In the Hamline MFAC program we encourage students to try
different forms of writing as well as to write across the genres. This isn’t a “do
as I say, not as I do” injunction. Members of the faculty also play around with
their writing, and some of that play time has been a springboard for serious
projects that resulted in publication. Most recently, Ron Koertge and Anne Ursu
have explored fairy tales (Lies, Knives,
and Girls in Red Dresses; Breadcrumbs), Gary Schmidt bit the bullet and
wrote a fantasy (What Came from the Stars),
and Mary Logue wrote a picture book (Sleep
Like a Tiger).
Though nothing is headed toward publication—or even the open air of a public reading--I’ve been playing around too.
Earlier this week I
wrote about the NY Times interview with Kate Atkinson. Another gem from that
article was her description of what she learned by writing fiction for women’s
magazines: “You learn to turn a story around on a sixpence.”
This is not a writing skill I have, something that was made
clear to me a few years ago when doing some work-for-hire writing. The editor of
the project kept rejecting my ideas for stories with the same question: where’s
the moment of change?
Those clear short-story moments when things change elude me.
I like a bit of ambiguity, you see, served with a side of complexity. Novels
are my natural playground.
Still, I want to have the skill, and as a result I’ve recently
been writing flash fiction and reading a lot of revised folk tales, hoping that
an immersion in the modern use of old stories will help me acquire a feel for
the short form.
I’m not sure I’ve got that under control, but I did come up
with a splendid writing exercise, one I’ve already had fun with for my
work-in-progress as well as the novel on the back burner. The origin of the
exercise is Newbery-winning writer Laura Amy Schlitz’s book The
Bearskinner. (I should note that lately my source for finding folktale
retellings is Lise Lunge-Larsen; her wonderful weekly blog for Children’s Literature Network (Snipp Snapp Snute) is loaded with recommendations. Yes, I could browse through the 398s at
my library, but why not let an expert do some legwork?)
In The Bearskinner,
a man makes a deal with a devil, and the story goes on from there. As
Lunge-Larsen points out, a deal with the devil is an old trope. It’s also a great idea for character exploration.
What deal would your protagonist make with the devil? Once the bargain is
struck, what are the specific challenges that threaten success? If the devil is
walking alongside the protagonist during the period of the deal, as in The
Bearskinner, what conversations would occur?
Even if your story is firmly grounded in a world that
acknowledges no supernatural whatever, I bet you can still learn something by playing
around with the devil.
Great post, Marsha! This post helped me unlock a sub-plot between protag. and a minor but pivotal character (in a contemp., realistic story, no less). Never thought about how this trope could and, indeed, does arguably exist in realistic fiction--maybe even best personified within the protag--in her fear, the doubt, the straightjacket that restrains her from what she wants the most--that inner devil that she must ultimately conquer. Definitely a lot to think about here. Thanks so much! Back to the writing cave...
ReplyDeletep.s. Just thinking... YA contemp. novel, SKINNY, by Donna Cooner--shows an inner devil and even showcases a dual narrator, embodied in the protagonist--where we can witness the bargaining/struggle and then the protag.'s ultimate triumph. In this case, the Devil does not walk beside the protag., but rather exists within her. Thought provoking post, Marsha! Okay, I'm seriously heading back to the cave...
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