Iconoclast suggested that we check that we are allowed to be writing this blog, so we sent the following email to Brian Kiteley, the Author of The 3 a.m. Epiphany:
---
Dear Professor Kiteley,
We are writing to you about your book 'The 3 AM Epiphany'. We are a group of amateur writers who love your book, and enjoy sharing the exercises. To this end, we have recently started a blog - http://3amepiphanyproject.blogspot.com - on which we regularly post a challenge from your book, and our responses.
We have linked to your book on Amazon.com but it has just occurred to us that there may be copyright issues with posting the exercises, and we would like to find out what your feelings are on this.
Yours sincerely,
[Anistasya and The Iconoclast]
---
We were excited to recieve a response within hours:
---
Dear [Anistasya and The Iconoclast],
I am delighted you're doing this. I don't believe there are any copyright problems with the blog and using the language of the exercises, as long as you keep the link to the Amazon page fairly obvious.
Thanks for the kind remarks.
Best wishes,
Brian Kiteley, Professor and Associate Chair
English Department
University of Denver
---
We are very excited and more enthusiastic than ever. Here goes the next 190 exercises!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
And now for something completely different
The blog is in its second week now, although I'm sure it feels like longer when you're doing the challenges! This seems like a good time to give a bit of background on the contributors, so that we each have some idea of who we'll be sharing our writing with over the next few months.
Those of you who wish to do so, please feel free to leave a comment telling us about your interest in writing, why you're undertaking this challenge, and any other information you'd like us to know.
As a general note, we're a group of enthusiastic New Zealanders, scattered around the country, with varying degrees of experience and interest in writing, brought together by the beautiful Anistasya, who has already completed her first novel and the talented Nightfire, winner of more Nanowrimo's than should be allowed!
Those of you who wish to do so, please feel free to leave a comment telling us about your interest in writing, why you're undertaking this challenge, and any other information you'd like us to know.
As a general note, we're a group of enthusiastic New Zealanders, scattered around the country, with varying degrees of experience and interest in writing, brought together by the beautiful Anistasya, who has already completed her first novel and the talented Nightfire, winner of more Nanowrimo's than should be allowed!
Fan girl moment...
The book (The 3 a.m. Epiphany) is at my house at the moment and I have been reading around the posted challenges. This is seriously the coolest and most challenging writing book I have ever come across. The tagline reads "Uncommon Writing Exercises that Transform your Fiction" and it is so true. Even after having only done 10 of these, I am feeling so much more confident about the actual process of writing (as opposed to story creation). I really recommend that you guys get your own copy of the book when you can, because it's simply inspirational.
*hugs*
- Ani
*hugs*
- Ani
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Challenge 10: Mama's Smile
I remember when I thought mama was happy. She would smile and dance in circles around the ball room with my brother standing on her feet and I would laugh and clap. Papa would take over after a few songs, asking for a dance. He would take mama into his arms and kiss her cheek.
Do you think he loved her?
That would be sad. He always had a nice smile for her. He would tell her she is beautiful and she would sort of smile with that marble face and I would think ‘mama is not happy any more’.
The walls are listening to every word you say, so be careful when you visit. Mama isn’t happy any more. She paces the polished floors, scuffing them with her bare feet. Papa is gone too. Dead. That made me cry, a long time ago. Still makes me cry; when mama isn’t listening.
I remember when I liked Mama’s smile. When my brother showed her his painting, or when she tiptoed out of her bedroom in the middle of the night, down the cold floors, shivering in only a silk slip. The garden out the back of her palace, the one overlooking the golden falls. She would smile for him.
It’s not really that bad, is it? Dana said a lady can have as many special friends as she likes, as long as she is discrete. I asked if I could have a special friend, but she said, ‘absolutely not’. I asked my brother later, why not. He looked at me funny and then laughed. He said it was because I am crazy and no one would want to bed a crazy girl, even if she is pretty. I cried. Then later, I tried to kiss the gardener and he ran away. I cried some more, but mama didn’t care because she was busy. I went looking for her, trying to show her how sad I was. I found her in the hall with all the faces on the wall, staring down me.
Have you ever had a hundred wrinkly old stone women glaring at you at once? It is very scary. Especially when mama was yelling and papa was yelling and that other man was watching with a white face. He was saying, “Please’ a lot, but mama wasn’t listening. And then papa pulled out his sword and I thought he was going to kill the other man and to tell the truth, I was happy… and sad… because then mama would smile quite the same.
But he didn’t, did he?
I’ll never forget the way the metal of his blade went right through Papa’s own stomach and came out the back, like my morning knife in the cheese – except Dana will never let me hold a knife. She says it’s not safe.
Mama thinks she’s safe. She told me Papa killed himself because he was angry. She thinks I am a child and I will believe her, but I know magic and I am not a child. Mama told Papa to fall on his blade and that is what he did. He had no choice, did he?
Now Mama’s smile is wider, it has more teeth.
Wordcount: 537
Do you think he loved her?
That would be sad. He always had a nice smile for her. He would tell her she is beautiful and she would sort of smile with that marble face and I would think ‘mama is not happy any more’.
The walls are listening to every word you say, so be careful when you visit. Mama isn’t happy any more. She paces the polished floors, scuffing them with her bare feet. Papa is gone too. Dead. That made me cry, a long time ago. Still makes me cry; when mama isn’t listening.
I remember when I liked Mama’s smile. When my brother showed her his painting, or when she tiptoed out of her bedroom in the middle of the night, down the cold floors, shivering in only a silk slip. The garden out the back of her palace, the one overlooking the golden falls. She would smile for him.
It’s not really that bad, is it? Dana said a lady can have as many special friends as she likes, as long as she is discrete. I asked if I could have a special friend, but she said, ‘absolutely not’. I asked my brother later, why not. He looked at me funny and then laughed. He said it was because I am crazy and no one would want to bed a crazy girl, even if she is pretty. I cried. Then later, I tried to kiss the gardener and he ran away. I cried some more, but mama didn’t care because she was busy. I went looking for her, trying to show her how sad I was. I found her in the hall with all the faces on the wall, staring down me.
Have you ever had a hundred wrinkly old stone women glaring at you at once? It is very scary. Especially when mama was yelling and papa was yelling and that other man was watching with a white face. He was saying, “Please’ a lot, but mama wasn’t listening. And then papa pulled out his sword and I thought he was going to kill the other man and to tell the truth, I was happy… and sad… because then mama would smile quite the same.
But he didn’t, did he?
I’ll never forget the way the metal of his blade went right through Papa’s own stomach and came out the back, like my morning knife in the cheese – except Dana will never let me hold a knife. She says it’s not safe.
Mama thinks she’s safe. She told me Papa killed himself because he was angry. She thinks I am a child and I will believe her, but I know magic and I am not a child. Mama told Papa to fall on his blade and that is what he did. He had no choice, did he?
Now Mama’s smile is wider, it has more teeth.
Wordcount: 537
Friday, January 29, 2010
Challenge 10
The Ironist
Create an observer of events outside his/her own experience, someone who knows more than she lets on, who jokes with us (the readers) but who also indirectly reveals a complex reading of the events she is describing. In Greek comedy, the character eiron was a dissembler, who spoke in understatement and pretended to be less intelligent than he was. This will be like the unreliable narrator, except that this character is aware they are telling 'tall tales'.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Create an observer of events outside his/her own experience, someone who knows more than she lets on, who jokes with us (the readers) but who also indirectly reveals a complex reading of the events she is describing. In Greek comedy, the character eiron was a dissembler, who spoke in understatement and pretended to be less intelligent than he was. This will be like the unreliable narrator, except that this character is aware they are telling 'tall tales'.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Challenge 9: Empress Zhangsun
In the year 613, somewhere in the north of China, the young Lady Zhangsun peers through the shutters of her study at commotion in the courtyard below. Her uncle is home, and he has brought guests. She does not recognize them, nor does she expect to, but rumour among the servants for several days has been ripe. Uncle is impressed with one of the young men training under him. He has given her to him as wife.
She watches the men dismount, the servants leading away those fierce looking stallions. Four men, besides her Uncle, are left. The older is at least her uncle’s age, large around the middle with an easy laugh. He is surely the young man’s father. The next is a man, tall and proud. He has seen more than twenty summers compared with her mere twelve. Her hands clasp together, hidden beneath the sleeves of her silk shawl. The sight of him sends a tremor of fear through her and she pulls back from the window, scolding herself under her breath.
“You must be a good wife to whomever Uncle picks.”
She returns to her desk and retrieves a piece of paper from the drawer. She smoothes it down, holding it in place with the special rods, and then, slowly, dips her brush into the well of ink. Holding back her sleeve, she practices her words of the day.
僩
Xian. Courageous and valiant.
孝道
Xiao dao. Filial piety.
She looks up from the page when one of her ladies, Xiaoyu, arrives, curtsies, and announces that the Lady has been summoned. Lady Zhangsun gives the girl her warmest nod, carefully setting down her brush and leaving the words to dry.
The pavilion she has been summoned to is vast, floors of polished wood, walls open to the surrounding garden and lakes. Beautiful lakes with herons and golden trout are the pride of the Gao household. Before she arrived, Gao was concluding his negotiations with the general Li Yuan, his honoured guest, and entertaining Li’s three sons. Now, they are gone and the young Lady Zhangsun and her mother kneel, prostrate, before Gao Shilian, awaiting news of his decision.
“I am impressed by Li Yuan’s boy, Li Shimin,” Gao speaks, almost to himself. “He has shown great courage and piety. He has the heart of a leader. You will marry him, my niece. Bring honor to your family and please him, and he will care for you well. He is an honourable man.”
Zhangsun bows, her head pressing against the floor, heart pounding, but no one can hear it. What does he look like? Is he kind? It will be a month, perhaps more, before the wedding is held. A long time to practice patience.
Mother and daughter rise, bowing their way out of the pavilion. Alone again, Zhangsun prepares tea for her mother, holding back the questions burning within. When she is ready, the Lady Gao says, “My brother has been kind to us and you have blossomed under his roof. Continue to act as I have taught and you will bring great honor to your family. Always obey your husband and respect him, and he will treat you well. Respect and treat your servants well and they will love you. Live within your means, and no one shall have power over you or your house.”
Zhangsun pours the tea, focusing on the flow of liquid into the cups, allowing the scent and the steam to fill her lungs.
“It will be as you say, mother.”
The wedding comes far sooner than she expects, a blur or anticipation, colour, music heard through veils and curtains until that one final moment when she sees him for the first time. He is not the man she was expecting. This boy is fourteen, fifteen perhaps, with shimmering, deep brown eyes, terrified, just like her. All at once, her back straightens and she allows the hint of a smile.
It will be all right. She says with her eyes. He almost smiles back, slipping his hand over hers, claiming her as his own. It will be another thirteen years before they rule China. He will have many other concubines, gifts from families and countries paying tribute to the Golden Empire, but he will never love them as fiercely as he loves her. No other death will devastate him as much as losing her.
Lady Zhangsun was, and still is, one of the kindest and most loved Empresses of China.
Wordcount: 752
She watches the men dismount, the servants leading away those fierce looking stallions. Four men, besides her Uncle, are left. The older is at least her uncle’s age, large around the middle with an easy laugh. He is surely the young man’s father. The next is a man, tall and proud. He has seen more than twenty summers compared with her mere twelve. Her hands clasp together, hidden beneath the sleeves of her silk shawl. The sight of him sends a tremor of fear through her and she pulls back from the window, scolding herself under her breath.
“You must be a good wife to whomever Uncle picks.”
She returns to her desk and retrieves a piece of paper from the drawer. She smoothes it down, holding it in place with the special rods, and then, slowly, dips her brush into the well of ink. Holding back her sleeve, she practices her words of the day.
僩
Xian. Courageous and valiant.
孝道
Xiao dao. Filial piety.
She looks up from the page when one of her ladies, Xiaoyu, arrives, curtsies, and announces that the Lady has been summoned. Lady Zhangsun gives the girl her warmest nod, carefully setting down her brush and leaving the words to dry.
The pavilion she has been summoned to is vast, floors of polished wood, walls open to the surrounding garden and lakes. Beautiful lakes with herons and golden trout are the pride of the Gao household. Before she arrived, Gao was concluding his negotiations with the general Li Yuan, his honoured guest, and entertaining Li’s three sons. Now, they are gone and the young Lady Zhangsun and her mother kneel, prostrate, before Gao Shilian, awaiting news of his decision.
“I am impressed by Li Yuan’s boy, Li Shimin,” Gao speaks, almost to himself. “He has shown great courage and piety. He has the heart of a leader. You will marry him, my niece. Bring honor to your family and please him, and he will care for you well. He is an honourable man.”
Zhangsun bows, her head pressing against the floor, heart pounding, but no one can hear it. What does he look like? Is he kind? It will be a month, perhaps more, before the wedding is held. A long time to practice patience.
Mother and daughter rise, bowing their way out of the pavilion. Alone again, Zhangsun prepares tea for her mother, holding back the questions burning within. When she is ready, the Lady Gao says, “My brother has been kind to us and you have blossomed under his roof. Continue to act as I have taught and you will bring great honor to your family. Always obey your husband and respect him, and he will treat you well. Respect and treat your servants well and they will love you. Live within your means, and no one shall have power over you or your house.”
Zhangsun pours the tea, focusing on the flow of liquid into the cups, allowing the scent and the steam to fill her lungs.
“It will be as you say, mother.”
The wedding comes far sooner than she expects, a blur or anticipation, colour, music heard through veils and curtains until that one final moment when she sees him for the first time. He is not the man she was expecting. This boy is fourteen, fifteen perhaps, with shimmering, deep brown eyes, terrified, just like her. All at once, her back straightens and she allows the hint of a smile.
It will be all right. She says with her eyes. He almost smiles back, slipping his hand over hers, claiming her as his own. It will be another thirteen years before they rule China. He will have many other concubines, gifts from families and countries paying tribute to the Golden Empire, but he will never love them as fiercely as he loves her. No other death will devastate him as much as losing her.
Lady Zhangsun was, and still is, one of the kindest and most loved Empresses of China.
Wordcount: 752
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Challenge 9
Historical omniscience
Write about an event set well in the past. Write from above, as if by means of researched opinion (doing a little actual research can't hurt). By this, I mean write about several historical characters or an interesting event, imagining any POV you want.
Wordcount: 700 (+/- 10%)
* Note: Historians often have access to letters, emails, journals, memoirs and interviews. They sew together fragments of information into a whole cloth, hence becoming as subjective as any novelist.
Write about an event set well in the past. Write from above, as if by means of researched opinion (doing a little actual research can't hurt). By this, I mean write about several historical characters or an interesting event, imagining any POV you want.
Wordcount: 700 (+/- 10%)
* Note: Historians often have access to letters, emails, journals, memoirs and interviews. They sew together fragments of information into a whole cloth, hence becoming as subjective as any novelist.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)