Chapter 3 is about ENERGY. It's about the varying differences between words, pace, settings, etc seem to mesh together in order to produce a great piece of writing. Page 92, project 6:
Write a piece with a very fast opening, a slow middle section and a speedy end. Don't use the passive voice in any sections, or filters -- check back over the piece before you turn it in and substitute filters with verbs from your lists.
A blinking yellow light flashes on the dashboard as I speed down I-40. Green signs wiz by. Brittany sparks a cigarette. Just then, the beeping begins. "Jesus H. Christ, how many fast food signs are there? Can I just get a fucking Shell or BP?" I mutter to Brittany, as she flicks the remaining butt out the window. Exit 308 comes along and with a quick jerk of the wheel the two of us find ourselves in the midst of rural America.
A 45 second interlude of Panic! At The Disco blares through the car as we creep around the bend of the exit onto the street. "There's a Sunoco on the right" Brittany says. The car turns and we set off on our forty foot journey. This journey is only short-lived as we stumble upon utter disappointment of an unlit convenient store. Across the street the glow of a neon "OPEN" signs glares at us. Mocking our every move. Weaving through gas pumps back unto the hungry mouth of road in front of us.
"I'm all good. I'm going for it. Is there anyone coming that way?" I say as my head flings left and right.
"Yeah, you're good. I gotta fuckin' piss too." Brittany replies.
I push down on the acceleration and cruise into the middle lane. Panic! At The Disco cries through the speakers of my one true love. The solace of the open road, music you love and the company of a best friend resonate through the air. The wind crawls through the opening of my window and brushes through my freshly buzzed hair.
The crescendo hits and my head is thrown upon the side window. My sweaty hands gripping the wheel for dear life. No matter how tight I hold, though, my car is on a path of its own. I look and I see the lights of Shell station, the destination initially intended, flashing from left to right as my entire visual perspective is thrown into a 360 degree spin. My back tenses up and I hear the screams of a passenger who has returned to an almost infant like state. Her tears and cries, along with her apparent fetal position in the passenger seat as the air bags deploy send a rush down my spine.
"Are you okay?" I call out. Tears stream down my face as I struggle to find Brittany's hand.
"I'm fine! Are you okay? What the hell just happened?" She cries out as we puncture the balloons in our faces with lighters, much like the assholes we are when at children's birthday parties.
Silence takes over. A knock on the window breaks through. I look up to see the shape of a man standing outside. Another knock roars through the car.
"Are you guys okay? I didn't even see you!" he tells us as I open the door of my now dilapidated Focus.
"Yeah, we're okay, are you?" I reply.
I climb out the car to assess the situation at hand. A cold breeze blows against my legs and up my khaki cargo shorts. I shiver and walk around. Pieces of my beautiful toy are strewn about the road as if a rabid dog had devoured it like a chew toy. I rub my head and sigh. The jeep is completely fine, ironically. Leave it to Ford to build a car that can't take a punch.
"Did your lights break in the accident bro?" I ask as I take pictures of the damage to his car.
"Nah, they've been out. Where were you going?"
My heart begins racing. I want to know why he would be driving when his lights are out but I choose to ignore it. "I was trying to get to the gas station over there to fill up so I can get back to Greenville. Where the fuck are the cops?" I yell as I light a Camel Menthol Light.
The time drew on. What was only thirty minutes seemed like a lifetime as we paced around the barren road. It was my luck though. On a barren road, I would get hit by the only other lifeform capable of working an automobile. It's just another chapter from my "Book of Job" life.
So honestly, I tried to follow the technique of starting fast, going slow and then speeding up again. I'm not sure if I conquered it but it's definately something I can tell I need to work on. Regardless, after i started writing this and actually got into it I found myself wanting to go on more about my "Book of Job life", aka my unlucky habit of having to deal with everything that can possibly go wrong. Possibly going more into some of the vastly ridiculous events that happen to me and ending with the inevitable DUI I received that night. It might make for a hilarious story or even an enlightening piece for myself.
I guess I have some work to do on it. A lot of revising, definately.
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Hey James,
ReplyDeleteI know how it feels to have everything that possibly could, go wrong at all the wrong times. Real life makes for good writing material, though. ;)
You do a great job of keeping the pace fast in the beginning--the car is going fast, the sentences are short and terse. It's working. I think the verbs are really working there for you, too. Currently, the pace of the whole piece seems to be rocketing along with your car. I think the place to slow down is the crash itself.
In that actual moment, time is slowed down, and fast-forwarding, too. To slow down that moment, go step-by-step through the whole crash. Think of every sense--taste, sight, smell, touch, hear and how all of those are working during the crash (or even just before or after). But make sure you keep using those verbs. What kind of verbs contribute to a slower pace, but without still keeping energy?
I really like the way the verbs are working for you here instead of adjectives. "the rabid dog" part, especially. I'm glad that you were wanting to write more. Don't feel like you have to stop because of a page limit. Keep going! I'm looking forward to reading more.