Synesthesia

The Assignment: Use synesthesia (defined in A Glossary of Literary Terms as a description of "one kind of sensation in terms of another; color is attributed to sounds, odors to colours, sounds to odors, and so on.") in a short scene -- surreptitiously, without drawing too much attention to it -- to convey to your readers an important understanding of some ineffable sensory experience.  Use sight, touch, taste, and smell. 600 words.

My Response:

Music danced through the air, soft and sweet.  Floating across the lake to where she lay on the sand, staring up at the dark sky.  It was going to start at any second, and she couldn't wait.  This was her favourite day of the year.  Better, even, than Christmas, it's cold, harsh winds keeping her locked within her home.  No matter how many family members were by her side, there was nothing in this world better than being outside.   Breathing in light, fresh scent of the summer around her.

"What are you thinking about?" His deep voice rumbled softly beside her, and she turned until she was facing him.  Laying on her side, she laid a hand on his chest, covered by only a single button up shirt.

"Nothing." She told him softly.  Below her she could feel the patchwork quilt that her mother had given her.  Each square was cut from a different cloth, leaving her laying on an orchestra of texture that reminded her of her childhood.

"It can't be nothing." He protested.

She would have replied, but in that moment the crowd began to stir even as the music grew louder.  It was about to start.

Sending him a grin, she settled back onto the blanket to watch the display.

It wasn't long before the first the first of the cacophonous colours lit up the sky.  Yellow, orange, green and red lingered in the darkness before falling to the ground below and disappearing into the mist.  It was breathtaking and beautiful.

The night was alive with the brilliance.  She could smell the dark of the powder used to launch them into the air.  If she closed her eyes, she would swear that the bright colours lurked even on her tongue.  This was it.  This was the very thing she waited for every year.

Before she knew it, the display was over.  The couples around them began to pack up their possessions, each of them talking about what they had just seen.

"Hey, Jess, it's time to go." He said, pulling her attention away from the dark night that had only moments before seemed so alive."

"I know." She muttered, pushing herself to her feet and watching as Anthony folded the blanket.  "Why does it go so fast?"

He chuckled, then threw an arm around her shoulders.  "It's fireworks.  They can't last forever."

She gave him a small smile as they walked away, then glanced back at the spot they had been laying.  In a perfect world, they could last forever.

My Thoughts: This one was hard.  I mean, this was supposed to be posted about three weeks ago, but I just didn't know what to do with it, how to make it work.  But I think I finally got it.  At least, I'm hoping I did, but I suppose you all will be the judge more than me.  I'd love to know what you thought!

Please leave a comment below.  I would love to see what you thought of my response, or even your own response to the exercise.

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley

Alarm Clock Dream

The Assignment: Write a short short story in which an alarm clock going off int he middle of the story plays some kind of crucial role.  Half of the story will be dream and half reality.  I don't usually encourage my students to write about dreams (it is very difficult to do it well, and the results are usually clumsy and obvious), but in this case, try to construct a mirror image on either side of this alarm clock sound.  400 words.

My Response:

"Don't touch that." She said.  Her hands were on the body in front of her, tugging plastic over it.  There was no blood to speak of, but she could see him inching closer.  Wanting, perhaps needing, to see it.  To know.

He looked up at her, a crooked smile on his face.  "Hiding something?"

"You said I could take care of my own." She muttered, pausing in her task to make sure that her gloves were pulled up and her sleeves pulled down.  She didn't need him to see.  It was better if no one knew.

The smile didn't fade, if anything it grew.  His uneven teeth clashing with the pristine sheriff's badge that decorated his chest.  "Wake up.  I wasn't going to let you take care of it."

Anger flushed through her, mingling with the fear that left a hard knot in her stomach.  "I..."

"Wake up!" He yelled, the smile gone, and anger swimming in his eyes.  "Wake up!"

She shook her head.  "No!"

"Wake up, Ellie!" The voice was different now.  Familiar, and she pulled her brows together.  The scene around her was fading away, and panic set in.  No, she had to be able to see.  She had to hide the body, to protect herself!

"Ellie!"

Her eyes snapped open and she glance around at the room that she had been staying in for the last few days.  The fear from the dream slowly began to slip away, and she relaxed back against the pillow.

"What?" She muttered, her voice thick with sleep.  It had just been a dream.  Nothing more than a dream.

"Come on.  It's time to go."

Ellie's eyes met her sisters, their blue depths reflecting the mourning both of them were currently feeling.

"No."

"It's his funeral."

She shook her head, sinking back under the blankets and turning away.  "I can't."

"You have to."  Her sister's voice had gone hard.  No longer was the caring sister.  "This was your fault, and you're not going to lay there feeling sorry for yourself.  Now get up and get dressed.  We're leaving in half an hour."

A tear slipped down Ellie's cheek.  Her fault.  She was right about that.  And there was nothing she could ever do to fix it.


My Thoughts: Well, I definitely wrote this one at work, so if it seemed like I was getting constantly distracted, I really was.  But it was definitely fun.  I don't generally do dream scenes.  Mostly because when I read them, rather than seeing the meaning that the author obviously intended, I usually just find them annoying and superficial.  So writing one kind of went against my personal likes.  Still, trying to come up with some way to parallel the dream world and the real world was kind of fun.  Still not something I want in my stuff, really, but it was definitely a good exercise.

I would love to see anything that you might have come up with for this exercise.  Or if you just want to tell me what you thought of my response, I would love that as well.  Leave a comment below!

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley

Clothes

The Assignment: Use a particular and fairly vivid piece of clothing to tell a story: a sweater worn by two sisters who sleep with the same man while wearing it (at least initially), or a loud sports jacket someone buys at a Goodwill store before realizing the jacket has three bullet holes in its back.  What does clothing say about us?  How does it select us, as opposed to being selected by us?  Who tells us to buy this or that thing (other than salespeople)? What is the most alluring piece of clothing you've ever seen or worn and why?  why do some people seem to fit their clothes and others not?  What do clothes hide?  What do they reveal? 600 words.

My Response:

“So, what do you think?” Karen asked, presenting herself to her boyfriend.

“About what?” He asked, staring at the TV behind her.

Karen twisted around to see the bright colours of a cartoon that she couldn’t even begin to name dancing across the screen, then down at the red dress she had donned.

It had a wide sweethart neckline, with capped sleeves, and it clung to her curves until just below the waist where it flared out, ending about an inch above her knees. She had loved it the first time she had seen it, and Mark had remembered and gotten it for her.

At the time, he had told her that she was just as beautiful as the dress, and he was going to take her out for a night out on the town to prove it to her. Now she was starting to think that was just another of his promises that he would never get around to.

“Mark!” She cried, stepping in the way of the TV even more. “Look at me.”

He sighed dramatically and looked up at her. “What?”

“You promised that we would go out.”

“No I didn’t.”

Of course he said that now. That was the way it always went with him. He would be all sweet and make all these promises, but when it came time to actually do it, he acted like it was nothing.

“Mark, I need you to…”

Her words were cut off by the sound of glass breaking. She frowned as she looked in the direction of the back door.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Mark asked, his eyes firmly fixed on the TV again.

“Don’t worry about it. You keep watching your damn cartoons. I’ll go look.”

He nodded, and waved her off, and Karen turned away, making her way toward the back door. She should have known this was going to happen. She should have left him months ago, but she had thought that he was a good guy. That her friends didn’t know what they were talking about when they called him a loser.

Her steps slowed when she saw the broken glass in front of the back door, which was swinging open in the night. She tensed, ready to run, when arms encircled her, a hand moving to stop her from screaming.

“What do we have here?” A ragged voice sounded in her ear. “A pretty dress all ready for me.”

She shook her head, kicking out, trying to get him in the knee, but he just chuckled, and pushed her against the counter, sending a pot clattering to the ground.

“Do you mind, Babe?” Mark called from the living room. “I’m trying to watch a show.”

The man snickered in her ear, and she desperately tried to fight him off, but soon the red skirt she had loved so much was bunched up around her waist.

“You know what this colour reminds me of?” He asked, his fingers playing with the fabric even as she felt him pulling at her panties. “Your blood.”

She felt a sting on her neck and realized that he had cut her, the red of her blood sliding down to mingle with the dress.

Then he was on her. The dress was pulled from her body, leaving her exposed. He threw it in front of her, her eyes focusing on the rips and tears that hadn’t been there only a few minutes before.

“Babe, do you think you could bring me a sandwich?” Mark called, and she let out a groan, trying to block out what was happening to her.

The laughter in her ear didn’t help.

When he was done he grabbed the knife once more. “Thanks for a great night, my Lady in Red.” He whispered in her ear.

Her eyes widened as she felt the knife pushed into her, twisting as it dug deep into her back. Pain flooded through her, and she could see her blood flowing out onto the counter below her, pooling around the dress, until it was hard to decipher one from the other.

Slowly the colour faded away, his laughter getting more and more distant, until she couldn’t feel anything at all.

My Thoughts: So...that went a little bit darker than I originally intended it.  Seriously, I don't know what I thought was going to happen, but it sure wasn't that.  Huh.  Well, there you have it.  I guess I'm all dark and twisty ^.~

I would love to see anything that you've come up with for this exercise.  Or even just a comment on how you think I did.  Post in the comments section below.

All exercises come from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley  

Canned Film

The Assignment: Write a very short synopsis of an imaginary film, as if writing for one of those video anthologies -- perhaps 10,000 Films in a Nutshell. Concentrate on images as much as you can in this summary of a plot or an interesting combination of images and time. 300 words.

My Response:

 Set on the backdrop of a world controlled by deals with daemons and the price of souls, Fallen Things is a story unlike any other.

When it comes time for Felicity to make good on her contract with Barnaby, she does the unthinkable: Trades her own soul for that of the woman she loves.

Now Lisa is stuck in the daemon realm, forced to play the role of servant. New rules are forced on her, and the world of magic soon reveals itself, tempting her with it’s powerful tendrils, until she finds herself content with the world around her.

Her world is torn to shreds once more when Felicity arrives, intent on ‘saving’ her. But when Lisa refuses to go with her, the mishap with the contract is brought to light, and suddenly her new Master is finding himself on trial with the daemon’s that run the realm.

Will he be able to maintain his position in the daemon realm? Does he even want to anymore? And will Lisa be once more thrust into a world that she no longer wants to claim as her own?

Is the mortal realm ready for the fallout of the trial? Because one thing is certain, no matter what happens, the world will never be the same again.

My Thoughts:  I actually used a friend's novel for this one (Eric A. Satchwill).  Mostly because I was too lazy to come up with a whole new concept, but also because as soon as I started writing, this just came out.  I'm not sure entirely how accurate it is, as I haven't read the entire novel yet, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it.  I would love to see something like this, written by a friend, about one of my novels.

I would love to see what you thought of my response.  And if you came up with something of your own for it, please post in the comments section below!

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley  

TV

The Assignment: Write a short interior scene during which a TV is on.  Let the words and images on the screen interact interestingly with the activity going on in the room.  Your characters can be watching the TV, or it can be background noise.  Choose your TV show carefully to reflect an interesting aspect of the human situation you're also describing.  You might do some research, taking notes with the TV on (more difficult to do than you might think).  Think about the kind of people who have a TV on all the time and don't seem to know about the mute button on the remote.  Maybe you could play with the notion of TV reality interfering with your characters' reality.  500 words.

My Response:

 The eyes of the alligator stuck out of the water, looking like nothing more than two bubbles. Except that the group of people in the boat behind it were looking excited and pointing. This was what they had been looking for. They had found it, and they were going to capture it.

A rope came out, and the girl stepped forward, ready to do what she had come along to do. Her hand came up and…

“So what do you think?”

My head whirled around to see the entire table staring at me, waiting to see what I thought about the topic I hadn’t heard.

“Um, what?” I asked, forcing myself to turn and sit in the chair properly rather than staring at the TV in the other room.

It was Thanksgiving, and my family had gathered together. In the kitchen my grandmother was holding court. She sat at the end of the table, her petite form leaning back in her chair, and her eyes carefully watching the pots set up on the stove.

At the table with her was my Aunt Helena, her daughter Janine, my sister Carole and myself. This was what we did during family get togethers. Sitting in the kitchen talking was something that had been ingrained in us since we were children. So was leaving the television on. I wasn’t sure that my grandmother knew there was an off button.

I didn’t even like what was on TV. Stupid reality shows that I never found interesting. Unfortunately I couldn’t help what distracted me, and generally the TV was enough.

“What are you watching?” My sister asked leaning back, her long brown hair swinging over the back of her chair as she watched four people with multiple ropes hauling the alligator up onto the bank and give it a shot to knock it out. The girl had apparently been successful.

“Nothing,” I said with a shrug, “I hate those shows.”

“Which is why she didn’t hear any of the conversation.” Aunt Helena said with a roll of her eyes. I ignored her. She had an opinion on everything, and we had gotten used to having to listen to them.

“What is this?” Carole asked, turning more fully and squinting at the television.

My eyes turned back to it, taking in the men picking up the large reptile and throwing it into the back of their truck. I didn’t even want to think about where they were going to take it.

“I don’t know,” I said, forcing my eyes back to the table. “What were we talking about, anyway?”

Carole finally gave up on trying to figure out what was on the television. “Meredith. What do you think of our new sister-in-law?”

I sighed. No one liked her. In fact, there had been a huge fight with our brother right before the wedding. I had tried to stay out of it, but I got the feeling he was never going to forgive us.

“I think that she’s his choice, and we shouldn’t interfere.”

My Thoughts: This one wasn't actually too difficult for me.  I often find myself distracted by a television, even if I don't care at all about what's being shown there.  I don't know why, but it happens more often than I would like to admit.

I would love to hear what you thought of my response.   And if you feel inspired by the exercise, I would love to see what you come up with.  Leave me a comment!

All exercises taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley. 

Two Paintings

The Assignment: This is another version of Two Images Separated at Birth (exercise 15): Write a story that is an attempt to bridge two photographs or paintings by, for example, Diana Arbus, Eric Fischl, Cindy Sherman, Edouard Manet, Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, Tina Barney, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Roy Lichtenstein, Max Beckmann, Mark Tansey, Weegee, or Paul Klee.  As in the previous exercise, use two distinct and unrelated paintings or photographs by two artists.  You need not use fine art photography; collections of old and recent news photography or advertising photos might also be inspiring for this exercise.  Choose two paintings or photographs that are very dissimilar. 600 words.

My Response:

Picture #1:

Picture #2:

“This is your wedding day. Be happier.” My mother said as she walked into the room.

I was standing in the living room of our house. My brother was lounging on the couch behind me, and my father was watching over all of us from his regular perch beside my brother, a rare smile on his face.

Of course he was smiling. This was what he wanted.

“I’m not going to be happy about this, mother.” I told her, barely turning to look at her. My white dress had been hand picked by her, and bought from the most expensive of designers. I thought it looked ridiculous. I suppose I could only be happy that she hadn’t chosen a huge design that wouldn’t have fit in the small space between the table and the couch.

Instead I got to wear a white frothy creation that cinched just below the waist with a white bow, then flared out dramatically. It wasn’t a horrible dress, but I didn’t want to be wearing it at all.

“Stop that. It’s done now, and there’s not going to be any undoing it.”

The wedding. It had taken place only the hour before, and I was dreading that night. My mother had claimed that I had to come back here to get ready, but I didn’t want to leave.

“I still can’t believe you got away with wearing that thing on your arm.” My brother commented behind me, not looking up from his magazine.

He was talking about my armband. It twisted around, looping more than once, and ended with the head of a snake. I loved it. My mother hated it. But it had been the one thing I had refused to budge on.

“Yes, well, she did the family a favour today. And I promise, you’ll be happy.” My mother claimed.

Somehow I doubted that.

The doorbell rang, and my mother went to get it. It wasn’t long before my husband stood in the doorway.

Tall and handsome with jet black hair and steely grey eyes, he would be a catch by anyone’s standard. “Are you ready to go?” He asked.

I just nodded and walked over to him. I hadn’t packed, and I certainly hadn’t changed, but there was nothing I wanted less than to stand in a room with my family who had betrayed me.

The ride to the hotel didn’t take long. I stared around that room the Andy had gotten us. There were trees painted on the walls, and the canopy over the bed looked as if they had been trying to make it look like leaves. The bed itself had brown sheets, and flowers decorated the covers. And on the table beside the bed sat a bowl of apples. He’d brought us to the Garden of Eden.

Two hands fell on my shoulders, and I stiffened. “This wasn’t what I was expecting.” I commented.

“This is just for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll bring you home with me.”

I turned to looked at him, “Why can’t we just go there tonight?”

“Tonight? No, tonight we have much better things to do.” His steely eyes looked directly into mine, and I found myself shivering at what I saw there. “Tonight, we consummate this marriage.”

My eyes widened and I stumbled back. “You know, we barely know each other. Maybe we should wait.”

“You are my wife. You have duties.”

“To have sex with you? I don’t know what you think this is, but…” My words cut off as a hand smacked me across the face, sending me stumbling a few steps until I hit the bed, dazed.

I could feel his hands grab me again, but I didn’t fight. Not as he ripped my dress, not as he pleasured himself on me. Not until he fell asleep beside me, snoring with satisfaction.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I tried not to think about what I had gotten myself into. What my family had gotten me into.

A single hand brushed against the metal, warmed from being against my skin. A snake, it’s metal scales clinging to my arm. What had I done?

My Thoughts: When I was looking for two pictures and happened to come across those two, I thought 'I have to do it!' so I did.  It -- of course -- got rather dark, but I think it works for the assignment.

As always I would love to hear what you think of my interpretation.  And I would love to see what you come up with for the assignment.  Post in the comments section below.

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley 

Two Images Switched at Birth

The Assignment: Think up a vivid, haunting image.  Work hard to construct this image so it is not only visible to the reader but exciting and though-provoking.  Then think up another unrelated but equally vivid image.  The key to this exercise is to work at composing two unrelated images, two scenes or situations you do not think are part of a story.  Then write a story fragment out of the two images. 600 words.

My Response:

Image #1: A girl, no older than fifteen, dances on the edge of a roof. She seems happy enough, though she doesn’t have any headphones in. Around her rain is pouring down, sticking her dirty blonde hair to her head, and making her makeup run. Her dress would whirl every time she turns, but the water holds it down, so that it only moves awkwardly against her legs. Barefoot, though even that seems to elude her as she dances.

Image #2: A pool of blood in the streets. Dirt is mixed with it, and a few footprints can me seen on the outer edges. People are milled about, some of them with their arms crossed over their stomachs. Others appear more curious, trying to see around the crowd. Crime tape has been set up, and cops are taking statements. A boy, fifteen, stands on the edge of the crowd looking dazed.

“Elena!” I breathed as I stepped out on the roof.

There she was, just like I knew she would be. The rain was pressing her dirty blonde hair to her head as it tumbled from the sky. A flash of lightning brightened the roof for a second, showing me Elena at her finest.

Dancing across the edge of the roof in a way that reminded me of freedom and abandon. I had never been able to mimic her movements. To just let the music take me away. Of course, the fact that she wasn’t wearing headphones didn’t phase me for a second. And her lack of shoes was the least of my worries. This certainly wasn’t the first time I had found her up here.

“Elena, you need to come inside. Mom wants you.”

I cringed when heavy thunder rolled across the sky above our heads. I hated this weather. Always had. Mom said I used to hide under the table the second it started to rain. Sometimes I wished I still could.

Elena, though, barely looked at me. She was too caught up in it. In the dance that she was creating from music that only she could hear.

Mom would kill me if I left her out here for too long, though.

Marching over to her, I grabbed her wrist, and spun her to look at me. Her skirt twirled with her, sending droplets of water dancing across my green tshirt that was already wet from the rain.

“Corey, come on.” She said, a smile on her face, “Dance with me.”

Like that was the first time she’d said that to me.

“No, mom wants you.”

She sighed, and turned back to the edge behind her. Her hips swaying was the only indication that she was still listening to the music.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“You’re the only one who can hear it.”

“No, you can hear it too. If you listen. You could always hear it.”

Anger and frustration welled in my chest. She always said things like that. Why didn’t she realize that I didn’t hear anything. That I didn’t want to hear anything! That she was the weird one, and I was perfectly happy being normal?

Why couldn’t she be normal like me?

“Elena, come on!” I grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the door.

“No!” She shrieked, yanking her hand out of mine. I tried to tell warn her. To grab her hand again as I watched her foot step back into nothing.

My breath rushed out of my as I stared at the spot where my sister had been only moments before, not knowing what to do.

Below me a scream sounded, covered by the sound of yet another clap of thunder above me. I didn’t hear any of it, though. I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my blood rushing through my head.

Turning I ran to the door, frantic to get down to the street.

By the time I got there, a crowd had already formed around what I knew was my sister. I didn’t want to look, but I knew I had to.

“Hey, kid. Don’t look, that’s no sight for you.” I heard someone say as a hand landed on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off and pushed through the remaining crowd. The sight, though, was too much for me, and my eyes rolled up into my head.

When I woke up again, a cop was standing next to me. Seeing me awake, he started asking me questions. I couldn’t answer, though. The crowd had thinned out, and I could see where my sister had fallen. All that was left, though, was a pool of blood. Footprints lined the outside, and bright yellow tape had been set up around it while cameras flashed and people cops talked to the people all around.

Pushing away from the cop, I made my way to the edge, still staring at all that was left of my sister. How had this happened?

My Thoughts: This one was interesting.  I'll admit, I spent a lot of time on the images.  I'm a planner by nature, so thinking of the images first then the story wasn't easy for me.  I kept coming up with two that could work as a story.  I'm not sure I succeeded in making them completely independent of each other, but it had gotten to the point where I'd cycled through so many images I was afraid I was never going to write the thing.  Anyway, as always it ended up rather dark (I'm not sure I know how to do a happy-go-lucky type story) but I enjoyed writing it.  And adding in the description that was so necessary with this exercise.

As always, I would love to hear what you think of my response.  And I would also love to see what you came up with for it.  Post in the comments section below!!

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley 

 

No Ideas, But In Things

The Assignment: Write a very brief story told only in images -- concrete, simple, visually efficient movements and details.  This exercise does not ask you to eliminate people from your prose, just to watch what they do and what objects they crave and caress rather than what they say or think about these objects and actions.  300 words.

My Response:

He raised the fork to his mouth. Red sauce dripped off the fork, and a single curling noodle barely made it as he took the bite.

A slight scraping sound filled the air as the fork slid across his teeth, and he moved the utensil back to his plate, setting it down with a clatter as he chewed. His adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and he paused, his hands moving to rub together in front of him.

A tiny dot of sauce rested on the corner of his mouth, but he made no move to wipe it away.

Once more he picked up the fork, digging into what was once a perfectly arranged plate. The square of lasagna was now spread across his plate, mingling with the green of his lettuce. The red sauce made it look as though it was bleeding. Cheese had been pushed aside, as it always was at first, and his fork flashed as it tore through the pale noodles.

Again he brought the fork to his mouth, and once more he paused in consideration while chewing.

“Well?” She asked.

His blue eyes flicked up to hers, amusement dancing across them, making them sparkle under the dim lights of the dining room.

“Well, what?”

His fork played with a piece of lettuce, but he made no move to bring it to his lips. It mixed the white dressing and sauce all the more until it turned pink.

“Do you like it?”

His twinkling eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to decide. Grabbing his fork he took another bite, holding up a single long finger while he chewed.

A bun flew across the room, crumbs streaming across the table until it smacked him in the chest, and he laughed a deep rumbling sound.

“It’s delicious.”


My Thoughts: This was the first exercise in the 'Images' section of the book.  I'll admit, I was a little worried about it.  If you ask my critique group they will no doubt tell you that my weakest point with writing is my description.  I didn't know how well I was going to be able to write a story, even a short one like this, using only images.  After all, I so enjoy living in my character's heads.  But, I think it turned out well, don't you?

As always I would love to hear your opinions, and even to see something that you've come up with for the exercise.  Post in the comments section below.

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley.  

God

The Assignment: The spectrum of narrative perspectives goes from benighted, flawed, unreliable first-person narrations to godlike omniscience -- all-knowing understanding of everyone's thoughts and deepest motives.  But God's POV is also, presumably, a first person narration -- or perhaps God speaks occasionally in the royal we or the second-person plural.  What would God see?  How would God know a very ordinary set of events -- or how could mere human readers see all that a god (let alone God) sees?  Since God should know how to be efficient and get right to the point, do this exercise in 200 words.

My Response:

What did I do?

The thought cut through all the others. The hopes and wishes, the fears and needs. Accompanied by such terrible sadness that it could not be ignored.

The thinker of this thought was ordinary by all means. Brown hair, brown eyes. His skin was tanned, though he’d spent no time in the sun. Normally he would be playing video games by himself in his living room. But that day could not be described as ordinary.

A gun wavered in his hand as he fought against the sick feeling that was building in his stomach. At his feet lay a man with a black mask over his face. Pain engulfed his entire being, and as the last bits of consciousness left him, he thought only of the face of his beloved daughter. The one he had broken into this house for in the first place. She had to eat.

The gun clattered to the ground, No, no, no! I can’t have done this, no!

His hands came up to his head, trying to wipe away the last couple of minutes, but they couldn’t. Nothing ever would.

The pain disappeared as the soul left the body of the man laying on the ground, it’s bright shining light unseen by the killer. Soon, all that was left was the jumbled thoughts of a man whose life would never be the same again.

My Thoughts: This one marks the end of the POV section of the book.  I'm sad to see it go, as there were some very interesting exercises, but POV has also never been a big weak point of mine, so I'm eager to move forward and see what's coming.  As for this assignment, I was a little stumped at first, but eventually I figured out what I wanted to do.  I don't know if this is how a god (or even God himself) would witness such a scene, but I thought I made a fair stab at it.

As always, I would love to hear what you thought of my exercise.  And, if you've come up with your own response to it, I would love to see that.  Post in the comments section below.

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley 

The Cheerful Spectator

The Assignment: Introduce to yourself a narrator intimate to a story but outside it as well.  The wonderful effect of a narrator who is intertwined with a story, but also essentially unimportant to its outcome is that you have more leisure to explore the complexities of the plot, the kinks in it, and the gaps of knowledge this cheerful spectator is going to have.  Don't make her omniscient or even close to that, although she can guess expertly at the problems she is observing -- she can even be wrenched by the emotional logjams she is witness to.  This is a lot like The Reluctant I (Exercise 1), except in this exercise place an observer outside the stream of a story, but just outside. (In The Reluctant I, the narrator should be very important to the story.) 800 words.

My Response:

The blanket beneath me was scratchy and did nothing to stop me from feeling the rocks that were poking out of the ground, but I didn’t complain. It was the church’s annual picnic, and I couldn’t have been more excited.

I had spent the last week locked in my room thanks to my father who overreacted when he saw me talking to the Johnson boy. As if he would ever consider me. I’m not beauty to be seeking favours from.

Now, though, I had been allowed out and I would get to see Elena once more.

She walked through the park slowly, a blanket folded over her arm, and a basket in her hand. Her black hair curled where it hung to her waist, covering the pale green dress she wore that cinched at her tiny waist with a deep green ribbon. Beneath her matching bonnet, though, her pale blue eyes were distant.

What could she be thinking about? Now, at the picnic?

“Elena!” I called, waving my hand in the air so she would see me sitting there on the ground.

She smiled as she caught sight of me and made her way over. The distance in her eyes didn’t disappear, though.

“Hi,” She said as she spread out her blanket next to mine and sat down. “Good turn out this year.”

I nodded absently, “Yes. It usually is. The picnic is one of the few times the entire town comes out.”

Elena didn’t look interested in what I was telling her, though. Her eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for something. Or, perhaps, someone.

“Are you alright?” I asked, concerned.

Her blue eyes slid over to me, “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. You look strange. As if something has happened.”

She shook her head, though she averted her gaze, going back to scanning the park. “No. Nothing. I am not as interesting as you seem to think.”

I wasn’t so certain of that. Elena had moved to town only a few months before. Her past seemed a mystery that none could solve. She hadn’t even confided in me, her best friend. Every time the subject came up, she would quickly change the subject. I would find out, though. Perhaps one day when she felt ready to open up about it.

“Well, you’re certainly more interesting than the pastor and his wife,” I gestured to the older couple sitting only a few feet away. Chairs had been brought out for them, and they were sitting there staring at the crowd, waiting for someone to come talk to them. That was the way it always was.

Unfortunately, my joke didn’t seem to be funny to Elena, who only gave me a small smile.

I was just about to ask what was wrong again, when a shadow fell across us, and Elena jumped and whirled around.

“Hello,” A deep voice sounded, and I turned to see Matthew standing behind us.

Matthew had grown up here in town. He’d always been popular with the ladies, who would laugh and whisper behind their fans as he walked by. I had never seen the appeal. Certainly he was good looking with his soft blond hair and deep brown eyes. He was even well built, rather than most of the men in town who were starting to go soft around the middle, but he had always seemed rather self absorbed.

Across from me Elena had gone pale, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was like the other girls. If she was in love with him too.

“Matthew,” Elena said softly, “How are you today?”

He smiled down at her as he crouched down, “Why, I’m good thank you. I received good news last night, and I intend to celebrate today.

“You received nothing last night,” Elena said sharply before I had a chance to respond. I stared at her in wonder as colour creeped up her cheeks. “I would ask you to leave.”

Matthew just chuckled under his breath. “A feisty one. I like that. We will be well matched when we are wed.”

Wed? My eyes widened, and my mouth dropped open.

Elena didn’t even look in my direction. She stood, forcing him to do the same. Tears had gathered in her eyes, and her hands were knotted by her sides in fists. “We will never be wed. Of that I can promise you.”

“Come now, Elena. After last night…”

Her hand came out and slapped him across the cheek. The sound echoed through the park, and suddenly everyone was looking in our direction.

“You will never speak of last night again. Ever. Do not presume anything, Matthew. You and I will never be wed. That is the last time I will speak of it!” She cried, before she turned and ran off.

Matthew just laughed, rubbing a hand over his cheek, which had gained a hand print. “I’m going to enjoy having her as a wife and making her pay for that.”

My eyes widened in horror as I watched him walk away, then stood to take off after my friend.

As always I would love to hear what you thought of my response.  And if you would like to also do the assignment, I would love to see what you come up with.  Post it in the comments section below.

All exercises are taken from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley