Introduction to 3.1 Writing A killer Short Story

Download Introduction to 3.1  Writing A killer Short Story

Post on 12-Jan-2016




1 download

Embed Size (px)


Introduction to 3.1 Writing A killer Short Story. Tell little, but tell well = effective short story. Interest in a short story is not sustained by the plot alone but the quality of the writer's craft. - PowerPoint PPT Presentation


<ul><li><p>INTRODUCTION TO 3.1 WRITING A KILLER SHORT STORY</p></li><li><p>Tell little, but tell well = effective short story </p><p>Interest in a short story is not sustained by the plot alone but the quality of the writer's craft. For example, in Owen Marshall's stories very little happens, but we enjoy them because the telling of the story is so skilful and satisfying. The reader feels satisfaction because Marshall crafts imagery, language, and irony into his writing.</p></li><li><p>Write like Owen Marshall His imagery is strong. He has a talent for description through comparison. In 'The Rule of Jenny Penn' he describes his morose anti-hero:'Crealy hung his head to one side like an old .' Another example is :'Bones, stuck up from the ground like defective .' In his description of Crealy's assault on Mrs Halliday: 'he scooped out her breasts so they made two full heads in the flounce of her dress,' Marshalls image is bizarre, but it captures the sagging shape so accurately. </p></li><li><p>Some images mirror themes in the story and carry emotion. The central character is described as 'a careworn lion'. This shows his dignity and pride. After his troubles and his heart attack, he 'lay like clay in the passage.' Compare: colour similar? T/F ; able to shape destiny? T/F At end, a face 'the colour of a plucked chicken.' Does this comparison have the dignity of the lion one? When Mr Van Gogh's house, which is symbolic of himself, his passion and his art, is destroyed, it collapsed like an old elephant in the drought, surrounded by so many enemies.' The sympathy for an animal in dire circumstances and in mortal danger has a raw emotional edge. It is powerful imagery.</p><p>In 'Mr Van Gogh:</p></li><li><p>ImageryListen and read along to the story by Sandra Cisernos.Write down 3 of your favourite images or lines.Write down why you like those lines.After reading the story, discuss and share.</p></li><li><p>ELEVEN by Sandra Cisneros </p><p>What they dont understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when youre eleven, youre also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you dont. You open your eyes and everythings just like yesterday, only its today. And you dont feel eleven at all. You feel like youre still ten. And you areunderneath the year that makes you eleven. </p></li><li><p>Like some days you might say something stupid, and thats the part of you thats still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mamas lap because youre scared, and thats the part of you thats five. And maybe one day when youre all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if youre three, and thats okay. Thats what I tell Mama when shes sad and needs to cry. Maybe shes feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. Thats how being eleven years old is. </p></li><li><p>You dont feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you dont feel smart eleven, not until youre almost twelve. Thats the way it is. Only today I wish I didnt have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two Id have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I wouldve known how to tell her it wasnt mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth. </p></li><li><p>Whose is this? Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. Whose? Its been sitting in the coatroom for a month. Not mine, says everybody. Not me. It has to belong to somebody, Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember. Its an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. Its maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldnt say so. </p></li><li><p>Maybe because Im skinny, maybe because she doesnt like me, that stupid Sylvia Saldivar says, I think it belongs to Rachel. An ugly sweater like that all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out. Thats not, I dont, youre notNot mine. I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four. Of course its yours, Mrs. Price says. I remember you wearing it once. Because shes older and the teacher, shes right and Im not. </p></li><li><p>Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, and math problem number four. I dont know why but all of a sudden Im feeling sick inside, like the part of me thats three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me for tonight, and when Papa comes home everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you. </p></li><li><p>But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweaters still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move the red sweater to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible. I even move my chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine. In my head Im thinking how long till lunchtime, how long till I can take the red sweater and throw it over the schoolyard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, Now, Rachel, thats enough, because she sees Ive shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and its hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I dont care. </p></li><li><p>Rachel, Mrs. Price says. She says it like shes getting mad. You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense. But its not Now! Mrs. Price says. This is when I wish I wasnt eleven because all the years inside of meten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and oneare pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, and then the other arm through the other and stand there with my</p></li><li><p>arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that arent even mine. Thats when everything Ive been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden Im crying in front of everybody. I wish I was invisible but Im not. Im eleven and its my birthday today and Im crying like Im three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in my stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I cant stop the little animal noises from coming out of me</p></li><li><p>until there arent any more tears left in my eyes, and its just my body shaking like when you have the hiccups, and my whole head hurts like when you drink milk too fast. But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldivar, says she remembers the red sweater is hers. I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everythings okay. </p></li><li><p>Today Im eleven. Theres a cake Mamas making for tonight and when Papa comes home from work well eat it. Therell be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only its too late. Im eleven today. Im eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven. Because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tinytiny you have to close your eyes to see it. </p></li><li><p>ImageryYouve listened and read along to the story by Sandra Cisernos.Youve written down three of your favourite images or lines.Now, write down why you like those lines.Discuss with a partner and share.</p></li><li><p>Creating imageryWrite down a list of body parts.Write down a list of random concrete nouns you can use a dictionary to help you find some.Try linking a body part with a concrete noun to create a metaphor or simile.Make a list of abstract nouns eg. Love, hate, grief Try linking a body part or concrete noun with one of these and make interesting phrases and metaphors.</p></li><li><p>Postcard PortraitsWrite as much as could fit on a postcard.Choose a person in your life you have seen often, but dont know.Observe them in your mind. Jot down the facts (what is true) what they look like, how they move, what they do...Now add fiction put yourself in their shoes. Be with them in a quiet, routine moment making breakfast, buying some socks, riding the bus to town...WRITE</p></li><li><p>CharacterisationThere are various methods to creating a character in a piece of writing.One is through physical description.One is through actionOne is through voice / dialogue</p><p>Lets read Michael Morrisseys description which he based on his father.</p></li><li><p>The door to the small cottage creaked openslowly at first and then wide enough to admit Seamus burly frame, severely wet. He was six feet three inches tall and weighed 300 poundsafter a colonic; he had been seeing a specialist for about a year now, a woman whod convinced him that detoxifying his colon would subdue the sharp pains which racked his gut for nearly a decade. He had not worn anything but coveralls for the past ten years. Easy to put on, no threading a confining belt through loops around his ever-increasing girth, and just as good, no requirement to keep up with fashion trends. With a three-day beardsalt and pepper but mostly salthe pulled his trailing foot into the room clad in a black high-top, four pair of eyelets on the bottom and three pair of hooks on the top, laces dangling to spare the gouty foot. </p></li><li><p>Someone You KnowThink of someone you know really well, like your mother, father, a sibling or a very close friend.You have 5 minutes to describe their physical appearance. Think of everything, from their hair to their toes.Be quirky, creative. Use imagery similes and metaphors. Use your senses sight, smell, sound, touch...even taste! WRITE</p></li><li><p>A little about DialogueAdvances the storyProvides revelations of characterProvides a change of mode after a long description</p></li><li><p>Seamus is visiting his dying father.Suddenly there was a small rap on the door. It opened slowly and a pixie of a woman entered the room. Clad in a slicker against rain now horizontal Siobhan had arrived at the agreed upon time. Mother of God, ye made it in time, she whispered. Has he said anything at all? Have ye talked? Na a word. I dint want t wake em, Seamus replied. He got off the chair and opened his arms to his twin, once his tiny womb mate. Its soon time, he said. I canna stay long. </p></li><li><p>Ways to use dialogue1. As a summary Yvonne told him she wanted a divorce.2.Paraphrase (a representation of dialogue) Yvonne said she never wanted that colour in the bedroom.3.Direct speech Im through. You can paint the blasted bedroom any colour you please, said Yvonne.4.Mixture Yvonne listed his faults: Boring, cynical, slobbish, And cheap too, she said.</p></li><li><p>Dialogue can be problematicDifficult to sustain for long periods of time.Too much dialogue without context disembodies your story.Dialogue is a construct you must re-create a representation of natural speech to make your readers feel that it is authentic.</p></li><li><p>Characteristics of real ConversationUnfinished sentences.People often digress. Include a tangent.Sudden changes of topic Oh look! That guys fallen over!Parallel conversations talking at or past each other.Trivialities, repetition use sparingly, but it can build character very well.</p><p>Pick two aspects of dialogue and note them down.</p></li><li><p>Ungrammatical words youz, Nekk minnit Conversation appropriate to character e.g. Irish accent with Irish namesWriting misunderstandings into conversation, e.g.Simons very husky, isnt he?Yes, all the guys in his family are well built.No, I mean his voice...On the page, we lack the context we get in normal face-to-face conversation facial expressions, tone, body language, sarcasm etc.Sometimes we can compensate for this by adding tags eg, sullenly. Pick two aspects of dialogue and note them down.</p></li><li><p>Setting and ActionUsing the person you wrote a postcard portrait of, put them in a scene to show their thoughts and actions in a certain situation or setting. For example, the Seamus story:The dimly lit interior permitted muted light from a north window, strained through lace curtains, which illuminated a narrow pallet in the corner. Near the head stood a small sink, and an old oak bedside table holding a pitcher, bowl, and slightly used hand towel. When his eyes adjusted he recognized a second source of lighta flashing red votive in the corner illuminating a small statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. This is a dying room Seamus thought. An odour of flesh, acrid and stifling, anointed the area like a go-forth-and-sin-no-more blessing at the end of Mass, like cut melon kept too long. </p></li><li><p>Using the person you wrote a postcard portrait of, put them in a scene to show their thoughts and actions in a certain situation.Choose from one of the scenarios below:Stuck in a lift with strangers, jammed between two floors.Sitting in a crowded auditorium during a very boring speech.Eating lunch in a cafe with friends.In a waiting room before a job interview.Grocery shopping.Describe what they do without using any dialogue in your writing.You should write in the 3rd person or 3rd omniscient.</p></li><li><p>Speak Up! carefully about how this person speaks:Do they have certain words they like to use?What are their mannerisms?How does their age reflects the way they speak?Do they interrupt? Do they use good English?Do they change topics frequently, or make random outbursts?Do they finish all their sentences?Go back to your previous two pieces of writing (description and action/setting).Try to weave both together while inserting just a little dialogue (pastiche).</p><p>****************</p></li></ul>