Five hundred words on what, exactly?

Something I learned in high school - I write very well under pressure. Which, being a terrible procrastinator, is a pretty awesome thing to know about myself.

My friends in high school couldn’t stand that I could get away with this. My entire English class spent all summer struggling through East of Eden to be ready for the paper we’d have to write at the beginning of our senior year. As soon as I saw that ginormous monstrosity of a novel, I quickly said, “No thanks,” and made plans to pick up the CliffsNotes sometime before the semester started.

Of course I forgot to buy the CliffsNotes, so the day before the paper was due I got someone who had internet access (a rare commodity at the time) to print out some free CliffsNotes-knockoff chapter summaries for me. I spent that night reading the notes and writing the paper, and had it ready to turn in first thing in the morning.

A few days later when the papers were graded, my teacher put mine on the chalkboard ledge at the front of the room with a big, red “A” on the title page, and encouraged the rest of the class to read it. The kids who knew what I had done were (rightfully) pretty ticked off. I consider it my finest achievement in slacking to date.

I bring this up now because I have a paper due tomorrow. It’s for my non-credit fiction workshop, so technically I can’t get a failing grade for not doing the paper. But still, I paid for this class and I won’t really be getting my money’s worth if I don’t participate fully, I suppose. I haven’t even started the paper. And here’s why.

Writing five hundred words the night before the paper is due is no problem. I could probably do it in my sleep. (OK, no more bragging.) But this assignment involves using specific words. More specifically, all the words in a list that my classmates and I were asked to compile based solely on liking the way they sound. We were each asked to submit two words. One wiseguy submitted eight. Not liking him a whole lot right now.

Of course we didn’t know (but should have) why we were making this list of words at the time. Let me give you examples of some of the words. There are about 25 altogether.

Rhododendron.

Slugabed.

Adumbration.

Jood.

WTF? (That’s me talking, not one of the words.)

I know a truly creative person could make do with this list, even come up with something great. But me? It’s just not happening tonight. I’m tempted to find a story I’ve already written and just haphazardly insert the words until I’ve used them all. Maybe I can find that old East of Eden paper…?

This exercise has got me wondering if I should change my ways. Actually work on things at a pace rather than rush to get things done as the deadline looms. For this assignment I’m afraid it’s too late. Anyone have suggestions? Better yet, anyone have a story about slugabed rhododendrons they’d like to share?

And so the story begins

One of my fellow students in the fiction workshop I’m taking posed an interesting question this week. It was one that I don’t think everyone understood the same way, hence why none of the answers were particularly satisfying (to me, anyway).

He wanted to know, quite simply, Where do you begin?

My interpretation was that he wanted to know where successful authors begin crafting their stories. Not the point at which the story begins, but the point at which you begin writing your story. Do you start with characters, a plot, a setting, a scene… what?

I never know where to begin. I usually start with a scene – a random interaction that fits nowhere except for in my head but just won’t go away. A look between two strangers against a backdrop of night. A line spoken aloud, hanging in the air until I conjure up another character to answer it. A childhood memory told so many times, so many different ways, I’m not even sure what’s true anymore. Scenes so moving they’re just begging to be part of a story.

But without fail, a scene that feels beautiful in my mind dies the moment I touch pen to paper. I end up never discovering the meat of the story, but rather dancing around it with clever conversations and vivid scenes that, when put together as a whole, amount to nothing. My writing stays in the shallow end of the pool, trying so hard to swim across to the deep end that it ends up treading water until it’s too tired to keep on.

I listened closely to the answers of others in my class who have read some of their work aloud, and who have impressed me. One said she starts with characters whose specific personalities dictate where the story goes. Another said she begins with a plot in mind and may or may not deviate from her plan once she gets started.

The story I submitted for workshop this week literally has a big blank spot about three pages in, with the label I don’t know what goes here. Sorry.

Maybe I also should have added, Help, please?