- Close your eyes and imagine a familiar scene. See the detail. Remember that you can include all your senses when you are imagining it.
- Imagine the same scene from the persepctive of a young child held in the arms of an adult. What would be different about it?
- Now picture the same scene from a particular angle in the room and from the eyes of a strange adult. When you've thought about it, take 3 minutes to write down three different viewpoints. Some of the ones that group members came up with were: A telegraph pole, a gun sight, a driving mirror, from under a table.
- Now choose one and write a description or the events that you or your character might see from this quirky viewpoint.
A. Hamblen. Feb. 2008
2 comments:
Here is Jeannette's piece of writing from this workshop.
Hanging On
I clung to the pole ready to jump off at the lights if possible but the bus continued through the green, picking up speed. As we passed the High Street shops I saw a young woman rush out of the jewellers closely followed by two men. I swung round trying to memorise the scene. Great. I could be the star witness.
The woman stopped at the kerb. I thought she was crying for her head hung forwards and her hands came up. She must have known escape was impossible.
I couldn’t make out the colour of her coat and wished now the lights had turned red. One man was talking at her. I could see his hand and arm waving. Then the second joined them and put a hand on both their shoulders. Someone walked across the pavement and blocked my view but then I saw them turn back towards the shop. But they didn’t go inside. They seemed to be talking, at least their heads seemed close together, just dots in the distance.
Then the bus turned the corner and I lost sight of them. I checked my watch. I’d just make it.
Jeannette A.: Feb. 2008
Here is Joyce's piece of writing from this workshop.
Hidden Secrets
Alex hated weddings. He hated the collar and tie which threatened to choke him and the jacket which didn't fit. The sleeves were too short, it was too tight and made him hot.
He hated the old aunts who pressed their sloppy, slobbery, moist lips against his and the uncles who ruffled his hair with a, 'hasn't he grown,' for the hundredth time.
Now no-one could see him. No-one knew he was here, in his den- his secret place.
He could see men's shoes approaching under the edge of the long tablecloth. Above him he could hear the clatter of plates being selected and imagined the guests choosing which sandwich? which bun? The crunch of potato crisps between teeth and the glug of wine poured into glasses.
More feet. Whose feet were those? He decided to play a guessing game. Ladies' red, shiny sandals with pointy heels. Easy! That was Aunty Brenda! Alex remembered the red satin dress mum had said was far too short for her- at her age!
Then men's brogues. That would be dad's mate, Phyl. He was a farmer and Alex could smell the farm animals on him.
The brogues went away to be replaced by black, shiny, polished men's shoes.
Alex felt hot, he began to sweat and was bored now with his game. He crept to the edge of the table and lifted the table cloth, to get some air.
That's when he saw them. Auntie Brenda was holding the hand of the man with the black shiny shoes.
The man with the black shiny shoes was stroking her bottom.
Now Alex was sweating even more.
What would Uncle say if he could see what I could see. ©
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