I prefer writing in the past tense, and many of my students agree that it is easier to stay in the same tense and build plot in the past tense. However, I ran into an issue with instilling tension and immediacy to a scene while maintaining that tense. It felt stale and flat. I wanted the reader to feel present in the high energy moment, but it took a lot of reconsidering, reworking, and rewriting. It is, of course, out of context, and the formatting is not what I intended.
Here's what I came up with: As if by cosmic intervention, a general silence fell over the room as the political talkers took a breath to process the latest bit of terrible, unbelievable data Colin had spouted, David and Garrett were deep in concentration over a game of rummy, and Carson was mid-sip. The Pennywise song faded and ended. A power chord rang out and a not-quite-melodic voice brought the room to a halt. I’ve met some people along the way Some of them split, some of them stay Voices sprung up in unison around the room Some of them walk, some walk on by I’ve got a few friends I’ll love till I die Cards fell scattered on the floor. Hands reached out to grip shoulders. From all these people I try to learn Some of them shine, some of them burn Eyes closed, and chins turned up. Faces stretched into knowing grins trying to be sneers. Some of them rise, some of them fall For good or bad, I’ve known them all The room exploded. Colin launched across the couch to tackle Andrew. Sea Bass kicked wild legs, arms swinging. Carson’s knees bent, and she leaped over upturned folding chairs to land hard on the coffee table. Fist pumping and vocal chords straining, she was vaguely aware of Anna Marie’s wide eyes and tightly curled position. She knew this was a rude display of insider behavior, a ritual for the initiated to be performed at the expense of interlopers, even invited ones. But she knew her friend well enough to know that she would patiently take in the show like an anthropologist and survive the experience without hurt feelings and maybe even with a calm awareness of her superior maturity and development. We live our life in our own way Never really listen to what they say She felt a tug at her wrist and turned to see Mark with a reckless, ravenous, beckoning gaze. She tossed him her now-empty can and jumped in a twist to land on the roiling pile of her friends. The kind of faith that doesn’t fade away We are the true believers By the final, crunchy chord, the temperature in the room had risen several sweaty degrees, and red, grinning faces exchanged glances full of affection. Parker spun the volume down on the stereo that had been cranked near max. Anna Marie shook with amused giggles, still taking in the room with wide eyes. P.S. Thank you to the Bouncing Souls for the lyrics.
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Getting the timbre and cadance of authentic voices can be a real challenge for writers. I have often, and with gusto, leaned on the side of scene-building and description rather than tackling an extended conversation between two or more characters. I think that this can be difficult because we write from our heads and often alone. I've been trying to incorporate more dialogue into my work, and below is the most ambitious attempt taken seriously out of context from a longer piece:
“I forgot you used to do that gymnastics thing,” Colin drawled. “Eight years”, Carson plucked tiny splinters from her palms. “Why’d you stop?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Carson sighed, “It was expensive. I didn’t really like it anymore.” “Your parents paid for your brother’s private buffoon lessons for a decade,” Colin pointed out, “I’m sure it wasn’t a money thing.” “It was bassoon lessons,” Carson corrected with a giggle, “and, I guess, I mostly just stopped having fun with it.” “Why?” Colin picked at fuzz balls on the couch. Carson leaned to the side to get a better view of him, “You’re just full of questions today, Inquizitive Ian.” Colin chuckled, “I guess,” he gazed back at her through heavy lids, “Are you afraid of them, Sidestep Sally?” Carson glued her attention to the just-for-show fireplace, “Let’s just say I lost interest” “No, let’s just say more.” “Why are you busting my balls, dude?” Colin merely held her gaze and waited. Carson broke first and looked back at the fascinating fireplace, memorizing the layout of bricks. “It was all girls.” Mmmhmm. “Girls are terrible.” Mmmmm. “They were catty and competitive. They hated me. They were--” “How do you know that?” “What?” Carson cut eyes at Colin. “How do you know they hated you?” Back to the fireplace, “They never talked to me. They’d go out for fro-yo after practice and never invite me. You just know when people think they’re better than you.” Hmmm. “Stop doing that!” Carson’s eruption garnered the brief attention of the room, but they quickly turned back to their tasks at hand. “I wonder why it makes you uncomfortable” Colin mused. She was ready with a retort, “Because you’re not Sigmund effing Freud, you weirdo. And I’m not your patient.” “No, you’re certainly not patient.” Colin deflected the gentle punch she threw his way. “Well my diagnosis --” “Your unsolicited diagnosis,” Carson interrupted. “My unsolicited diagnosis is that you have delusions of persecution. You imagine this warfare, this me-versus-them dire battle, when really people don’t care about you at all.” “Wow. Thanks a lot.” Carson plucked her iPod from off the stereo and started scrolling through bands in search of a mood change. Change your soundtrack to change your mood. Foolproof tactic. “You know I don’t mean me,” Colin dipped his head in an attempt to catch her eye, “Or any of us,” he encompassed the room in a sweeping gesture. “Yeah, whatever,” Carson grumbled. “We love you,” Colin started burrowing into the crook between her neck and her shoulder, right into the gaping smile of a Misfits skull, “We looove you,” he repeated in increasing, though muffled, volume. The rest of the room took up the chant and zombie-walked towards her. We looove you. We looove you. They started piling onto her, Colin, the couch arms and back, whatever surface would hold their collective mass, until she was thoroughly buried under five teenage boys and all their teenage boy smells. Cheap body spray cologne, cigarette smoke, a tinge of body odor, and Cheeto breath. |
AuthorMs. Jopling teaches English at Broadway High School, eats an unseemly amount of cheese, and laughs as often as possible. Archives
November 2017
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