I've been to two Creative Writing classes now & I am definitely enjoying them. Thus far we have been given a few exercise to do in class. Once everyone has written on the 'topic' for 10 minutes you can choose to read to the class, summarize your writing or pass on it. Believe it or not, I haven't passed... I haven't summarized... I've read all the things I've written.
Our first class started with introductions and answers to the questions of "why are you here?" & "what do you want to get out of this class?". Several people wanted to learn more so they could continue or start to write novels. Someone just wanted more instruction on the 'how to's' in creative writing. I just wanted some sparks to push along the written creative word. I didn't tell everyone I also want to write the Great American Novel and become rich... getting screenplay offers & having to move to New York or California to further my career.
"Hi, my name is Amie. I'm a graphic designer. I have a blog. I need more ideas. It's hard to be creative 24/7."
This class is a great environment to be in - one where you aren't judged on content & grammar & 'the point of it all'. We all know we were only given 10 minutes to write. No masterpiece is likely to come from that little time. (Doesn't stop me from hoping though!)
We also listen to the instructor read passages from books that she feels are examples of the 'theme' for the day. Granted, I don't 'get' some of these stories, but I am eager to put these new thoughts & skills to use.
Our first class started with us making a list of things we were 'obsessed' with. (I'm sure you aren't surprised to hear the first thing on my list was 'pens'). There were other things on the list, but i won't bore you with those details.
The second class started with the class making a list of people who had made an impression on our lives. This 'impression' could have been good or bad. We're never told what we will take of these names, so we blindly make a list.
The instructor: "Now that you have your list, pick your 'character' and write about them in such a way so we will learn about him."
Ok... here goes nothing.
He knew he should have left the house hours earlier. Of course he did—everyone told him so. He thought there’d be enough time—he knew his way there and even an alternate if he needed it!
But today was not his day. They were starting the game—well, at least the pre-game rituals—players warming up, fans loading their arms with the most expensive beer & hot dogs and the Star Spangled Banner being sung—all without him.
Pounding his fist on the steering wheel & calling all slow drivers by made-up vulgar words did nothing to speed up the traffic. The Red Sox would play without him. Play they would, but not very well, not without him.
He listened to the game start over his car speakers, imagining the field as the players took their places. He’d been to so many games every nook & cranny of the area of memorized. Despite his irritation at being caught in traffic and missing the start of the game, he couldn’t help but cheer on his team. He knew they needed his support. He was, in his mind perhaps, their biggest fan.
He arrived at the stadium 30 minutes into the game and hadn’t missed a moment of the action thanks to the radio. However, faced with the long trek from the parking lot to his well-worn seat overlooking third base, he paused. What would he miss? He just knew they’d make the best play of the night in the time it took him to settle in with the rest of the fans. Perhaps he should stay in the car and listen to the rest of the game from there. No, he was their biggest fan and they needed him… he started running.