First Day, Let the Fiction Commence

     Today was the first morning of Advanced Writing of Fiction. I arrived early and made my way through the hallowed halls of UMD to the new library, walked up four flights of stairs to the chagrin of my old creaking body, found the tiny yet windowed seminar style classroom and proceeded to place myself in the midst of a pack of twenty-somethings muttering about being up at such a god awful hour of the day. The instructor was there and was actually what I pictured—silvery grey hair cut into a stylish bob coiffure, librarian glasses, and a wondrously bright glint in her eyes. My classmates were also what I expected. Serious students willing to work and ready with a comment, opinion, or joke fitting for the time of morning. They are the youthful lieges holding the lien to the future. The first fifteen minutes proved that I would need to work hard to keep up with this bunch.

     But now, on to what’s promised, an unedited look into the quagmire that I like to call writing.

     The first exercise was simplistic but valuable. Something one could twist any which way they want to motivate, inspire, or crack the concrete layers of writer’s block. Remember the game Othello? This exercise also takes only a moment to learn but a lifetime to master. Now on to the exercise and my response- going forward from here through the rest of my blogs you will note the exercise, instructions, or assigned task from my instructor in BOLD— my soul laid bare will follow.

Write a six word autobiography. (I wrote two, there is no limitation on how many times one can write it but you may only use six words in each)

Iron Range dude scoffs at mines <end>

Two marriages, one worked, blended family <end>

     See, not too bad, eh? The next one was a bit more daunting but I am posting it in its unedited form anyway. Who knows, some spit, some shine, a buff here and there and it may turn into something worthwhile. The prompt is as follows. Remember, this is a fiction course, names have been changed to protect the innocent, “I” does not always necessarily mean me, well or does it?

     The first time (person’s name or I) heard (insert song here) by (band/singer here) (I, he, she, it) was (down, up, over, in, under, ect)(place)(action begins)

     The first time I heard Billion Dollar babies by Alice Cooper I was down in Jonny’s basement flipping through his older brother’s album collection. It must have been ’75 or ’76, I was ten years old and had an unquenchable thirst for the acid rock that I heard booming from Dusters, GTOs, and Camaros that the bell bottom jean and polyester shirt wearing high-schoolers would blast from the beach parking lot.

     The collection was incredible—Sabbath, Hendrix, The Who. The dust jackets were art. You know, art that mattered to groups who wanted to appeal to the grimy teenagers in a decade most known for, much to my chagrin or anyone else with a clue, disco.

     “Hey, Jonny, what else does your brother have in his room?”, I asked like any pre-teenage boy longing for his first pubic hair might.

     “Ummm, I don’t know, well I do, but he has beat me down before, ahh, I don’t know”, Jonny said looking for an extra push to get his courage up.

     I responded with just the whiskey he needed, “He’s not here, man. Come on let’s check it out.”

     “Alright, alright. He keeps a locked wooden box under his bed.” <end>

     So, there you have it, day one and two unedited pieces. I don’t know if either one will go anyplace but if they do I will post them. Who knows, maybe there is a kernel there someplace. I will catch you next time.

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