“The Fifth Story” by Clarice Lispector
Write a story about dealing
with or coping with something you are afraid of. Create a controlling image (or images) that embody the fear and/or how it is coped or dealt with. (If you'd rather not deal (or cope) with fear, deal with another strong emotion like love or joy or sadness or worry.) Then write at least
four variations of that story that do not contradict the first story:
add on, take away, focus on different aspects of the story (writing
style, perspectives, tone, pacing, psychological detail, suggestive
imagery, symbolic imagery, setting…). Give the overall story and the
variations different titles. (The titles can be incorporated in the
story.)
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Friday, February 7, 2014
Exercise #4 and #5: "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place"
#4 (Friday)
Read the following story.
Then, with Hemingway's story in mind create an exercise that has at least three "rules." When creating rules think about what Hemingway does in the story. How does he use language? Words? Sentences? What's the narrator like? How does he use dialogue? What's the conflict? How does he create characters? Observing characters? Characters who are observed? What else do you notice?
Then, a write a short-short story (200-1000) words using that exercise.
#5 (Monday)
After writing a story using your own prompt. Swap prompts with someone else in the class. Write a short-short story using someone else's prompt.
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place
BY
ERNEST HEMINGWAY
It was very late and everyone
had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the leaves of the
tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but
at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he
was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two
waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he
was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without
paying, so they kept watch on him.
"Last week he tried to
commit suicide," one waiter said.
"Why?"
"He was in despair."
"What about?"
"Nothing."
"How do you know it was nothing?"
"He has plenty of money."
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.
"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago."
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.
"What do you want?"
The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.
"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.
"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.
"He's drunk now," he said.
"He's drunk every night."
"What did he want to kill himself for?"
"How should I know."
"How did he do it?"
"He hung himself with a rope."
"Who cut him down?"
"His niece."
"Why did they do it?"
"Fear for his soul."
"How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty."
"He must be eighty years old."
"Anyway I should say he was eighty."
"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?"
"He stays up because he likes it."
"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
"He had a wife once too."
"A wife would be no good to him now."
"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
"His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."
"I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him."
"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work."
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.
"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight. Close now."
"Another," said the old man.
"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.
"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. "It is not half-past two."
"I want to go home to bed."
"What is an hour?"
"More to me than to him."
"An hour is the same."
"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry.
"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, hombre, only to make a joke."
"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence."
"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have everything."
"And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
"You have everything I have."
"No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."
"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
"I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe," the older waiter said.
"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night."
"I want to go home and into bed."
"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the cafe."
"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."
"Good night," said the younger waiter.
"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself, It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived init and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
"What's yours?" asked the barman.
"Nada."
"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
"A little cup," said the waiter.
The barman poured it for him.
"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished, "the waiter said.
The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
"You want another copita?" the barman asked.
"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it.
"Why?"
"He was in despair."
"What about?"
"Nothing."
"How do you know it was nothing?"
"He has plenty of money."
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street. The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and hurried beside him.
"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago."
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over to him.
"What do you want?"
The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.
"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.
"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile. "Thank you," the old man said. The waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.
"He's drunk now," he said.
"He's drunk every night."
"What did he want to kill himself for?"
"How should I know."
"How did he do it?"
"He hung himself with a rope."
"Who cut him down?"
"His niece."
"Why did they do it?"
"Fear for his soul."
"How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty."
"He must be eighty years old."
"Anyway I should say he was eighty."
"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go to bed?"
"He stays up because he likes it."
"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
"He had a wife once too."
"A wife would be no good to him now."
"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
"His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."
"I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him."
"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work."
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.
"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight. Close now."
"Another," said the old man.
"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.
"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. "It is not half-past two."
"I want to go home to bed."
"What is an hour?"
"More to me than to him."
"An hour is the same."
"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a hurry.
"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, hombre, only to make a joke."
"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I have confidence. I am all confidence."
"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have everything."
"And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
"You have everything I have."
"No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."
"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
"I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe," the older waiter said.
"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night."
"I want to go home and into bed."
"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the cafe."
"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."
"Good night," said the younger waiter.
"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself, It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived init and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
"What's yours?" asked the barman.
"Nada."
"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
"A little cup," said the waiter.
The barman poured it for him.
"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished, "the waiter said.
The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
"You want another copita?" the barman asked.
"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Microfiction exercises (#1, #2, & #3)
# 3 Read this. Then, do the writing exercise below.
***
Waiting
by
Peggy McNally
Five
days a week the lowest-paid substitute teacher in the district drives her
father’s used Mercury to Hough and 79th, where she eases it, mud
flaps and all, down the ramp into the garage of Patrick Henry Junior High, a
school where she’ll teach back-to-back classes without so much as a coffee
break and all of this depressing her until she remembers her date last night,
and hopes it might lead to bigger things, maybe love, so she quickens her pace
towards the main office to pick up her class lists with the names of students
she’ll never know as well as she has come to know the specials in the
cafeteria, where she hopes the coffee will be perking and someone will have
brought in those doughnuts she’s come to love so much, loves more than the idea
of teaching seventh-graders the meaning of a poem, because after all she’s a
sub who’ll finish her day, head south to her father’s house, and at dinner,
he’ll ask her how her job is going, and she’ll say okay, and he’ll remind her
that it might lead to a full-time position with benefits but she knows what
teaching in that school is like, and her date from last night calls to ask if
she’s busy and she says yes because she’s promised her father she’d wash his
car and promises to her father are sacred since her mother died, besides it’s
the least she can do now that he lets her drive his car five days a week toward
the big lake, to the NE corner of Hough and 79th and you know the
rest.
***
Write a single sentence story about a day in the life of one of your characters. Give the character conflicting desires. (In "Waiting," she wants to take care of her father and she wants a romantic relationship. These desires are in conflict.) Put the character into what for him or her is a normal, ordinary situation, but make it vivid with lots of detail. Using one sentence write about the day. Try to stretch the sentence out without violating rules about grammar and punctuation.
**********************
#2
Turn your #1 story into six six-word stories.
#1
Pre-writing
Think of someone you've seen in school whom you don't know well but are intrigued by.
Think of someone you've seen outside of school whom you don't know well but are intrigued by.
(You might want to describe the characters before starting to write your story. You might not.)
Think of something--tangible or intangible--that the school character wants.
Think of something--tangible or intangible--that the outside of school character wants.
(You might want to write down what each character wants before starting to write your story. You might want to discover this as you write your story.)
Put the two into a situation in which the two desires are directly or indirectly, explicitly or implicitly in conflict.
(You might want to describe the situation and setting before starting to write your story. You might not.)
Writing
Write a short short story (200 - 1000 words) about what happens with the characters in the situation.
**********************
#2
Turn your #1 story into six six-word stories.
#1
Pre-writing
Think of someone you've seen in school whom you don't know well but are intrigued by.
Think of someone you've seen outside of school whom you don't know well but are intrigued by.
(You might want to describe the characters before starting to write your story. You might not.)
Think of something--tangible or intangible--that the school character wants.
Think of something--tangible or intangible--that the outside of school character wants.
(You might want to write down what each character wants before starting to write your story. You might want to discover this as you write your story.)
Put the two into a situation in which the two desires are directly or indirectly, explicitly or implicitly in conflict.
(You might want to describe the situation and setting before starting to write your story. You might not.)
Writing
Write a short short story (200 - 1000 words) about what happens with the characters in the situation.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Helen Creeley Student Poetry Prize
Click here for information about the prize.
($100 and miscellaneous swag.)
Click here to enter three to five poems.
($100 and miscellaneous swag.)
Click here to enter three to five poems.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Scholastic Art and Writing Awards
DEADLINE HAS PASSED.
3 Steps to Enter
1. REGISTER
Create an account at artandwriting.org/Registration.
2. UPLOAD ALL YOUR WORKS
Once you have logged in, follow the instructions to upload all of your submissions into the system. Every category has specific requirements so please read the Guidelines and Category Descriptions carefully. Note that you will need your teacher's email address.
3. SEND IN THE REQUIRED FORMS
Your application is not complete until you mail or drop-off your signed submission forms and payment (if applicable) according to the instructions below.
Submission Fee
Individual submissions are $5.00 per piecePortfolio submissions are $20.00 per portfolio
Mailing Address
Scholastic Writing Awardsc/o School of the Museum of Fine Arts
Admissions Office
230 The Fenway
Boston, MA 02115
http://www.artandwriting.org/affiliate/MA001W
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Another Publishing Opportunity
Here's an excerpt from a letter I got from a high school literature and art magazine:
"The Marble Collection: Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts is once again looking for creative arts submissions for our next publication.
TMC publishes non-fiction, fiction, poetry, art, photography, video, and music in both print and digital formats. We would like to inspire you to encourage your students to submit their art in all forms to be published in our Winter 2014 Issue!
Please also spread the word to all your coworkers, friends and peers. Any student of a Massachusetts secondary school will be considered for publication.
You can read our guidelines, publication schedule, and selection process, as well as how to submit at: www.themarblecollection.org/submit."
Here are the submission guidelines for literature:
"The Marble Collection: Massachusetts High School Magazine of the Arts is once again looking for creative arts submissions for our next publication.
TMC publishes non-fiction, fiction, poetry, art, photography, video, and music in both print and digital formats. We would like to inspire you to encourage your students to submit their art in all forms to be published in our Winter 2014 Issue!
Please also spread the word to all your coworkers, friends and peers. Any student of a Massachusetts secondary school will be considered for publication.
You can read our guidelines, publication schedule, and selection process, as well as how to submit at: www.themarblecollection.org/submit."
Here are the submission guidelines for literature:
Submission Guidelines
Literature Guidelines
TMC publishes the finest student literary works in fiction, non-fiction (creative or academic), and poetry. Material length, style, and subject matter are entirely up to the author. We do not impose word limits; however, the quality of the piece must justify the space it takes up in the magazine. Notify us if your work is chosen for publication elsewhere as we do not print previously published work(s).- There is a limit of 4 literature submissions per student per year. Submissions received between September 1st and January 1st will be considered for the winter edition; submissions received thereafter will be considered for the spring edition.
- The only formats we accept are DOCX, DOC, DOTX, DOT, RTF, and TXT.
- Do not send duplicate submissions; take care that the work you submit is the final draft.
- Do not send submissions via email; submit online only.
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