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Writing exercise from authors_anonymous
Oct. 28th, 2009 04:53 amFirst exercise from authors_anonymous:
Write a third-person story that takes place over an arbitraily long period of time, not a lifetime but several years, so you have to pick and choose important details or summarize lyrically or choose a consistent set of events that adheres to a theme or a structure. 500 words.
I have no instinct for how much 500 words is, so this will be interesting.
Since 1974, Leon had spoken with God repeatedly.
Of course, it wasn’t until 1978 that Leon knew he was God.
He was sitting near the back of the crowded diner, trying to finish a pastrami sandwich and lemonade before his lunch break was over, when a man who looked a lot like Wavy Gravy came over with an egg salad sandwich and asked to share the table. They got into a conversation about politics, and Leon lost track of time. He was fired from his job at Woolworth’s, which he honestly didn’t mind too much. He hated the job, but couldn’t bring himself to quit.
The next time they met, it was under the Bicentennial fireworks in the park. Leon recognized the man and was overjoyed to relate to him the consequences of their conversation eighteen months previously. God expressed concern, but Leon shrugged. “I’m working as a cook at the Empire Diner, down by the Chelsea. I like it—I think it suits me.” God smiled and allowed that fate moved in mysterious ways. They were engrossed in conversation when there was a particularly loud boom; God started, and accidentally knocked Leon over into a young lady standing next to them, spilling her Coke all over her jeans. Leon was mortified, and apologized profusely, offering to make things right somehow. Within an hour, they were both hip deep in Belvedere Lake, splashing each other and laughing. It wasn’t until the next morning that Leon remembered that he hadn’t seen God since he bumped into Rebecca.
He was still working at the Empire Diner a couple of years later, when Bill Wyman came by at 4 am for scrambled eggs and gave him a ticket to the Stones concert that night. Leon was fairly certain that, with his long hair and delicate features, and Wyman’s extreme intoxication, he thought Leon was actually a girl. But he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His only stumbling block was telling Rebecca that he only had one ticket.
He ran into God at the concert, waiting on queue to buy beer after Peter Tosh’s set ended. He told God that he was engaged, and God smiled and nodded.
“You should marry Rebecca—she’s a good person.”
Leon’s eyebrows arched. “What, you know her?”
God shrugged. “I’m kind of an expert on good and bad.”
“What, you’re Santa Claus?”
God just shrugged again as he pushed his money across the counter and took his cup of beer. “Not quite, Leon. Baruch atah Adonai. Blessed am I. Enjoy the rest of the show.” And with that, God slipped into the crowd.
When Rebecca asked him how he liked the concert, he wasn’t sure how to reply.
He and God still ran into each other from time to time—their son Josh’s bar mitzvah, late one night on the ferry, that sort of thing—but it wasn’t the same. If it took you that long for a friend to tell you something that important, then how could you really trust him?
Write a third-person story that takes place over an arbitraily long period of time, not a lifetime but several years, so you have to pick and choose important details or summarize lyrically or choose a consistent set of events that adheres to a theme or a structure. 500 words.
I have no instinct for how much 500 words is, so this will be interesting.
Since 1974, Leon had spoken with God repeatedly.
Of course, it wasn’t until 1978 that Leon knew he was God.
He was sitting near the back of the crowded diner, trying to finish a pastrami sandwich and lemonade before his lunch break was over, when a man who looked a lot like Wavy Gravy came over with an egg salad sandwich and asked to share the table. They got into a conversation about politics, and Leon lost track of time. He was fired from his job at Woolworth’s, which he honestly didn’t mind too much. He hated the job, but couldn’t bring himself to quit.
The next time they met, it was under the Bicentennial fireworks in the park. Leon recognized the man and was overjoyed to relate to him the consequences of their conversation eighteen months previously. God expressed concern, but Leon shrugged. “I’m working as a cook at the Empire Diner, down by the Chelsea. I like it—I think it suits me.” God smiled and allowed that fate moved in mysterious ways. They were engrossed in conversation when there was a particularly loud boom; God started, and accidentally knocked Leon over into a young lady standing next to them, spilling her Coke all over her jeans. Leon was mortified, and apologized profusely, offering to make things right somehow. Within an hour, they were both hip deep in Belvedere Lake, splashing each other and laughing. It wasn’t until the next morning that Leon remembered that he hadn’t seen God since he bumped into Rebecca.
He was still working at the Empire Diner a couple of years later, when Bill Wyman came by at 4 am for scrambled eggs and gave him a ticket to the Stones concert that night. Leon was fairly certain that, with his long hair and delicate features, and Wyman’s extreme intoxication, he thought Leon was actually a girl. But he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His only stumbling block was telling Rebecca that he only had one ticket.
He ran into God at the concert, waiting on queue to buy beer after Peter Tosh’s set ended. He told God that he was engaged, and God smiled and nodded.
“You should marry Rebecca—she’s a good person.”
Leon’s eyebrows arched. “What, you know her?”
God shrugged. “I’m kind of an expert on good and bad.”
“What, you’re Santa Claus?”
God just shrugged again as he pushed his money across the counter and took his cup of beer. “Not quite, Leon. Baruch atah Adonai. Blessed am I. Enjoy the rest of the show.” And with that, God slipped into the crowd.
When Rebecca asked him how he liked the concert, he wasn’t sure how to reply.
He and God still ran into each other from time to time—their son Josh’s bar mitzvah, late one night on the ferry, that sort of thing—but it wasn’t the same. If it took you that long for a friend to tell you something that important, then how could you really trust him?