Writing Exercise IV: Babies and Beer

“At night I feed him another bottle of milk and a jar of baby food. Maybe I should just feed him when he’s hungry," she says, sipping from her Corona while her blue-eyed baby boy sucks at a bottle from her lap. “You can play again with your little friend,” she says in a baby voice, gesturing across the café table. “Maybe she’ll let you use her Jumparoo again!”

“Yes, she’s a little dancer,” the other mother agrees. Her own infant daughter stands on her mom’s thighs, her stubby arms waving like propellers on a toy plane.

It’s all small talk over baguettes and beer. They’ve got ponytails and fashionable sunglasses and matching power strollers. They’ve stuffed the diaper bags—one of blue leather with large silver loops—underneath removable car seats.

The little girl protests with a high-pitched wail.

“You’re tired. I know. It’s a tough life,” her mother answers.

I adapted the piece above for an assignment for my MFA Writing Workshop at University of San Francisco: Create a short scene from a dialogue you heard, no more than 150 words.

I eavesdropped on this conversation while at a cafe in Marin, taking notes on words, gestures, descriptive "status markers" and tone. The challenge is in the compression.

My professor, Lowell Cohn, said "This is very effective. I love the tone and the details--the Corona, the power strollers, baguettes and beer."

Happy Mother's Day!

Writing Exercise III: describe a room

The bedroom was on the second floor, a small room in an old house in Ohio, a doll's house painted white over red brick like all the others. Two long windows overlooked the front yard, and when it snowed the branches of the cherry tree that blossomed in spring went white. The bedroom had no lock--it wasn't allowed. The room was wallpapered with tiny pink flower bouquets that decorated the twin bedspread, the dust ruffle on the nightstand, and the white eyelet curtains that looked out. The only toys were a collection of little dolls from different lands. Each stared, unblinking, from a shelf, each held up by her own stand that pinched slightly at the waist. To sleep in that room was to imagine oneself among them.

I adapted the piece above for an assignment for my MFA Writing Workshop at University of San Francisco: Write a description of a room, no more than 150 words. A sample from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was given, upon which the structure of my excerpt was loosely modeled.

My professor, Lowell Cohn, said "the bedroom had no lock--it wasn't allowed" was the 'operative phrase'. The room I describe is my aunt's childhood room, which remained largely unchanged in my grandparents' home for 60 or so years until the house was recently sold. The new owner called it a little doll house. Whether or not a lock was ever allowed, I'm not certain. But the door wouldn't fully shut.

My Nana required that I sleep in that room in the same bed it always had, then sagging, whenever I visited. The little dolls were always there, accompanied by an oppressive and foreign sense I felt in that house. The only things I kept were the Russian dolls, along with some of my Nana's clothes, including this eyelet hat.

Dear Reader: Try it! Write a description of a room with a unique perspective. Send it my way and I'll post it. (Look at the prior post and future posts for more exercises.)

Writing Exercise II: Write an opening paragraph and grab the reader

"You look really sexy with your hair down," he says from the pool. "You should wear it like that more often." That's when I realize he's been watching me lay the bobby pins on the glass patio table after unwinding the bun. I know everyone who lives along the tree-lined paths of the townhouses surrounding the communal pool. But I've never seen this man before. I take odd jobs babysitting, washing cars, cleaning houses, watering plants--even putting on the pool cover at night. Each afternoon I strip off my ballet leotard, put on a bathing suit and dive into the water, away from the summer heat. But today is different. I'm used to adults telling my parents you have a beautiful daughter, but no one has ever called me sexy.

I adapted the piece above for an assignment for my MFA Writing Workshop at University of San Francisco: Write a first paragraph, no more than 150 words. (Draw the reader into the story with dramatic action and characters in a setting.)

My professor, Lowell Cohn, wrote: "Terrific opening. Good that you started with the quote. Powerful last line. Could lead to a delightfully creepy novel." (Well, in this case it would be "memoir" about a series of male perpetrators I encountered who preyed upon 4th to 6th grade girls. I wouldn't mind fictionalizing it for a short story though.)

Dear Reader: Try it! Write a first paragraph that makes the reader want more. Send it my way and I'll post it. (Look at the prior post and future posts for more exercises.)

Writing Exercise I: write a character description in relation to a physical object

The trunk clicked open with a barely audible sigh, like everything in the Lexis. Even the beige leather seats warmed at the touch of a button. My father pulled out two rackets first, handed one to me, then rummaged for the rest. From the blue TWA bag with the broken zipper, he grabbed an old towel. Its edges were torn like his tennis shirt--that one with the little hole that had gradually gotten bigger. Pulling a salt-encrusted visor tight over his balding head, he gazed out at the empty court. He was about to retire. He'd keep the company car.

I wrote the piece above for an assignment for my MFA Writing Workshop at University of San Francisco: Write a paragraph, no more than 150 words, that describes a character through a physical object.

My professor, Lowell Cohn, wrote: "The car implies luxury and the good life. The ending is unexpected and terrific." I wrote the piece about my dad, who retired early in life. Though he has lived a rather luxurious life, it is in part due to his frugality and lack of value placed on material goods (note the torn shirt, frayed towel and broken bag). He's the kind of guy who chooses a restaurant based on a soon-to-expire coupon, right before leaving for the tennis open in Australia! I wanted to capture that contradiction.

Dear Reader: Try it! If you send it my way I'll post it.

Writing Words of Inspiration

Out my office window the little lambs are frolicking over spring green hills this dewy morning. (That's February in California.) I've got a full day of writing ahead, so I thought I'd first share some quotes of inspiration to get motivated.

"I would rather be tortured by writing than be tortured by guilt... One of the things that makes me keep writing is the fear that one day I won't be a writer... And I know that the only way that good things continue to happen for me is to write, to get your butt in the chair and to write." --- novelist Harlan Coben, in a January, 2011 Writer's Digest interview

"You can do anything you want. It just has to work." --sports writer and professor Lowell Cohn,  teaching a USF writing workshop, regarding the 'rules' of writing

"When you sit down to write, remind yourself that, for the duration of your writing time, you are in charge of your life." -- writer and professor Jane Anne Staw, from her book Unstuck: A Supportive and Practical Guide to Working Through Writer's Block

"No matter what happens after this, I've made something, and it will always be mine. And now it's yours, whoever you are who will read my book..." --writer Jenny Shank, from her article "The Ham-and-Egger" in a Poets & Writers 'Why We Write' column, Feb. 2011 issue

Dear Reader:
What are you writing today? What words inspire you to continue?

First Friday Author Feature: Lowell Cohn

Lowell Cohn, author and sports columnist for over three decades, broke into journalism while he was still in his twenties. The son of a lawyer and a teacher, he remembers sitting in his parents' kitchen to write about playing punch ball ("like a tennis ball without the fuzz") at Avenue L  -- "one of x number of Brooklyn playgrounds that looked alike: a cyclone fence, wading pool and three to four trees around a concrete slab." His mother questioned what he was doing and his father offered to put him through law school. But when he sold the story to Sports Illustrated for $500, his writing career was launched.

Though he never took a writing class, Cohn has been teaching writing part-time at USF for over twenty years. As the guest speaker in my Research for Writing class this week, Cohn shared his expertise on interviewing. He urged us to approach our subjects with professionalism, despite sometimes feeling "like a fraud." He modeled how to be persistent, establish authority and lead an interview without being too accommodating or abrasive. Then the tables turned, and we practiced interviewing him.