ThoughtTree ‘Kick Start’ Session 08/07/2016 with Debs
Developing character and tension
First Writing Exercise.
Think about a very close childhood school friend. You may or may not still have contact with this friend; this does not matter. Any era, Primary / Junior / Senior School / College / Uni
Concentrate on how they (or you) influenced each other in some ways. What was it that made you friends? What did you like about them? What did they like about you? Did this affect your future life?
Chris lived about 50 yards away and our birthdays were in the same week. I remember our first day at school and not being able to sit next to Chris. My first day at school was very distraught. His dad was a Dockyard Black Smith and was well paid. They had a car that the whole family called ‘Betsy’. I had been for rides in that car. It was one of only about twenty parked in our Road. The first time I visited their house, I met Chris’s older brother Richard. These days we would call Richard ‘Special Needs’. The children in our Street called him Mongol or Mong for short. Later, at school, Richard was the victim of a lot of bullying. Chris, Terry and I became the three Musketeers. We were smaller, but if anyone bullied Richard, then ‘Woe Betide them.’
Next, we read a passage from a book called ‘a spool of blue thread’ by Anne Tyler
Deb had found several books where authors had described the same event in their novels. This event was a family meal. The meal was formal, and every family member was sat around a table. Some family members wanted to be there, and some did not. Always there is some ‘air of tension’ that the reader has to experience and discern for themselves. One of our number said that “Tension (or pressures if you prefer) are like submarines patrolling under the surface of an area.”
You can find the parts read from the books in one of the two handouts that went with this session
Writing Exercise Two
At some stage your relationship with the former school friend that you wrote previously about probably changed. Write about how it changed and why you thought that was.
I suppose Richard, being two years older, had left school. Chris and I would be thirteen or fourteen years old I would guess. It was then that our differences became important. Terry Chris and Paul had been ‘the defenders’ for two years or so. When his brother left school, Chris started growing more and more and Eastend Cockney kid. He went illegally to East Ham Working Man’s Club and drank beer. He loved pie and mash and was a devout ‘Hammers’ fan. I wouldn’t learn back slang and found rhyming rather pathetic. Whether this was because my mum was from Suffolk and my father’s family originally from Northampton, I don’t really know. I didn’t care about the Eastend tribalism, the derision of Mill Wall FC and Tottenham FC. I liked Jimmy Hendrix, The Moody Blues and Cream. Chris became a Street-wise kid, and I became a recluse and a bit of a dreamer who was a lot more interested in Los Angeles & Woodstock than East Ham E6. I met a new friend called Trevor. We took Pat Bland and Alison Smith out to the Albert Hall as a foursome to see Jethro Tull. This heralded the end of one era and the start of a brand new one.
Quite a few of us (me most of all probably) had written about the changes in ourselves and not about the changes in the other person. I remember commenting at the time that I hated formal family meals (and sitting around any table actually), and I always learned more about myself than I did about other people in tight, tense situations
Deb read extracts from two other books.
(see the Handout with the extracts printed on them)
We were quizzed about the attitudes of the people portrayed and what their presence at the table was really all about. There is an air of mystery about these occasions. A lot of detail can be gleaned from looking at the small clues that the people in periods of tension give out (both intended or not) and the pieces of a jigsaw of truths can be put together with a little effort on the reader’s behalf.
Writing Exercise Three
You meet up with the person you have been writing about at a school reunion many years later. Have they changed? Do they look like you imagined that they would? What is their attitude to you? Do you still like them? Is there any tension between you or is it as if you have not been apart at all? Do you feel any need to re-bond with them? There was very little time left for this exercise, and several people had to exit the group before we could read back to the group, and feedback was minimal.
Looking across the new school refectory, I spotted a group which could have been class 5S. Henry Hall was still a huge guy and his constant sidekick Steve Marriot was, as usual, throwing his hands about and talking loudly and animatedly to the gathered group. These two were unmistakable, and so I headed towards this group who was sitting by a drinks vending machine.
“Hello Paul,” said Steve shaking my hand vigorously
Because of birthmarks we had nicknamed him Tea Stains, they were still there but not as important as they once were.
“You’re still with the band leader then?” and I Shook Henry’s podgy paw, adding “Nice to see you again mate.”
“Chris Jones or Terry Durante here yet?”
“No Paul,” said Henry, “They were on a boat together about a year ago fishing off Southend on Sea Estuary. No one is quite sure what happened to them. Wonder you didn’t hear about it.”
“And?”
“And what? They had a big do at Stratford near the new Hammer’s ground.”
Concluding Remarks
Charles Dicken’s did not start writing ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ with the immortal opening paragraph;
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”
You start writing at a point in the story when you can make a start. Then you weave your story toward its beginning and to its end from that starting point. It is extremely unlikely that CHARLES DICKENS sat at a desk and wrote the words quoted above as the start of perhaps his greatest novel.
Re-read the quotes in the other handout provided.
Especially:
1. The author Flannery O’Connor stated that real life is to be found in the world as we find it — and we should be receptive to the smallest experience. She goes on to say;
a. ‘If as a writer you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot.’
2. ‘I was once told that writing fiction is like organising a party: you can decide who to invite, where it takes place, what they eat and drink – but you can’t tell them what to talk about – and that’s the bit that makes the party. ‘(Evie Wyld)
Handout #1
Developing character and tension: Pivotal Dinner Parties in Literature
The author Flannery O’Connor stated that real life is to be found in the world as we find it — and we should be receptive to the smallest experience. She goes on to say ‘If as a writer you can’t make something out of a little experience, you probably won’t be able to make it out of a lot.’
‘I was once told that writing fiction is like organising a party: you can decide who to invite, where it takes place, what they eat and drink – but you can’t tell them what to talk about – and that’s the bit that makes the party. ‘(Evie Wyld)
Some examples of tension at the dinner table, from great contemporary writers:
1. In ‘A Spool of Blue Thread’ by Anne Tyler, the family have gathered for lunch, to which Abby, the mother, has invited a rather lonely middle-aged woman and recent immigrant, Atta, one of Abby’s so-called ‘orphans’. Present are Abby and husband Red, their four children and extended family. Their son Denny is something of a black sheep, who turns up now and again with unsettling results.
2. Canadian Pulitzer-prize winner Carol Shields’ last novel, ‘Unless’ is the story of a family whose eldest daughter, Nora, suddenly abandons university and family to sit on a street corner, wearing a sign bearing one word: ‘Goodness’. Her family are despairing, but life falters on in an attempt at normality, as described by the narrator and mother, Reta, in this family scene around the dinner table. Present are Reta, her husband Tom, Natalie and Chris their two other daughters, and Reta’s mother-in-law, Grandma Winters.
3. In Atonement, by Ian McEwan, set initially in 1934, the dinner scene occurs immediately after 13-year- old Briony stumbles upon an intimate encounter in the library of their country house, between her older sister, Cecilia, and their close friend, Robbie (with, ultimately, terrible consequences for all three). Present at the table is Briony and Cecilia, their older brother Leon, their father Jack, Leon’s friend Paul Marshall, Robbie and some visiting children.
In each of these novels, the characters are brought together at some point in the first half of the story – between the quarter and halfway points. There are at least two good reasons for this:
1. to change the pace and create a deep breathing space for the reader in the forward movement of the plot and action;
2. and to provide a possible catalyst through the revelation of old secrets, new truths, buried conflicts, niggling resentments: the creation of tension, on which all fiction thrives.
How can we use this idea to kick-start our own writing, particularly since this kind of gathering rarely occurs at the start of the story?
• Firstly, it’s worth remembering that writers don’t always start at the beginning when they sit down at their desks. Beginnings are hard, so why not get into the writing at another place in the story? You might be afraid of the beginning, but if you can picture a scene further down the line, you can probably write it.
• Remember, take action to fight the fear — at least then you’ll have something to work with.
• ‘Confidence is the result of success, not the cause of it.’
• ‘And by the way, everything in life is writable if you have the guts to do it. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.’ – Sylvia Plath
Handout #2
From ‘Unless’ by Carol Shields, 2002
I set the steaming lasagne on the table along with a green salad in my mother’s old mahogany bowl from Brazil, that time she and my father had attended a conference in Säo Paulo—when was that? Back in the early seventies when I was young, left alone with Aunt Judy. “Dinner,” I called. And then, louder: “Dinner!”
They are well trained. Mozart faded at once with a spill down the keyboard. Grandma Winters came through the door bearing an apple crumble for dessert. She shed her good fall coat, sighing, and, as usual lately, gave no word of greeting. The TV died, and we all sat down together, Chris with a baseball cap on backwards as though she were intent on driving her grandmother mad.
We were in the midst of family love; I breathed it in gratefully, despite its mixture of disorder and reckoning.
On this fall evening I had lit candles in the dining room, and we were sitting down as though we were an ordinary family as if our small planet was on course, as though the seasons
would continue, autumn about to move into winter, and outdoors the new mulch, like a coat of fleece, protecting and warming the ground. Snow was forecast even though it’s only October.
From ‘The server of unbalanced meals.’
Natalie, always one to take responsibility for dinnertime silences even though she’s the youngest, was chattering about her history teacher, Mr Glaven, who announced to the class today that he was gay. “Big fat surprise,” she said, “as though we didn’t have an inkling.” “Oh, him,” Chris said. “We knew he was gay two years ago.” Grandma Winters blinked, and then attacked her lasagne, carrying soft forkfuls of food straight into her mouth. She is proud of her appetite but would never say so. What has she eaten today? Toast and coffee breakfast and toast and tea for lunch. No wonder she has an appetite at the end of the day. Tom serves himself last. His hands are shaking. When did that start? Thank God for Chris, thank God for Natalie, for their inane high-school gossip, their naive willingness to lunge forward and expand on tiny particulars of the quotidian, Mr Glaven, who was spotted in Toronto in a gay bar over the weekend, holding hands with another man, kissing him on the lips. “Oh no, not on the lips!” From Chris. They strained to compensate for Norah’s absence, keeping up the volubility quotient but without quite catching Norah’ murmuring reflectiveness or her perfectly judged pause when she is asked a question.
“Don’t forget the salad,” I reminded them, and this was my only real contribution to the dinner conversation, a reflex embedded in my role as mother, the provider of nutrition,
From ‘Atonement’ by Ian McEwan 2001
Background; Briony had caught Robbie and Cecilia earlier groping each other whilst expectantly entering a room.
Emily stood at the head of the table placing the diners as they came in. She put Leon on her right, and Paul Marshall on her left. To his right Leon had Briony and the twins, while Marshall had Cecilia on his left, then Robbie, then Lola. Robbie stood behind his chair, gripping it for support, amazed that no one appeared to hear his still-thudding heart. He had escaped the cocktail, but he too had no appetite. He turned slightly to face away from Cecilia, and as the others took their places noted with relief that he was seated down among the children.
Prompted by a nod from his mother, Leon muttered a short suspended grace — For what we are about to receive — to which the scrape of chairs was the amen. The that followed as they settled and unfolded their napkins would easily have been dispersed by Jack Tallis introducing some barely interesting topic while Betty went around with the beef. Instead, the diners watched and listened to her as she stooped murmuring at each place, scraping the serving spoon and fork the silver platter. What else could they attend to, when the only other business in the room was their own silence? Emily Tallis had always been incapable of small talk and didn’t much care. Leon, entirely at one with himself, lolled in his chair, wine bottle in hand, studying its label. Cecilia was lost to the events of ten minutes before and could not have composed a simple sentence. Robbie was familiar with the household and would have started something off, but he too was in turmoil. It was enough that he could pretend to ignore Cecilia’s bare arm at his side — he could feel its heat — and the hostile gaze of Briony who sat diagonally across from him. And even if it had been considered proper for children
