Creative Writing Assignments

Creative Writing Lesson 1

Objectives:
1. Students will practice writing dialogue that fits a given situation and character.

2. Students will insert dialogue into an already begun piece of writing.

Activities:
1. Students will read the Micro-fiction "The Appalachian Trail" by Bruce Eason.
a. Students will focus on the use of dialogue to both give add to characterization and advance plot.

2. As a large group, students will study a photograph of two children fighting. Then the class will write a piece of dialogue that explains the situation and says something about who the children are. Students will brainstorm possible causes and resolutions for the fight. Then, as a group they can make decisions about the way each character sounds.

3. On their own, students will examine another photograph, this time each student will have their own photograph. Students will determine what the characters will talk about, and how they will sound. In class, they should take time to work out a piece of a conversation between the people in the photo.

4. Students will trade photos with a classmate and repeat step 3.

5. With their partner, students will examine their conversations and provide feedback asking each other:
1. Does this advance the plot?
2. Does this say something about the character?

6. Once students have finished giving each other feedback, they will look back at a piece of writing they have started that needs more dialogue. Making decisions about character and purpose, students will write at least 5 lines of dialogue into that story.

Assessment:
1. Students will be informally assessed on their interaction in the large and small group interactions.

2. Students will be assessed on the in class writing they completed, and the dialogue they added to their story.


Creative Writing Lesson 2

Objectives:
1. Students will practice writing sensory detail for a given situation.
2. Students will insert sensory detail into an already begun piece of writing.

Activities:
1. Students will read the Micro-fiction "Bread" by Margaret Atwood.
a. While reading, students will highlight details that appeal to the 5 senses. After reading students will discuss which senses are used for description in the piece.

2. As a large group, student will study a photograph of a Thanksgiving dinner. As a class, the group will brainstorm details for each of the five senses. Together, the group will write a description of the scene choosing from the details on the board.

3. With a partner, students will examine another photograph. Together, they will brainstorm details that could be used to describe that piece. In class, students will write a description of that scene using as many sensory details as possible.

4. With their partner, students will evaluate their work be reading it aloud and asking the other person to picture what is happening. The object is to paint an accurate picture for the listener.

5. Once students have finished sharing with their partner, they will look back at a piece of writing they have started that needs more description. Using details that appeal to the five senses, students will write at least one paragraph of description into that story.

Assessment:
1. Students will be informally assessed on their interaction in the large and small group interactions.

2. Students will be assessed on the in class writing they completed, and the description they added to their story.


Creative Writing Lesson 3

Objectives:
1. Students will brainstorm many different possible first sentences for a story.

2. Students will begin five different stories using the same first sentence.

Activities:
1. Students will read a list of first lines and leads taken from magazine articles.

2. Taking a few minutes on their own, and using the leads as inspiration, students will write as many first lines as possible without editing.

3. As a large group, students will share some of their first lines, generating a large class list on the board.

4. Students will choose one first line that they find interesting. Using that first line they will begin the first few lines to a paragraph of a story.

5. Once they have finished one beginning, students should take the same first line and write the beginning a completely new story. Some questions to help them change their stories could be:
1. Does a new character enter?
2. Does the setting change?
3. How old is the character?
4. Is the character surprised?
5. Does an unexpected event occur?

6. Students will repeat steps 4 and 5 until they have the beginnings of five stories. From those stories, students will choose one that they want to work with for the next day. That night, students should add one page of writing to those opening lines, working with plot and character.

Assessment:
1. Students will be informally assessed on their interaction in the large and small group interactions.

2. Students will be assessed on the in class writing they completed, and the story they began as homework.

Fiction Exercises 3

Exercise 39 - The Skeleton

We were locked in the attic. This happened often when our nanny Ethel got tired of our behavior. It didn't take much to get sent to the attic. A spilled juice, dirty clothes, loud play indoors, any of these offenses could send my brother and I up to the attic. Once she had us on the stairs, Ethel would turn the lock on her side of the door, shutting us in. In our earlier days we would cry and pound on the door, begging to be released. However, as time passed we began to realize that this was a futile effort. In fact, the louder and longer we cried, the longer Ethel kept the door locked.

One day Aaron and I sat on the dusty floor boards waiting for our captivity to be over. The hot, stale air stung my nostrils as light dimly peered through the small window. From the corner of his eye Aaron spotted something that he hadn't seen before. "What is that?" He asked. "Has it always been there?" I followed his gaze to the corner where strange looking mountain had grown. It must have been there for years, we just failed to notice.

Aaron and I moved to the corner, and waited to our eyes to adjust to see the item. It was an old trunk. The black exterior was gray with dust. The top was covered with a pile of old quilts and afghans. The pulls were so old that they were black with tarnish.

Together we pushed the pile of blankets off the top. A plume of dust rose from the stack as they hit the floor. It took both us to pry the lid open. When we finally succeeded, the hinges squealed as the lid slowly parted open. Inside the trunk was a pile of old clothes. Brown pants, while linen shirts, a blue jacket. There were also gray and maroon dresses with long sleeves and high necks. We took turns pulling the musty clothes over our heads and modeling for each other. As Aaron pulled up the last item, an army uniform, a small pocket knife fell out onto the floor. It spun at our feet before coming to rest.

As the younger sister, I was scared. "I think we should put it back. It's not ours."
But Aaron had a much better vision of what the knife could do. "Come on, I think I can get us out." He crept to the door and opened the knife. When he put the blade into the lock and turned, we both heard the click of the lock. Slowly, Aaron turned the handle and peered around the corner. He looked back to give me the "all clear" and we were finally free.

Exercise 52 - 1 Syllable Story

The full box hit the floor with a thud. My eye ran the length of the room. The sink, walls, floor and door of this place were all old and foul. The air smelled stale and no light came in. "Is this it?" I thought to myself. It was a long move here, and right now, did not seem worth it.

His shoes trod through the door. "Well," he said, and blew a gust of air. "It could be worse."

My eyes stung as though I had been hit in the nose. "How?"

"Look. I know it's bad. But it won't help to dwell." The veil of his optimism grew thin.

"How can I not? I moved here. I will live here. Live means the same as dwell. I'll dwell if I want to." My chest felt tight in the stale room.

"I know. But we can fix this place up. Spruce it up a bit. It could work."

He touched the small of my back. His hand was warm and firm on my tense back. When I stayed in his touch, he ran a hand up my neck and smoothed my hair.

It was that same tug. The same pull to stay here, to stay with him. I leaned back and felt his chest hold me up.

"But I still hate it." I said.

"I know."

Exercise 63 - Stairs: Setting and Place

I came rushing through the door and up the first set of stairs. My afternoon meetings always ran late, and I knew that I would have a student waiting for me. As I bounded around the landing I almost ran into Anne. She had her bag and jacket, and must have been on her way out. Except, her hands were empty, and she looked surprisingly unburdened by her bag. Normally Anne walks out with a crate of work. Her bag is so heavy that she had to lean to one side to counter the weight of the work she brings home. But today her arms swung freely at her sides and she walked tall.

"Hey," I said, unsure how to approach this unusual situation.

"Hi."

"Are you leaving," I asked, even though it was pretty obvious that she was.

"Yeah, I'm done." She responded, nodding her head as she spoke.

"Wow! You're caught up?" I couldn't believe she had finished all of her work. No one here was ever caught up.

"No." Anne shook her head. "I'm just done."

The pause sat between us, weighing down the air.

"I got cut today. Bruce told me." Anne's tone was flat, and she looked at the wall as she spoke. I immediately wished I hadn't been in that stairwell, and hadn't asked the questions.

"Oh God. Anne. I'm sorry." I fumbled to make words and fragments into full thoughts.

"Thanks," she replied. "I need to go. See you tomorrow." Anne breezed down the stairs and into the sunny, windy day outside. Two stray papers blew past her feet as she crossed to the parking lot. When she reached her car, I turned and finished up the stairs to the pile of work waiting for me.

Fiction Exercises 2

Part Four Dalogue:
Exercise 27 - Telling Talk:

Gina whirled into the apartment.
"You will not believe what Matt did today," She called from the entryway. The closet door opened and closed, her keys hit the table. I could hear her voice before she appeared next to my seat.

"So, you know how I had that big meeting with HMAC today?" She asked. Without pausing for a reply from me (response is unnecessary to Gina's storytelling) she launched into a summary of the past three meetings with this client, proving the loaded importance of this single meeting. "Well I asked Matt to order some food for the meeting. Donuts and coffee and whatever the catering provides. You know, to look nice. Do you know what he said?" Again, no wait. "He said that he was too busy with his work to order food." Her neck flares an angry pink as she recounts the office showdown. I got lost somewhere between "What do you mean 'your' work" and "stuffing envelopes for a month." But I knew enough not to suggest watching baseball over her celebrity dance show when the story finally reached its conclusion.

Exercise 29 - Dialogue with Action:

Slowly, my grandmother shuffled the cards. She held them in one soft, wrinkled hand and let them flip into the other. Then she laid out the solitaire board. One card methodically laid on the next to form perfect rows. Watching her deal was a painfully slow process.

"So, what did the doctor say about the chest pains?" I ask. I know that she doesn't want to tell me, but can't resist asking her when we're finally alone.

"Oh, just that I should keep eating my cheerios. I have the body of a forty year old." She pulled three cards from the top of the deck and flipped them face up, studying their suits and numbers.

"Grandma. You are having chest pains almost daily. He probably was more concerned that that." I stare at the game board. There is a move she could make but doesn't see. Instead she flips three more cards over, covering that move for good.

"Hmm?" She asked without looking up from the cards.

"I give up." I say. I push my chair out, scraping it against the linoleum floor. "I give up."

Part Five:
Exercise 32:
"Fuck you," I say. "Fuck you and all your bullshit. I'm tired of always carrying the water for you. Just sick of it." Or, at least, that's what I would say. Out loud. To her face. "Fuck you." I can just see her expression. Shock first. Her mouth a big, gaping O, making her look even more stupid than she already is. Then the quick transition to angry. Oh she'd be pissed. Her face would go all red. And the big blue vein that runs down the center of her forehead would pop out and say hello. But she wouldn't be able to speak at first. She wouldn't know what to say. And in that precious, golden moment of silence I would say, "I quit." When I walked out people would clap and slap me on the back. They'd all want to be me, wishing they had been the ones to tell Cathy off. God it would be great. I elevator dings and the door opens. I walk into my office, the sound of phones and desk chairs greeting me.

"Good morning" Cathy says as I walk past.
"Good morning," I respond. "Fuckface," I add in my head. It's very satisfying.

Fiction Exercises

Part One Beginnings:
Exercise 1 - First Lines:

1. As Steven finished packing his lunch - turkey on wheat and carrot sticks - he saw on the table the lunch his wife forgot.

2. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting.

3. Gina skated through a yellow light, rolled a stop sign and slid into a parking spot just as Steven was getting out of his car.

4. Gina waved from the gate and walked through the door. A week in Puerto Rico with the girls would do her some good.

Exercise 2 - Second Sentence:

1. As Steven finished packing his lunch - turkey on wheat and carrot sticks - he saw on the table the lunch his wife forgot.
In her downtown office, Gina opened her door, pulled out her chair and noticed her hands were feeling unusually free.

2. Gina skated through a yellow light, rolled a stop sign and slid into a parking spot just as Steven was getting out of his car.
"You might want to roll up your windows," Steven called as he crossed the street to her. "It looks like rain."

3. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting.
"Hi Lido," Steven muttered as the dog jumped at his leg. Gina's dog had failed puppy school, barked at friends and foe alike and jumped on anything that moved. In short, Lido was difficult to love.

4. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting. Steven looked at the note, trying to wrap his head around the idea that just this morning she had been energetic and full of life. Now, she was plugged into a million different machines that did god-knows-what. The car hadn't even stopped to look for someone in the crosswalk.

5. The note on the mirror said "Don't forget - 4228 Glendale at 5:30 XOXO." She had written it in purple marker on a pink post-it, in her big, hasty handwriting. Now, instead of house hunting, Steven and his wife would be bailing out his brother and hiring a lawyer. Steven know that John was an idiot, he'd always said so. But he didn't think he was dumb enough to line his own pockets with the association dues.

Part Two Characterization:
Exercise 10 - That Sort of Person:

1. John was the sort of person who never offered to bring anything to Christmas Dinner

2. Steven was the sort of person who always gave the best birthday gifts - generous, observant and well-planned.

3. Gina was the sort of person who put out too many snacks whenever she hosted a party, and still worried about running short.

4. Elaine is the sort of person who gives excellent directions.

Exercise 12 - Props:

Steven's Briefcase:
4 file folders - each labeled with the client's name and contact information
Business card holder - 1 side his own, the other side filled with other contacts
Toothbrush
Breath mints
Leather folder - black with tan interior
Legal pad
3 pens
Blackberry - black
Wallet - black leather

Gina's Purse:
2 receipts - 1 for lunch last week, 1 for shoes yesterday
Gum
Mints
More Gum (she often forget and buys more)
Lip balm
Lip glass
Kleenex
Phone
Sun glasses
Pen
Sharpie
Highlighter
Photo of herself and Steven at a party, both smiling
Notebook with cardboard front and back cover

Part Three Point of View, Perspective and Distance:
Exercise 20 - Distance:

1. In Minneapolis a clear sun rose, finally lifting the city from the cool, dark slumber.

2. Standing in his crowded two bedroom, Steven placed turkey on bread, sliced diagonally, and put the sandwich into his lunch bag.

3. Steven allowed his mind to wander as he went through the automatic motions of packing a lunch.

4. Steven's mind rehashed the details of his fight with his wife as he methodically packed his lunch.

5. "Why aren't you listening to me?" Steven mimicked her angry, high-pitched voice as he slapped together a sandwich.

Exercise 23 - The Reminiscent Narrator:

As an 8 year old, I had never been adventurous. The youngest of three, I had seen what happened to those who lived dangerously. Glory, sure. But they also suffered a lot of pain. As an observant child, I understood that the best way to avoid this pain was to simply be careful. I dutifully avoided climbing trees and swinging too high in an effort to avoid getting hurt.

That is, until one day, when I decided I had enough of being cautious.

There was a monster hill two blocks from my house. Only the bravest people rode their bikes down it, and even then, their brakes smelled hot when they reached the bottom. Riding home from a nearby park, I passed the hill. Normally I would have taken another route, past the hill and down a safer street.

That day, I stopped at the top of the hill and looked down. My stomach did flip-flops as I inched my bike closer to the edge of the hill. Then, for a reason I cannot remember, I picked up my feet.

Immediately I wished I had not. The regret was so complete that I don’t even remember the first few feet of the hill. I knew from the moment that I put my feet on the pedals that I was in over my head. Lawns and trees whizzed past my peripheral vision in a blur. I couldn't make myself look up, rather, I stared at the road just inches in front of my bike.

The handles shook and wobbled. I could not make them sit still even though I pushed my elbows out and gripped them tightly with my hands. I rode the brake hard, trying to slow down to a more reasonable pace.

Then I hit a rock. Because I wasn't looking out, I didn't even see it coming. I heard the pinging noise it made against my tires. I don't remember how I hit the ground, but I must have been thrown from the bike. I looked down at myself and saw blood dripping from both of my knees. Pain scorched through my elbows, and I saw red drips hit the sides of my yellow t-shirt.

I wanted to cry. But I was so far from home and feeling so alone and I didn't. I picked up my bike and stood at the side of the road. No cars came. No one came out of a house. My mother did not race down the street to save me. That was when I realized that I was alone, and my pain did not constitute an emergency for anyone else.

Slowly, I walked my bike home. My injuries stung when the wind hit them. By the time I got home blood had dried to my shins and forearms. I was nearly done cleaning my sores in the sink when my mother walked into the bathroom. And when she pulled me into her chest, I let out a childish, wailing sob.