greasy rags mopped foreheads and left dark smudges and grit, smeared generously when they'd swipe the sweat away with a forearm, distracted, not even thinking of the heat outside. They were consumed in the head of the engine, when they'd start her up to hear her run; the head of the financial knot getting tighter.
My uncle swore. "You paid too much for this thing."
"Don't remind me."
"I'll do her, Frank, but the parts alone are gonna set you back. And you haven't seen the end of it."
---
I originally went into this exercise wanting to concentrate on description, but instead it wound up being about detail. I may come back to this setting at some point and play with this exercise a little more. I have John Steinbeck on the brain and I think it shows, not that I'm suggesting it's anywhere near as good - just similarly-minded in its intent (this is something that it might be fun to work toward, if I come back to this - getting feelings across with ostensibly neutral descriptions and physical details.)
Now to get back to work on the short story I fully intend to actually finish before the month is out, as well as that novel I should be editing.
