Story, story, story – what makes a good story?

I wrote a piece last week and the class workshopped it.I wrote this piece to be imperfect.

I am not perfect, and I am a bit scrappy. I am serious about my writing, but I am not overly-serious about it. And there is a point in which you have to let go of being super serious in these courses. You will get burned out.

A friend and I were talking about this – and I think that is a legit understated point about being in these courses is at some point, bring down the meter and have fun.

Noting, I want to learn and to make it better. I am also quite aware of the talent in the room, and there will be folks that are ten times better than I will ever be.

Yet, I am not an imposter. I have my voice which is different than any other voice. That’s what each of us brings to this world, right.

Foundation of the workshop is that we focus on the strong elements and ways in which to make them stronger. You also can’t speak for majority of the time except at the end. A very good practice in listening and taking constructive criticism.

Back to the class –

The piece had tension and their was a little bit of chaos in it. I wrote some perfect rhymes, but then I wrote slant rhymes. I didn’t write perfect meter – too perfect. Too pristine.

“Why?” asked a classmate.

“I didn’t want to.”

I wanted to strip it down to keep the tension tight, little dialogue – holding it. My prof laughed. I felt it didn’t make sense for the piece.

I also have been obsessed with What would you do moments – small moments, not big dramatic moments. I think sometimes it can more telling of a character.

I don’t like characters dying or I should say killing them off for the sakes of getting rid of them. I think that’s the easy way out. What happens on the way to the funeral of an estranged family member between the siblings, the parents, step-parents, aunts, uncles, alike is more interesting.

Let’s take from a personal narrative story:

When my dad’s mom passed, my mom’s parents came to the funeral. I was twenty at the time. They all knew each other – and at the funeral’s reception.

“Carol, Carol, I brought these from home.”

“What are they?” my mom asks. She is Carol.

My grandma stands up and walks over between the narrow aisles seperating the long metal tables and extends her arm out to my mom. “I was going through some things at home, and here – these are yours. I don’t need these.”

My grandma passes my mom a brown paper bag. My mom is sitting next to my dad at the reception table, and she starts rummaging through the bag and pulls out pictures of she and her sister. Baby pictures.

My mom replies, “Pictures . . . . ”

My grandma flings her hands, shoes the bag away, and goes back to her table.

My mom sits down, starts crying, while my dad comforts her.

Sitting across my mom I say under my breath – you fucking bitch.

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Growing up, my grandparents on my mom’s side came and went every three years. When I was really sick, they never said boo to my parents. My mom said they showed up when I was around three.

One day when I was like 10 or 11, I picked up the phone, and this voice on the other end was asking for my mother. I didn’t know right away who it was, because it had been a few years.

“Don’t you know who this is, Tessa?

I stood there holding the phone to my ear. I heard a familiar voice but in a lower key. Aged, haggard, a needing of a clearing.

The tone. I could feel the pressure rise from my chest to my throat.

“Don’t you know who this is?”

I mumbled a “yeah” and mouthed the word grandma to my brother.

My brother sprang up and ran downstairs to get mom quick.

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Story – what makes a good story?

Heart

Character.

Voice.

Dialogue.

The character’s inner story, build elements around the inner to the outer.

Tension.

A gasp.

You got your story.

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Allow wickedness fall to the floor and be swept out with the dust from the night before.

Allow the sureness of fortunate encounters – heartfelt, bright, vibrant surround you.

My grandma one of the most wicked people I have known and met. My mother’s unfortunate weight to carry and tear off. She did well, considering the source. And she kept grandma away from my brother and I as much as she could, trying to hang on herself.

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Lisa Cron – two great books for crafting story:

Much love to you and to you and to you.