School days aren't pleasant for a loner.
|Week 3 Warm up: The Way I See It
In Russian, there is saying “Words Paul says about Peter, say more about Paul than about Peter”. The way your character experiences the world, characterize him. So, as long as you are in first person or third person limited, even your setting descriptions will reveal your character’s attitudes. For example, imagine a walk-in closet. A claustrophobic character will see it differently than a shopoholic will, right?
For warm-up this week, look at the image below and write a short paragraph describing it as you would in your character’s POV.
Q: Airdale, do you mean like dialogue? What my character would SAY about it?
A: No, not dialogue. Narration. Your character walks into the room and sees this scene. You want your reader to know what the heck he character is looking at, so you write some description. But that description isn’t objective, it’s what your character would notice as important.
This is an especially good exercise for those of you with two characters in the workshop.
Warm-up – POV of Leanne
In school, I was practically invisible. I could bump into someone in the hall and the person would just back up and go on, like I was a garbage can they’d knocked against. Sandy was a good example of how everyone treated me. She sat in the chair next to mine in Junior English class. The girl had purple hair, for God’s sake, and an earring that pierced her long, pointy nose. A couple of times when I tapped her shoulder, I think she forgot it was me. She turned about to look. Then she rolled her eyes, grimaced, and twisted back. Once I knocked her book off her desk just to see what she’d do. She picked it up and set it down. She didn’t even pause in the conversation she was having with the guy next to her. Only the nervous twitch of her black-laced hand, sweeping dead-looking purple hair back out of her eyes told me I’d irritated her. How did I handle such things? I stabbed the bratty kids – oh, not really, of course. Not with a knife. Just in my mind. I stabbed them until they were good and dead, blood dripping down their dead white faces, their clothes saturated in it, blooming red like roses. Picturing that cooled my mind. It was enough revenge; then I could smile for the rest of the day.
(Did I cheat too much? A murder such as this really conflicts with my story, which is all about murder – but one based upon a fire.)