I’ve thought a lot about what I would teach if I were to teach a writing class. So, as a challenge, I’m going to try and write a short essay/assignment weekly for the next 15 weeks. Enjoy!
For today’s class, you’re going to need two things: an index card and a big sheet of paper.
No, bigger.
Bigger than that.
Bigger.
What you need is a sheet of paper that’s fit for a football team to run through on their way to…well, to a football game, I guess. Although it doesn’t need to be wide, just very long.
Got it? Great. Put it aside. We’ll start with the index card.
Put it in your pocket. It’s fine to fold it. It’s fine to carry it in your purse or your wallet or whatever. The point is to have it with you. And a pen. You’ll need a pen.
There’s something I learned in a photography class. Something not about how photography works, or about cameras, or whatever the hell it is you’re supposed to learn by making a pinhole camera. I’m pretty sure what you’re supposed to learn from that is how horrible everything was in olden days.
I don’t want to talk about any photography stuff I learned. I want to talk about how practicing a craft changes the way we see things.
When you’re in a photography class, you evaluate everything on the basis of whether or not it would make for a good picture. It’s weird. It can be distancing at times. Someone you love will cry, and you’ll think, “I really want to take a picture that shows the moment she broke into a cry.” You’ll be out somewhere trying to enjoy a beer, and you’ll be thinking, “Man, if I had my camera, the way the bubble are drizzling up from the bottom of this glass is really cool.” You can’t walk on your own block without seeing something that’s photo-worthy.
It’s a positive version of the saying “When all you’ve got is a hammer, everything is a nail.”
When you start thinking like a photographer, everything’s a photograph.
Which is why you need this index card.
You need to start thinking like a writer. And that means, no matter what’s happening, you see it as a writer does.
Yes, this sometimes means you’re watching how someone moves their body when you should be listening to what they’re saying. Or you’re listening to HOW they say something and perhaps miss WHAT they’re saying. Or it means that a small detail in a story someone tells you sends you off on a completely different track and you’re no longer listening.
Those are the downsides, but there are a lot of ups too. Nothing redeems a bad situation, in the moment, like thinking about how you’re going to write this story down when you get home. You can be in a boring, terrible situation, but you know you’re going to get something out of it.
The first part of your assignment this week is about little papers. Carry an index card with you every day, and write down a story idea right when it hits. As the idea rolls around in your head, write more details on your card. Add dialogue, little pieces of this and that, object descriptions. Then, the next day, fresh card.
If you’re working on a book or a piece already, that’s okay. You can write down ideas for your work in progress. That’s great.
When you start thinking like a writer, you’ll start seeing everything like a writer. What we’re doing is reverse-engineering, trying to get you to see things like the writer you are by forcing some accountability on you. When you get home at night, before you go to bed, if your card is empty, you fucked up. It means you weren’t thinking like a writer today, and you need to do better tomorrow.
Now, let’s move to the big paper.
Every writer I’ve known wonders whether they’re going to run out of stories. Which is totally bogus. Trust me, you’re not going to run out of ideas. There are very few creative types who make a dozen or so pieces and then say, “Eh, I guess that’s all the gas in the tank.” Something new will happen to you. You’ll do something new. As long as you’re alive, something new will happen.
This is an exercise I took from someone else, and its purpose, as presented here, is to put that worry to bed. Clear up the brain space you’re wasting by worrying whether you’ll run out of ideas.
Here’s the assignment:
Take that long sheet of paper and lay it out across a hard surface. A table, the floor, whatever. Now, draw a line through the center, the long way. Like a timeline. Because that’s what it is, a timeline.
BUT, don’t label dates on the timeline. Don’t put something like, “The 90’s!” along the bottom. That’s not how this works.
On the far left side, make a line, and put “I was born.”
Further to the right, but not all the way to the right, put “I started making this timeline.” If you’re not sure, just leave yourself a few inches to the right.
Now, the goal is to fill in as many events as you can remember.
Skip things along the lines of, “I turned 9.” Stay away from those sorts of milestones, the numerical or quantifiable stuff. Or, get more specific about them. For example, if you were going to add in “High school graduation” I would encourage you to chop that up. Do you remember the ceremony? The speaker? What you did that night? That’s three different things, and that’s how they should show up on your timeline. As three different things.
For each event, draw a stick on the timeline, and then write the event in. Then, for the next event, put it to the left or right depending on whether it happened before or after the first event you wrote down. As you fill in the timeline, each item should go in a relatively accurate spot, but accuracy is far less important than relative accuracy. Did X come before or after Y?
While the events are specific, they also need to be brief. One sentence, if possible.
Start by filling in as many things as you can think of over the next 30 minutes. Shoot for at least 30. Then, come back and fill in the rest from the list below.
+A time when you felt a huge amount of shame.
+A time when you felt a huge amount of pride.
+A time when you laughed hard.
+A time when you traveled.
+A time you spent a lot of money.
+A time you did something very stupid.
+Something you regret and would like to take back.
+A time you were sick.
+A time you remember enjoying something outside.
+A time you were very jealous.
+An experience related to music.
+A time you were caught doing something.
+A vivid dream.
+A meal that was godawful.
+A time you stayed up way too late.
+A time you got up very early.
+A time you felt trapped.
+A time you were excited about an object.
+A time that you only sort of remember, but that has lived on in family lore.
+A moment where something big around you changed.
+A moment where something big within you changed.
+Something related to death.
+A time you felt very far from home.
Once you’ve done this, you should have at least 50 items on your list.
What I want you to do now is select ten of those items. For each, draw three small sticks above the sentence you wrote, and add a small detail relating to the memory on each stick. Make it a physical detail. A smell, something you saw. Something about your body that was true at the time.
And finally, double what you’ve got. Shoot for 100 items. Once you get on a roll, it’s very easy.
The beauty of this exercise is that you can use this timeline forever. Add to it. Keep this out on a table for the next week or so.
Once you’re done with it, it’s up to you. You can keep it forever and add to it. You can also choose to never look at it again. Which is great too. You can fold it up and put it in a drawer. That way, the next time you’re wondering if you’ll ever be out of ideas, you’ll know you have ONE HUNDRED things that you could write about, expand, and see where they go.
Between the two types of paper, you’ll be cataloguing all the old stuff in your brain and keeping your eyes wide open for new stuff. Between these two things, you’ll never run out of ideas.