Writing Exercises: Word Sketching

Hey guys! I'm out of state at the moment, for personal reasons, so I just wanted to quickly share this cool writing exercise that I've been trying over the last week! I've completed my NaNoWriMo wordcount, but the story isn't complete. Without the looming deadline, I was having a hard time getting back into the story. I looked up some writing exercises online, but I can never get into them much.

My boyfriend was driving me to the airport the other day; it's a bit of a drive, and I felt like writing but I didn't know what. So I got out my pen and paper and just starting decribing every I saw, in the greatest detail I could. I decided to call it word sketching, because I thought it's a bit like an artist sketching a scene that inspires them :)

With word sketching, when you see a place, a person, a situation, anything, it helps you record what you may have taken no notice of if you weren't looking for it. You're writing it down on paper, and writing in as much detail as you can, so you won't forget. A wonderful character, scene or even a whole story might come from it. I think this exercise would be especially helpful if descriptions aren't your strong point (Like me).

'Word Sketching' - How to do it.


Word Sketching is basically just that, 'sketching' a description with your words.

I really recommend doing this exercise in a car (as long as you're not driving!), or some kind of public transport. I first did this while my boyfriend drove me to the city, and when you're in the car and constantly moving, you can't hem and haw and be choosy over your words when describing a scene before you, because it will be gone by the time you even begin writing. If you write quickly and furiously, you'll end up with a vivid word-picture. Just write, don't worry about your wording. Even if you have a whole paragraph of poorly written description, there's bound to be a gem there somewhere. It's a great way to learn to describe-on-the-fly. Nothing hinders your creativity like stopping for ten minutes to try and decide how to describe your main character's eyes.

Some of the things I word sketched were, an abandoned building, a park on a block surrounded by busy streets, a water fountain, even a man walking down an empty street, with a tray of four McDonalds ice-creams, even though he was no where near a McDonalds (There has to be a short story there. Maybe).

What's your favourite writing exercise? Have you tried something like word sketching before, or do you plan to now you've read my post? Do you find it helpful? Comment below!


Disclaimer: I don't claim that I invented word sketching. It's a simple idea and I'm sure it's been done before. I have quickly googled the actual term however ('word sketching'), and nothing has come up in this context, as far as I can see :)

NaNoWriMo-induced confusion (also read 12 books in 12 months with me?!)

So it seems like all I can do lately is walk around the house mumbling things like '1000 words until ...', 'Maybe the sorceress is really her siser...' and 'Huh???'

Yesh, it is NaNoWriMo-induced confusion. I'm currently creeping up to 60,000 words in my novel, and I think it was Sara Gruen (the author of the published NaNovel Water for Elephants) who said about Nano, 'However far behind you are, take comfort in knowing that there is somebody else out there in the same boat, and look for that next fun scene. And then the next. And if that doesn’t work, set someone on fire. In your book, of course.'

So I've taken her advice, and my MC's best friend has caught on fire after an electric stove exploded in a big sparkly explosion! Hey it can happen, it actually happened to me. Well, it was my sister's stove, and no one caught on fire, thankfully. Also, it kind of ties into my theme of bad fortune befalls everyone my MC loves. But more on that later, maybe.

I've set up a challenge for myself to read one classic book every month for the next year. So that's 12 classics, 12 months. I'm thinking about officially starting in January, and I'm awaiting my copy of The Odyssey by Homer to arrive in the mail. Or maybe I could count December and make it 13 classics in 13 months?! Hm, I might even dedicate a separate post and challenge my fellow bloggers to join in! Let me know if that's something you would be interested in :)

Anyway, I'm going to completely rework the look of my blog, so keep an eye out for that. Until then, I have a question for you.

What's the strangest thing you have done while suffering from NaNoWriMo-induced confusion? Put your cat in the bin and your rubbish outside? Found your tie in the microwave? Something else possibly not kitchen related? Let me know in comments below!

Also let me know if you are interested in reading 12 books in 12 months (or 13), just write me a little note in the comments! I'll write a dedicated post to the challenge and make a page on my blog to track my progress and list the people doing it with me :) We could even have a group of Shelfari!!

Until next time xox

/My NaNoWriMo Profile/

/Twitter/

Change of blog subject!

Hey guys. I've always been really stiff with my blog dynamic (I've had a lottttt of blogs) and I think that is why I never stick with it.
Seeing as I have about zero followers at this point it shouldn't disrupt anyone :3 haha.
This blog will be dedicated to writing and reading (and whatever I want!) from now on!

Privelege

by D.A. Clarke

privilege is simple:

going for a pleasant stroll after dark,

not checking the back of your car as you get in, sleeping soundly,

speaking without interruption, and not remembering

dreams of rape, that follow you all day, that woke you crying, and

privilege

is not seeing your stripped, humiliated body

plastered in celebration across every magazine rack, privilege

is going to the movies and not seeing yourself

terrorized, defamed, battered, butchered

seeing something else

privilege is

riding your bicycle across town without being screamed at or

run off the road, not needing an abortion, taking off your shirt

on a hot day, in a crowd, not wishing you could type better

just in case, not shaving your legs, having a decent job and

expecting to keep it, not feeling the boss's hand up your crotch,

dozing off on late-night busses, privilege

is being the hero in the TV show not the dumb broad,

living where your genitals are totemized not denied,

knowing your doctor won't rape you

privilege is being

smiled at all day by nice helpful women, it is

the way you pass judgment on their appearance with magisterial authority,

the way you face a judge of your own sex in court and

are over-represented in Congress and are not strip searched for a traffic ticket

or used as a dart board by your friendly mechanic, privilege

is seeing your bearded face reflected through the history texts

not only of your high school days but all your life, not being

relegated to a paragraph

every other chapter, the way you occupy

entire volumes of poetry and more than your share of the couch unchallenged,

it is your mouthing smug, atrocious insults at women

who blink and change the subject -- politely -- privilege

is how seldom the rapist's name appears in the papers

and the way you smirk over your PLAYBOY

it's simple really, privilege

means someone else's pain, your wealth

is my terror, your uniform

is a woman raped to death here, or in Cambodia or wherever

wherever your obscene privilege

writes your name in my blood, it's that simple,

you've always had it, that's why it doesn't

seem to make you sick to your stomach,

you have it, we pay for it, now

do you understand?

There are Many Roles present for the Post-Feminist Woman in Western Society

A report written by me, for college.

*

1        Introduction

Topic:
The role of Western women of the post-feminist era changes according to social situations and expectations.

1.1     Purpose
The purpose of this report is to discuss the different gender roles modern Western women fit into, and how they alter according to society’s expectations, with references to poetry, non-fiction and fictional material.

1.2     Background
Expectations of women change frequently – there has been a lot of progress in the feminist movement over the last century, but the modern woman still faces many challenges. There are many examples of these challenges present in literature and in the media.

1.3     This is a limited report, as it refers to 3 poems and 3 related materials, and mostly refers to women of the Western culture.

1.4     Information for this report has been sourced from ‘Adventures in Australian Poetry’, ‘The Beauty Myth’ by Naomi Wolf and a few other related materials.

2        Facts and Discussions

2.1     The Image of Beauty in our Society and How it Effects Women

In her 1991 book The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf argues that ‘no matter what a woman’s appearance may be, it will be used to undermine what she is saying’. This idea is somewhat conveyed in Yota Krili’s poem ‘To Autumn’, in which she refers to older women as ‘amber coloured leaves, discarded, in a society obsessed by the image of its adolescence’. In The Beauty Myth, Wolf implies that beauty, which is widely believed to empower women, actually suppresses women under the weight of their own insecurities. She says that it allows them to enter the workforce, but under controlled conditions. Wolf compares beauty to the economy, claiming that it is determined by politics and that beauty is the 'last, best belief system that keeps male dominance intact.

Women have always been objectified, even dehumanized by men. In 1988 DA Clarke wrote her most famous poem, entitled Privilege; in her poem she refers to the way men 'pass judgment on their (women's) appearance with magisterial authority', and to the way they 'smirk over their playboy'. Women feel pressured to live up to the standard of beauty present in our society. This pressure can lead to many serious mental health issues such as depression or eating disorders. Research on eating disorders is in its infancy, but according to the Eating Disorders Foundation of Victoria, 1 in 20 Australian women have admitted to having suffered from an eating disorder, and 1 in 4 individuals know someone who has an eating disorder. The average duration of anorexia is seven years. These statistics are far too high, and it is one of the many pieces of evidence that we are living in a society where women feel an intense pressure to be thin, as slimness is the modern standard of beauty.

2.2     The Privilege Men Have in our Society

The poem Privilege by DA Clarke features numerous examples of how men are privileged in our society. She points out many privileges of men, everything from 'dozing off on late night busses', to 'not remembering dreams of rape ... that woke you crying'.

Conversely, examples of women with privilege are present in the popular American television series Sex and the City. The show’s main character Carrie Bradshaw is a journalist for a fictional New York newspaper, in which she writes a column where she speaks openly about the usually taboo topic of female sexuality. Although Sex and the City features four strong, sexually liberated women, it can be argued that the shows central theme is their shared obsession with men. In one episode, the character of Miranda says, ‘How does it happen that four such smart women have nothing to talk about but boyfriends?’

DA Clarke begins her poem Privilege with the lines, ‘Privilege is simple’, and it is really. Gender-related income disparity is still present in every single country on earth. In the 1960s, a job seeking woman would open her newspaper to find two job categories: one for men and one for women. If she was lucky enough to obtain a job, she would be paid approximately 55 cents to every dollar a man would make doing the same work. It has been a little over one hundred years since New Zealand became the first country to give women voting rights. It was still widely believed at this time that women lacked the intelligence to make an informed decision about politics. Clarke ends the poem with the powerful line: 'You have it (privilege), we pay for it. Now do you understand?'

2.3     Violence Against Women

'Thou Shalt Not' by Zora cross is an Australian poem featuring a woman being stalked and murdered by a man who previously loved her. This is a reality many women have faced in a world full of men who believe they have a right to hurt women, or even take away their life, simply because they are weaker than them. 'Thou Shalt Not' gives the reader an eerie feel, and the defenselessness of the women and the irrationality of the man are prominent in the poem, with lines such as 'Death is creaking through the doors of air', 'a red, red knife for you' and 'Love’s a madman when he loves no more'.

Violence against women is prevalent in the media, which has massive impact on the attitudes and actions of the public. The Australian crime drama 'Underbelly' is filled with examples of violence against women, with rape, sexual harassment and physical abuse regularly inflicted upon the female characters. One episode features a prostitute offering to let a man beat her during sex.

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, 23% of women who have been married or in a de facto relationship have experienced violence at the hands of their partner, and 12% of women are currently experiencing violence and are living in fear. Almost half of all women surveyed reported violence being present in one of their past relationships. These statistics are troubling and send a clear message of many modern men's attitude towards women.

3        Conclusion

While there has been massive progress in the feminist movement over the last century, it is apparent that insecurity, inhibition and violence are still challenges modern women face every day. We live in a society that says a lot about equality, but rarely practices what it preaches.

Thou Shalt Not - A Short Story

I wrote this short story in College for English. Sadly, this is a partially-true story. It is all based on (my) real life, except for the death of the protagonist (of course).
This story is also based on the poem 'Thou Shalt Not' by the amazing and underrated Zora Cross.


 Love's a madman when he loves no more
- Zora Cross

*
A slither of light made its way through the partially opened curtain. Eerie shadows cast themselves across the ceiling, and the young woman lying on the bed watched them in a daze, sleep having eluded her.
        She tried to count the days she had been trapped in that house, but lately, days and nights seemed to have merged into one long period of nothingness, and it made keeping track of time impossible. Mostly she tried to keep her mind blank, because the more she attempted to count the hours, the more they seemed to drag on.
        Every now and then she contemplated escape; but when she envisioned the long stretch of house between the front door and herself, when she remembered all the risks involved, and what might happen to her if she were caught, the idea became both exhausting and terrifying, and she remained in her bed.
        In her mind, she replayed the events that brought her to this prison. She remembered the night she realized she was in love with another man, the man who was not her captor. She remembered their meeting in the motel room, where he told her he loved her too. She remembered sitting at the train station afterwards, silent under the weight of what they had done. She remembered the day, some weeks before, when her husband, discovered what had happened; he flew into a jealous rage and she'd been there ever since.
        She cast her thoughts back to the man she truly loved. She remembered the night he came to the door, and demanded to see her. She heard Him tell him that she'd run away, as she listened, too terrified to scream, from the room in which she was trapped, not by locks or by chains but by fear. She thought of how her love must now feel, believing she was out there somewhere, and hadn't bothered to contact him.
        And with this thought spurring her on, she rose from her bed.
        He didn't lock up the house too securely; he was so sure she wouldn’t gather the courage to run. She opened the bedroom door as quietly as she could and slipped into the hallway. She knew He would be asleep by now, and she made her way to the staircase.
        The echo of every footstep seemed to ricochet off the walls as loudly as gunfire; miles and miles seemed to stretch between her and her destination. She felt a presence watching her, but she ignored it, dismissing it as her imagination. She had to take this chance.
        Slowly, she crept down the stairs. The feeling of being watched intensified with every step she took. One step … the sight of Him, throwing her into the wall and demanding her to tell him if she was in love with another, played like a movie in her mind’s eye … two steps … she remembered him throwing her into the bedroom, holding a blade to her throat, telling him what he would do to her if she ever tried to leave …
        The sheer curtain rippled gently against the barred window, which seemed to be a source of protection when she first moved in, but now only seemed ironic. She remembered the mornings she’d spent sitting with her chin resting on the window-sill, her fingers curled delicately around the cold metal grills, watching the road beyond her front fence and imagining Her Love walking towards her, thinking maybe if she willed it enough he would come. She could see him as clearly as though he were in front of her; his sandy blonde hair falling into his blue eyes, which she had always likened to a set of mood rings, as they seemed to change in shade with his disposition. She remembered the grim greyish blue that met her gaze the last time she saw him, when she told him they could no longer see each other.
        She ascended the last few steps and her breath caught in her throat as the front door came into sight.
        As she padded barefoot across the cold tiles, it happened -- He had been there, watching her the entire time. There was a sudden flurry of movement, and her eyes darted back just in time to glimpse a quick flash of light reflect off the blade before it was plunged into her back.
        Crimson bled from her onto the floor as the early morning sun bled in through the window. Her last thoughts were not of Her Love, as she always would have thought they would be. This monster was the only thing on her mind as she drew her last breath, this final act of betrayal cutting her even deeper than her wound; her heart was full of love for her murderer, while his heart was only full of hate, and sin. 

Thou Shalt Not

by Zora Cross

[This poem is actually impossible to find on the internet! I finally did, on some obscure ten year old MSN blog lol ... I now forget the name of the blog. I originally found this in a compilation of poems my teacher made while I was studying English at college. As a survivor of domestic violence, it really speaks to me. I hope it speaks to you too.]


Woman, pausing on the marble stair,
Come down one . . . come down two;
Death is creaking through the doors of air,
And a red, red knife for you.


Woman, lying on the gleaming floor,
Warm the blade . . . cold your skin;
Love's a madman when he loves no more,
And a heart is hot with sin.