I've pretty much stopped soliciting blurbs. I don't think we've gotten blurbs since Tenth of December. That whole practice is...so fraught. Those are mostly from reviews of the other books, Mary's included. The one from Oprah Daily is new and is specifically about Liberation Day. Maybe we can do an Office Hours on the topic of blurbs someday soon...
This has nothing to do with the exercise, but just about all the death cleaning that’s been going on at the Saunders’: I’ve been following and loving all the posts about it and then last week, my best friend died 😔. So I’ve spent the last week doing actual death cleaning with her family and friends. It’s been incredibly hard but incredibly enlightening. She lived in her (super cool) artist loft for 23 years, and going through it has been a tender, terrifying, beautiful window into the life of a person I loved. Doubling down on things I found fascinating about her and learning so many new things about her as well. Honestly, I think Ive been able to do it with so much calm curiosity because of the death cleaning I’ve been seeing here. Watching you sort through and make sense of your drafts and doodles and letters and speeches has helped me find the beauty in the process. I’ve been writing my way through it because, well, that’s how I cope best. So thank you for showing me how it’s done! ❤️
I am way behind — haven’t even started Thursday’s fun-looking assignment because of extended-family events, but I plan to work on it after the weekend. I want to take this moment to mention something unrelated to the assignment but definitely linked to Story Club.
I won’t go into details, but in my culturally diverse neighborhood in small-town midwest USA we see some heated confrontations related to politics, public schools, immigrants, and more. A situation come up Friday that required me to act, and I had two options: I could rightfully take a step that would make a point but could humiliate a neighbor, or I could choose to be… kind. And hope the neighbor would do the right thing in response. I honestly think our Story Club discussion about George’s graduation speech clarified kindness as the choice I needed to make. Last night, we had an honest, respectful, positive conversation with those neighbors and they un-did their unacceptable action in a peaceful way. Kindness won.
I have enjoyed every exercise you have given us. Please keep them coming! I always hesitate a bit at the start, but then I get going and don’t want to stop. The best part is that there is no pressure - just have fun, see where it takes you, and grow as a writer.
Even though it’s close to the day job, I was drawn to the first vignette and wrote this in response:
In 1946 the NZ Forest Service accepted a new intake of subaltern clerks. There was no real need for the men (all were men of course) but all had served in the war and there were few real jobs in Wellington at the time. Government ministries were in competition with each other for the number of recruits that could be announced at cabinet meetings and published in The Dominion next to the horse racing results and the list of ships, their cargo and their next destination. My grandfather, Huntington George, was one of them.
This was fun, somehow liberating in that it ‘wasn’t’ my voice, and came much easier than when I try and write earnestly. Thanks George.
This was great fun; this just spilled out in minutes, without reflection. Thanks for the opening, George. Here 'tis:
Tired. Bone tired. Or gland tired, as it were. So effing tired of being slandered by medical quacks and self-professed researchers. I stand (or mostly rest at a tidy angle) with all endocrine glands in saying this, and saying it with glandularity: we are NOT the source of your emotional tides, your criminal failings, your night sweats, your necessary room indiscretions, your fears of tax audits.
Nay, nay, I say NAY!
We are arbiters of feelings both metaphysical and physical, yes, but not arbitrary arbiters. We resemble staid accountants in our assessments of bodily and spiritual need and meter out helpful hormones to make your organs sing. Sing, I say, not simper! We give hints as to when a nice biscuit would do the trick, or when a steak and kidney pie is mandatory.
We are like orchestra conductors, waving our wands to tell when the cellos of growth should swell, and when the tiny triangle should ring their cessation. As for moods, no court of law would indict us for your errant moods—they are the fickle work of the reptilian brain stem. Take it up with the lower courts.
Congratulations on your new book, George, and thanks for including us in your journey with the book and the death cleaning.
Early this morning my mind was jangly and I so I got up to do this exercise. I picked Vignette Four, thinking I'm not going to be able to do this but I did. I noticed a pattern in how I write in that I write a phrase or a sentence and then I go back and sort of backfill the time or place or space before the phrase or sentence. I will definitely have to keep a lookout and see if this is something I usually do. And right now after writing my vignette I feel a small quiet sense of accomplishment and calm.
This is pretty short and I do like how it came back around:
My friend Jack had an aunt who owned the Terminal Tailor shop. According to Jack, the shop got its name because it was located near the Greyhound Bus Terminal, there on 2nd Avenue near the movie theater, but he always laughed about the shop name because his aunt was so old. But she did just keep on living and sewing in her shop until sometime in the 60’s or 70’s when he told me she died. In the 1950s when Jack and I were young boys, we would go downtown and when we did, we always stopped in to say hi to his aunt. She was an odd old lady, always busy, and there were clothes to mend and alter or make everywhere in her shop. But when we came in she would get up from her sewing machine and give Jack a hug. I was sort of embarrassed because nobody ever hugged in my family. It just wasn’t done until much later after my father died and I would take my kids, Emily and Adrian, to visit my mom in the retirement village and even then there were no hugs, just a lot of good food, which was how my mom would show her affection and then I would start to give her a hug when we were leaving and kiss her on the cheek and it got so on future visits, she would sort of hesitate as we were leaving until I gave her a hug and a kiss. And so I have Jack and his old aunt to thank for that because our visits to the Terminal Tailor shop.
I was excited to do this exercise but after reading all of the vignettes I became scared and anxious because I thought I needed to feel a strong spark or attraction to one of the pieces and I felt I didn't. Or maybe they weren't what I was expecting. I felt I wouldn't be able to do anything with any of them. It was that feeling of drawing a blank.
I ended up picking #3 because I did find it kind of amusing. It turned into a response from another doctor who disagreed with the first doctor's findings. While writing it was actually fun but I kept thinking that I must be doing it wrong because there wasn't any plot or story or anything that felt like fiction (despite remembering you telling us there was no wrong way to do it). But then I suppose that this other doctor I made up _is_ a fictional character.
In short, I'm surprised by how much this exercise disturbed me. I think I have trouble trusting my "talent" as you describe it. I want it to surprise me but secretly I have an agenda and end up disappointed. It's quite discouraging.
I wrote nonfiction and memos for 40 years so found all but #2 very similar voices (oh well, so shoot me). I picked #2 and wrote back as if I were JIm. In writing my (so far wretched) novel I am having fun experimenting with different POVs and voices in the various scenes, so this was fun and came pretty easy. -DRS
Dear Diary,
I wish this little tome had a lock on it, as my thoughts recorded here are for no one else. I know I’m pledged to Birdie but diary, diary, I ran so hot at the dance when you know who was there. We danced six times, and we went aside and without so much as gloves on, held hands for minutes that went by like seconds! The next night I had to stay in with Birdie and all the old relatives, but after dinner managed to make excuses and practically ran down to see her again! I used the window, as that seemed expedient. And she was so excited, and later we walked down Flirtation alley, and kissed and kissed. I saw her blush, and between you and me, diary, I am certain girls want the same things as us, they just have to hide it. When we reached the start of the lane, we kissed again, and that sealed it. I will have to find some way to extricate my affairs from Birdie and the clan tout suite.
#2!! And it was so fun to setup every small interaction with an extremely emotional proclamation! I did notice that I was trying to nail the Victorian voice and it felt a little too "on the nose", too Bridgerton (sorry fans). Then I remembered your friend Doug's dialogue advice and moved away from having to stick in a "simply delightful, splendid, spectacular" line for something that maybe didn't fit the Victorian voice but felt more surprising. I probably failed the exercise, but it was entertaining.
I did vignette #4. What I did: I played "walking tour guide" to the town where I grew up. I even Googled the area to see what's changed. I wrote as though I were doing a retro tour that focused a bit on the local economy, history, architecture of the town businesses plus their proprietors from 50 years ago — all with something lodged up my ass (the voice I was embodying). Every stop along the tour included some comment on what it was like back then with a reference to the writer's family. Like a travelogue diary meant for time travelers. What I noticed: It was hard not to do a send-up. And fun.
It’s becoming more and more clear why I’m a big fan of George and Haruki Murakami. I decided to start Murakami’s very first novel (novella) last night and in the forward he talks about how he was struggling with the story because, well, his brain was crammed like too much livestock in a barn.
So he decided to write it in English first (forcing him to keep the language simple, stripped away of extraneous fat) and then translated that version back into Japanese. This created a new voice and style for him.
But this quote is what made me think of George (and this club): “Give up trying to write something sophisticated, I told myself. Forget all those prescriptive ideas about “the novel” and “literature” and set down your feelings and thoughts as they come to you, freely, in a way that you like.”
And, of course, his first novel won a prize and became a hit. It’s like when I read Dostoyevsky’s Poor People and realized he was 24 when he wrote it and I was like, when I was 24, I was googling “what should I do with my life.”
Well, I did it, but it probably came out sounding like me trying to sound like it wasn't me. The good thing is that I didn't think it would be easy but it was. The bad thing is that it is not as good as the vignette I chose to "voice." But what fun! Each vignette is funny in its own way (like unhappy families?) and that provided, I think, an opportunity to go where I've never gone before. Thanks, Mr. Saunders.
I've pretty much stopped soliciting blurbs. I don't think we've gotten blurbs since Tenth of December. That whole practice is...so fraught. Those are mostly from reviews of the other books, Mary's included. The one from Oprah Daily is new and is specifically about Liberation Day. Maybe we can do an Office Hours on the topic of blurbs someday soon...
This has nothing to do with the exercise, but just about all the death cleaning that’s been going on at the Saunders’: I’ve been following and loving all the posts about it and then last week, my best friend died 😔. So I’ve spent the last week doing actual death cleaning with her family and friends. It’s been incredibly hard but incredibly enlightening. She lived in her (super cool) artist loft for 23 years, and going through it has been a tender, terrifying, beautiful window into the life of a person I loved. Doubling down on things I found fascinating about her and learning so many new things about her as well. Honestly, I think Ive been able to do it with so much calm curiosity because of the death cleaning I’ve been seeing here. Watching you sort through and make sense of your drafts and doodles and letters and speeches has helped me find the beauty in the process. I’ve been writing my way through it because, well, that’s how I cope best. So thank you for showing me how it’s done! ❤️
I am way behind — haven’t even started Thursday’s fun-looking assignment because of extended-family events, but I plan to work on it after the weekend. I want to take this moment to mention something unrelated to the assignment but definitely linked to Story Club.
I won’t go into details, but in my culturally diverse neighborhood in small-town midwest USA we see some heated confrontations related to politics, public schools, immigrants, and more. A situation come up Friday that required me to act, and I had two options: I could rightfully take a step that would make a point but could humiliate a neighbor, or I could choose to be… kind. And hope the neighbor would do the right thing in response. I honestly think our Story Club discussion about George’s graduation speech clarified kindness as the choice I needed to make. Last night, we had an honest, respectful, positive conversation with those neighbors and they un-did their unacceptable action in a peaceful way. Kindness won.
I have enjoyed every exercise you have given us. Please keep them coming! I always hesitate a bit at the start, but then I get going and don’t want to stop. The best part is that there is no pressure - just have fun, see where it takes you, and grow as a writer.
George, if you make a book called, Just Writing Exercises, I will buy it!
Even though it’s close to the day job, I was drawn to the first vignette and wrote this in response:
In 1946 the NZ Forest Service accepted a new intake of subaltern clerks. There was no real need for the men (all were men of course) but all had served in the war and there were few real jobs in Wellington at the time. Government ministries were in competition with each other for the number of recruits that could be announced at cabinet meetings and published in The Dominion next to the horse racing results and the list of ships, their cargo and their next destination. My grandfather, Huntington George, was one of them.
This was fun, somehow liberating in that it ‘wasn’t’ my voice, and came much easier than when I try and write earnestly. Thanks George.
This was great fun; this just spilled out in minutes, without reflection. Thanks for the opening, George. Here 'tis:
Tired. Bone tired. Or gland tired, as it were. So effing tired of being slandered by medical quacks and self-professed researchers. I stand (or mostly rest at a tidy angle) with all endocrine glands in saying this, and saying it with glandularity: we are NOT the source of your emotional tides, your criminal failings, your night sweats, your necessary room indiscretions, your fears of tax audits.
Nay, nay, I say NAY!
We are arbiters of feelings both metaphysical and physical, yes, but not arbitrary arbiters. We resemble staid accountants in our assessments of bodily and spiritual need and meter out helpful hormones to make your organs sing. Sing, I say, not simper! We give hints as to when a nice biscuit would do the trick, or when a steak and kidney pie is mandatory.
We are like orchestra conductors, waving our wands to tell when the cellos of growth should swell, and when the tiny triangle should ring their cessation. As for moods, no court of law would indict us for your errant moods—they are the fickle work of the reptilian brain stem. Take it up with the lower courts.
Give us respect, and respect will be returned.
Congratulations on your new book, George, and thanks for including us in your journey with the book and the death cleaning.
Early this morning my mind was jangly and I so I got up to do this exercise. I picked Vignette Four, thinking I'm not going to be able to do this but I did. I noticed a pattern in how I write in that I write a phrase or a sentence and then I go back and sort of backfill the time or place or space before the phrase or sentence. I will definitely have to keep a lookout and see if this is something I usually do. And right now after writing my vignette I feel a small quiet sense of accomplishment and calm.
This is pretty short and I do like how it came back around:
My friend Jack had an aunt who owned the Terminal Tailor shop. According to Jack, the shop got its name because it was located near the Greyhound Bus Terminal, there on 2nd Avenue near the movie theater, but he always laughed about the shop name because his aunt was so old. But she did just keep on living and sewing in her shop until sometime in the 60’s or 70’s when he told me she died. In the 1950s when Jack and I were young boys, we would go downtown and when we did, we always stopped in to say hi to his aunt. She was an odd old lady, always busy, and there were clothes to mend and alter or make everywhere in her shop. But when we came in she would get up from her sewing machine and give Jack a hug. I was sort of embarrassed because nobody ever hugged in my family. It just wasn’t done until much later after my father died and I would take my kids, Emily and Adrian, to visit my mom in the retirement village and even then there were no hugs, just a lot of good food, which was how my mom would show her affection and then I would start to give her a hug when we were leaving and kiss her on the cheek and it got so on future visits, she would sort of hesitate as we were leaving until I gave her a hug and a kiss. And so I have Jack and his old aunt to thank for that because our visits to the Terminal Tailor shop.
I was excited to do this exercise but after reading all of the vignettes I became scared and anxious because I thought I needed to feel a strong spark or attraction to one of the pieces and I felt I didn't. Or maybe they weren't what I was expecting. I felt I wouldn't be able to do anything with any of them. It was that feeling of drawing a blank.
I ended up picking #3 because I did find it kind of amusing. It turned into a response from another doctor who disagreed with the first doctor's findings. While writing it was actually fun but I kept thinking that I must be doing it wrong because there wasn't any plot or story or anything that felt like fiction (despite remembering you telling us there was no wrong way to do it). But then I suppose that this other doctor I made up _is_ a fictional character.
In short, I'm surprised by how much this exercise disturbed me. I think I have trouble trusting my "talent" as you describe it. I want it to surprise me but secretly I have an agenda and end up disappointed. It's quite discouraging.
Darling Lambs, I chose Vignette Two. It’s the year 1905 and all of the men are still quite taken with her, and naturally, she with them.
I wrote nonfiction and memos for 40 years so found all but #2 very similar voices (oh well, so shoot me). I picked #2 and wrote back as if I were JIm. In writing my (so far wretched) novel I am having fun experimenting with different POVs and voices in the various scenes, so this was fun and came pretty easy. -DRS
Dear Diary,
I wish this little tome had a lock on it, as my thoughts recorded here are for no one else. I know I’m pledged to Birdie but diary, diary, I ran so hot at the dance when you know who was there. We danced six times, and we went aside and without so much as gloves on, held hands for minutes that went by like seconds! The next night I had to stay in with Birdie and all the old relatives, but after dinner managed to make excuses and practically ran down to see her again! I used the window, as that seemed expedient. And she was so excited, and later we walked down Flirtation alley, and kissed and kissed. I saw her blush, and between you and me, diary, I am certain girls want the same things as us, they just have to hide it. When we reached the start of the lane, we kissed again, and that sealed it. I will have to find some way to extricate my affairs from Birdie and the clan tout suite.
Jim
#2!! And it was so fun to setup every small interaction with an extremely emotional proclamation! I did notice that I was trying to nail the Victorian voice and it felt a little too "on the nose", too Bridgerton (sorry fans). Then I remembered your friend Doug's dialogue advice and moved away from having to stick in a "simply delightful, splendid, spectacular" line for something that maybe didn't fit the Victorian voice but felt more surprising. I probably failed the exercise, but it was entertaining.
I did vignette #4. What I did: I played "walking tour guide" to the town where I grew up. I even Googled the area to see what's changed. I wrote as though I were doing a retro tour that focused a bit on the local economy, history, architecture of the town businesses plus their proprietors from 50 years ago — all with something lodged up my ass (the voice I was embodying). Every stop along the tour included some comment on what it was like back then with a reference to the writer's family. Like a travelogue diary meant for time travelers. What I noticed: It was hard not to do a send-up. And fun.
Looking forward to this exercise!
It’s becoming more and more clear why I’m a big fan of George and Haruki Murakami. I decided to start Murakami’s very first novel (novella) last night and in the forward he talks about how he was struggling with the story because, well, his brain was crammed like too much livestock in a barn.
So he decided to write it in English first (forcing him to keep the language simple, stripped away of extraneous fat) and then translated that version back into Japanese. This created a new voice and style for him.
But this quote is what made me think of George (and this club): “Give up trying to write something sophisticated, I told myself. Forget all those prescriptive ideas about “the novel” and “literature” and set down your feelings and thoughts as they come to you, freely, in a way that you like.”
And, of course, his first novel won a prize and became a hit. It’s like when I read Dostoyevsky’s Poor People and realized he was 24 when he wrote it and I was like, when I was 24, I was googling “what should I do with my life.”
I loved this so much! I sat down and ended up writing 1200 words. it has been years since i have written any fiction. Thank you!
Well, I did it, but it probably came out sounding like me trying to sound like it wasn't me. The good thing is that I didn't think it would be easy but it was. The bad thing is that it is not as good as the vignette I chose to "voice." But what fun! Each vignette is funny in its own way (like unhappy families?) and that provided, I think, an opportunity to go where I've never gone before. Thanks, Mr. Saunders.