Another few exercises for practicing Post Modernism writing techniques bring us deep into the mind of the characters. March 14th, 2016
Scenario: We chose a photograph (I didn't snag a picture like I usually do) and had to get deep within the head of the character.
Why am I always stuck carrying the stupid baby? I don't even like kids. Sergei thought as he rested the baby against his knee, propped up lazily on a lamp post. The light wouldn't turn red--it was nearly 5 o'clock rush hour--he'd be stuck at the light forever.
The little girl squirmed in his arms, snot-crusted nose red from the cold. Her little fingers were like sausages. As he saw it: he was doing the little girl a mercy by taking her away from her parents who overfed her. She'd be safer where she was going. And warmer and well paid. Her green eyes would fetch double on the market, a beautiful contrast to her brown hair.
I really wish I had a copy of the photograph. The man in the photograph didn't steal the baby, but my character did.
March 16th, 2016
We returned to a previous story to discuss the movement of Fabulism. Fabulism comes from fable and fabulist (not fabulous). It is essentially taking the "normal" and infusing it with something weird, something that should not be normal, and how people deal with it. Fabulism takes reality and twists it. It makes you question what you see and what you believe. It forces us to stop suspending our disbelief, to realize that fiction is fiction and that it is addressing you.
Scenario: Stay in your former style and then break it. Story: The Devil Loves Banana Bread
James used a high-end kitchen knife to cut the duct tape from Gabriel's wrists. The angel's pale skin would be bruised and bloodied for a day or so but he'd survive.
The door bell rang. James dropped Gabriel to the ground. The angel cursed loudly upon impact. The roof of the house peeled back as soon as the words left the angel's lips. Bright, blinding light filled the apartment. James' wondered what happened to the upstairs neighbors but the thoughts were burned from his mind with the light. A voice made his ears bleed and the angel's gorgeous eyes open wide.
"Gabriel," James' nose began to bleed profusely, "don't use such extreme language." The light ceased and the roof crashed down overhead.
James wiped away the blood with a shaking hand. The fire alarm began blaring--his banana bread was burning. Smoke billowed out from the oven--purple and glittering with hearts and yellow smiley faces and something that looked like an exclamation mark. James snatched the exclamation mark from the air, threw a smiley face so it hit the rising Gabriel in the stomach and pulled the point over his own head. He grabbed a bright green oven mit in the shape of a marijuana leaf and threw open the oven.
Lucifer coughed politely.
"Your upstairs neighbor is a dick."
"He is the worst." James said, waving another mit in the air to clear the smoke.
Gabriel finally rose to his feet, just in time to watch Lucifer rise form the couch and dance gracefully to the kitchen. He produced a fire extinguisher from the air--a curious one that matched red-black plaid shirt.