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Reflection

*** This piece is an edited, marked piece taken from the unit FICTION WRITING – STORY, STRUCTURE, AND STARTING OUT

“The sentence in its contemporary manifestations in creative writing classes threatens to become a standardised article as student after student tells me that long sentences tire them while short ones grab them” (Brophy, 2003) 

I’m going to start from a little further back than trimester 3, 2019. Going back is the best way to move forward, I think. Let me know if it works. I’ve taken some shine to criticism and I wouldn’t be here, enrolled in Writing for Fiction otherwise. 

I returned to university study in January, 20 years after the first go to re-skill, replenish, and refill the yawning knowledge gap a decade out of writing had created. It was hardly triumphant, being more an act of desperation when I felt I had run out of other career choices.  

In some ways I have been Quoyle before, and am now Quoyle once again (Proulx, 1999). In the early 2000s I stepped weekly from flowery sentences in creative writing classes straight into the din of live sports journalism; baptised in the fire of deadlines, simpler word constructs, football tropes and the intertwined smells of sweat and liniment. All those big words I learnt and loved on Wednesday, were trained on Thursdays to be taken out of me, suppressed and forgotten.  

Long sentences never tired me out, even as Brophy’s fears become manifest in the social media age. It was more that making them shorter was simpler and kept my succession of editor managers much happier.  

“It’s too long. Way, way, way too long. No quotes. No human interest. Stale.” His pencil roved among Quoyle’s sentences, stirring and shifting. “Short words. Short sentences. Look at this, look at this. Here’s your angle down here. That’s news, move it up.” (Proulx, 1999) 

My writing was trained to build useful snappy sentences into useable, understandable, and ultimately sensible tracts. Just the facts, man. This got me to the next task, the next ‘opportunity’, and the next vaguely soulless pay slip. But I felt washed out, my enduring love for sport even dimmed briefly. My writing became exemplary of the difference between craft and art, and in hindsight I yearned to be an artist. Writing with clear purpose, with little to no flair, waste, or excitement was barely an existence, and certainly not a satisfying one. I scribbled away in dogged fashion but left abruptly for a life of adventure and excitement that writing about things and cash wasn’t providing me. 

I traveled. I taught. I taught travel. I sold travel. I had an intermittent series of mental breakdowns that ultimately meant serious medicating, and for a time, a minder. I recuperated. I re-surfaced. I handled knives and folded burritos. I met, wooed and married the most wonderful woman. I farmed. I grew kids. I kept farming. I slept soundly. 

Then the farm sold. 

I shouldn’t have left writing. I should have changed my mindset. I could’ve drunk my fill of excitement and adventure, beer in one hand, keyboard near the other, foreign sounds licking at my ears, hot spices warming my stomach. But that’s life, and regret doesn’t matter now. I’m back. 20 years older, wiser, more experienced but more wondrous too. Still a length of rope on the deck somewhere, but more ready to be cast and not willing to be walked on. 

My utilitarian attitude was near disaster returning to study, but clarity promptly took root in the form of mild criticism from a Digital Curation tutor and feedback from classmates during Writing Fundamentals. In critiquing an otherwise well put together and heavily researched essay my tutor felt my “sentences were too short.” I limited expression by not fleshing out sentences, points, or ideas. I was moving too carefully, didn’t seem critical with opinions, and mostly sat on the fence. My classmates responded during workshops that my companion paper to a podcast episode was “boring.” They didn’t care that it was tightly put together, illuminative and backed the more free-flowing audio with references. They cared that from in the 1500 word draft I had not put enough verve into the piece for them to see creativity at all. My tutor called it a “Wikipedia entry.” 

Those innocuous, well-meant critiques on my work rattled me. The get in. Write efficiently. Get Out. Leave a well-crafted story behind approach was not only challenged, it had been gloriously blown apart in a few short snippets of late-night feedback.  

What would I do? How would I respond? 

I could keep using words like a tradie uses her hammer, banging away but not getting anywhere outside of the plan. Or, I could take a few risks and maybe find the intersection between craftsmanship and creativity that rewards work that flashes a bit of swashbuckling. 

How serious was I about becoming a professional writer? 

I came to this class unit to find out.

“Don’t wait for time to write. I learned to work in whatever slivers of time the day might give me… I had slivers of time, so I wrote in slivers of words: a page here, a paragraph there. Eventually the slivers would add up to something.” (Grenville, 2006)  

I hadn’t written many unfettered sentences in years, except when talking rubbish about sports with friends online. Writing gets crammed into areas of life that don’t allow for much time. Get in, do the job, and get out of there before the kids wake up from their nap has been my usual modus operandi, and my smartphone apps run hot with notes equivalent to John Lennon scrawling lyrics on a diner napkin. 

Writing with the sole purpose to launch words onto a page like the first arrows shot from a new quiver has created the kind of energy I haven’t felt writing in… 5 years? 10 years? 20? In truth, I can’t remember when I last felt like this. 

I strongly relate to Grenville here as well: “The criterion was energy. If I felt energised in writing a fragment or a scene, I’d keep going.” Tasks set from our readings, back and forth with my peers (many whose motivations and skill sets are so different to mine) gives me the energy to approach writing differently, tinker endlessly, and drift expansively into creating words and sentences I would have discarded six weeks ago in lieu of the more straightforward. 

This unit offers me encouragement to be splashy; I can get creative with voice, with conversation, dialogue, and experiment using language and structure in ways as startling as Beasts of No Nation: A Novel (Iweala, 2005). I read barely any of Agu’s harrowing tale, just the excerpt from class, but it was a brilliantly rich piece of text. The contrast between Agu and Strika, the former’s coruscating flow of words tumbling brokenly in their hurry to break free from his mouth versus the staunch, silent power of his friend Strika, reminds me almost exactly of my two children, Archie and Rory, half a world and a waking nightmare away. If I can describe my kids on social media half as well as Iweala demonstrates those who are not children, but could and should have been, then I will be happy. 

“Most writing is a combination of language-based and referent-based strategies. If you play with language it produces ideas which you can then consider, if you begin with an idea it has to manifest itself in language, so you may find yourself moving backwards and forwards between the two strategies.” (Smith 2005) 

I’ve never overtly worked on language-based strategies, or at least not when I’ve sat down to write. Word games, language building, and free writing such as Smith (2005) employs have never been important. My language-based strategies are rare, executed during the revision and editing process; replacing dodgy or repetitive adjectives, small experiments with sound and meaning to create alliteration or provide a bit of sensory colour. Adding an extra flicker to my usual crisp sentences was about as far as I went with word play. Language activities have become more of a focus in recent weeks, and I hope that this reflection is proof of that effort. 

Referent activities are a bit different. In class, whether it was the Hokusai image, or the map, mirror, or machine exercise, I’m naturally more inclined to tackle this type of task. Taking an object or emotion and flipping their features, writing to compare or contrast human characteristics, or even just in normal description can fill up my page quickly and with more flamboyance than I usually muster elsewhere.  

When pulling information together I usually go hard researching early, and then not do anything for a while. I’ve got a good sense of deadline pressure (and an anxiety disorder), so wasting time per se, doesn’t bother me. To put this squarely in referent strategy, my mind acts as sifter, turning over ideas and concepts until gathering a collection of material to start putting it down on paper. 

Interestingly, when I wrote this in December, I hadn’t written a single word for the major assignment that follows this reflection. despite deciding during opening week that the Hokusai image task would form the basis of my story. As my mind sifts through silt in the background, my goal is to keep using the techniques and tasks I’m picking up to naturally provide the story with some pop, flair, and skill. I hope my story does the hard work justice. 

References  

Brophy, K 2003, Explorations in Creative Writing, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, Vic 

Grenville, K 2006, Searching for the Secret River, Text Publishing, Melbourne 

Iweala U 2006, Beasts of No Nation: A Novel, Harper Perennial, New York 

Proulx, A 1999, The Shipping News, Scribner Classics, New York 

Smith, H 2005, The Writing Experiment: strategies for innovative creative writing, Allen & Unwin, Crows Nest 

8 Sensational Sites: man made wonders from across the world

Before settling down to family and farm I was lucky enough to travel, explore, and live in some of the world’s most interesting places. Here are eight unmissable sites that I visited during my travels. 

Stonehenge, Salisbury, England 

As you can tell from my picture below, I was lucky enough to see Stonehenge on the rare occasion it was blanketed in snow (which caused havoc everywhere else on the roads) My friend Gaz and I had the place to ourselves; it was amazing being able to hunker down on one of pre-history’s most important sites and take in the silence. Just feeling the air – the absolute stillness – was enough to get some insight into how important this place was to the Island of Britain and why it resonates with so many travelers from around the world… 

Stonehenge: Photo by Helloitsjono

The Taj Mahal, Agra, India 

I only spent three days in India, being able to get across from Delhi to Agra and back on a quick driving tour before visa restrictions sent me onward. India was eye opening, as it was one of my first overseas destinations. Our driver pumped the horn endlessly, cows coursed the roads imperiously, there was traffic for days, and the streets of Delhi were a riotous mix of colours, smells, and sights that left me overwhelmed at times. It was a huge contrast visiting the Taj Mahal, the Mausoleum Shah Jahan built for his favourite wife Mumtaz. We entered at dawn to stillness and rare quiet. We could look upon the beauty of the buildings, design, and gardens unhurriedly, soaking in the peace and opulence of the pristine white marble. The brilliance of the Taj Mahal architecture is only rivaled by a couple of other places on this list, possessing the kind of awe and aura that can’t be manufactured. 

The Taj Mahal, Photo by Helloitsjono

Krak de Chevaliers, Homs Province, Syria 

“The Castle of the Knights” was originally built by the Emir of Aleppo in 1044 but was taken over and extended by the Knights Hospitaller, who transformed the craggy site into the most imposing castle of crusader times. From the Krak the Hospitaller order was able to police and protect the trade and pilgrim routes into the Holy land, until the feared Mamluk Sultan Baybars took the castle in 1271 (sparing the knights he couldn’t prise out  of the castle during siege). Despite being caught up in the Syrian Civil War the Krak de Chevaliers remains mostly intact and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 

Krak de Chavalier, Photo by Helloitsjono

Abu Simbel, Aswan, Egypt 

Abu Simbel temple was carved directly into rock by Ramesses the Great at the peak of the 19th Dynasty as a reminder to Ancient Egypt’s Nubian territory that he was to be worshipped as a living god. One of Ancient Egypt’s most enduring monuments, for me the most interesting aspect was that the entire temple structure was moved in the 1960s to make way for the Aswan High Dam. Abu Simbel was painstakingly replaced to model the behaviour of the original exactly, such as the light only hitting the Ramesses’ monument inside the temple at the precise moment it was meant to each day. 

Abu Simbel, Photo by Helloitsjono

Sainte-Chappelle, Paris, France 

I could’ve picked any one of Paris’ amazing churches to write about – St Denis, the Basilica Sacre Couer, and of course Notre Dame Cathedral – but for me Sainte-Chappelle stood out for its gothic architecture and the vibrancy of the stained-glass windows and luxurious interior. Built in just 7 years by Louis the IX in the 13th century, Sainte–Chappelle was constructed to house powerful relics of Christendom and reflect France’s vaunted power within the church. There are over 1100 individual stained-glass panes at Sainte-Chappelle depicting scenes from the bible, and each one is beautiful art. Coupled with the elegance of the woodwork, wall paintings, and stonemasonry the argument could be made there is no more aesthetically pleasing church in the world (and yes, that includes the Sistine Chapel) 

The Coliseum, Rome, Italy 

If you’re going to visit ruins, Rome has probably the best, most interesting, and accessible collection. The standout is the Coliseum. Touring around there with my little headset full of facts made me giddy, conjuring images of sandle-clad Russell Crowe wearing fighting blokes to the death in front of 50,000 spectators baying for blood. We may live in a time of epic football stadiums and corporate concert halls, but nothing comes close to the history and atmosphere that permeates the very stones of the Coliseum. Topping it off, I was able to see Elton John perform there in front of 50,000 people with one of the greatest pizzas (ham, mozzarella, fresh basil) the grand city of Roma could offer. 

The Colisuem, Photo by Helloitsjono

The Hagia Sofia & Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey 

I’m a fan of Ancient history, the intersection of Christianity and Islam, and I can also eat like a professional grizzly bear, which makes Istanbul a fitting place to spend time.There were some marvelous aspects of the city, such as the Topkapi Palace, the Grand Bazaar, the Spice markets, and Basilica Cistern, but the Blue Mosque & Hagia Sofia would be feature acts in any city on Earth. I felt lucky being present during the Mu’azzin’s call to prayer, watching visitors and locals pour into the Blue Mosque, a place where its exquisite beauty plays a secondary role to prayer and community. I’m no man of faith, but I gained an appreciation (different to visiting Christian churches) for those that do. Visiting the Blue Mosque gave me the inspiration to visit every major Mosque I could while traveling through the Middle East over six weeks. The Blue Mosque complements the literal layers of history featuring on the walls of the Hagia Sofia. Important to both Christians and Muslims, there is no better symbol of East meeting West than the Hagia Sofia, despite what I would describe as a squat, ugly, immensity to its exterior. Inside, layers of the walls peel back into time, with golden Christian iconography and the beauty of Islamic shapes featuring wherever the eye can see. With it meaning so much to many different faith and branches of politics, there’s little wonder why the building is such a contentious one for a country balancing the religious and secular such as Turkey. 

The Blue Mosque & Hagia Sofia, Photo by Helloitsjono

The Alhambra, Granada, Spain 

I’m a patient man by nature, but generally not line up at 3am to buy tickets to an iconic landmark type of patient. I broke that rule for the Alhambra, dragging my sangria and paella-soaked body up the hill to the entrance to queue for tickets, where, as things tend to in Spain, a small waiting line fiesta broke out. It took hours for us to gain entry for later in the day, but the wait (and party) was more than worth it. Built with the Moorish passion for beauty as well as fortification, there are no more exquisite gardens, walls and buildings to be found anywhere. The paradise theme meandering through the Alhambra is truly reflective of beauty and geometry, and the passion for culture that the last days of Al Andalus worked so hard to achieve.  

The Alhambra, photo by Helloitsjono

Writing Exercise: THE MAP

“So far we have been exploring language-based strategies, but sometimes you will want to start with a specific idea, or event, as the basis of your creative text. This is what I call a referent-based strategy. Referent here means the object or event to which the text refers. The referent for a creative text can be an object, event or mood on which the text is based.” 

Smith, Hazel (2005) The Writing Experiment; strategies for innovative creative writing, Allen & Unwin 

‘Write a short creative text using one of the following referents: the mirror; the map or the machine’ 

They peered at each other uneasily,breathing ragged, crowded close together by the deep shadow, the still distant whoops and curses of their pursuers coming closer. The tall trees creaked, yet seemed unconcerned. All other animals had wisely fucked off at the first sign of trouble. 

“I think we’re in a bit of a spot here Bobby,” said Micky. She could’ve been waiting for food, almost still but arms clanking as she crossed them over her chest. Kev and Pauly bobbed their heads up and down like fearful chickens and rattled. They could pass out any moment. It would have been comical if not for the very real threat revving closer each passing second. There wasn’t much of the twins, they couldn’t be expected to hold up in a scrap, thought Bobby. The Unit would kill them. They were drunk, probably off their tits from magic dust as well, and looking to get mean. Really mean. They could ill afford to get caught. 

Bobby bent quickly and snatched up a stick. He pointed to Micky, then the other two muppets, and motioned them behind him in a loose half circle. He squatted in the loam, clearing debris away with manacled hands to make space, and drew a large rectangle. He then put little arrows within the centre of the shape, added tightly bunched X’s to the top middle, groups of jagged circles to the right side of the arrows, and a series of straggly looking W shapes on the left from the top down to the lowest. When he got to the bottom of the map, he just scuffed out the line all together, and spat.  

“Right then,” Bobby said aloud. “There’s 10 of the guard, and only us four little turtledoves. I’d bet my beaver everyone else is toast.” He pointed to the arrow shapes. “We’re here in the middle of the scrub, on foot, with our hands still in chains.” He jabbed at the crosses near the top. “They’re belting towards us on those nasty quads. There’s a fuck ton of rubble to one side, then the pits,” he indicated the jagged circles with the point of the stick, “the sea is on the other, and at this time of year it’s cold and angry.” Bobby then slashed along the scrubbed out section of map with the stick. “And If we keep going this way we’ll hit the wasteland.” 

“No thanks,” said Micky drily,tilting her head to one said and looking intently at the map. The twins’ heads bobbed again in unison. Chook, chook, chook. Pauly was a strange tinge of green. 

 Bobby twisted slightly and grinned up at his friends. “Getting out of this will be a piece of piss,” he said, cackling and clapping his hands.

Writing Exercise: TAPES

Read the story (I chose Cathedral by Raymond Carver) and then write freely in response. See what comes to mind as you think back over the story that you have just read. Perhaps it is an image or a voice or a particular word or phrase or a colour or theme or subject or character that stands out to you. The point is not so much to write about the story but to use something in the story as a diving-off point for your own creativity. Write a few paragraphs or as much as you choose. 

Image by Helloitsjono, Created in Canva

Man, I used to love making tapes. 90-minute long TDK cassette works of artistic magnificence. 60-minute tapes were for amateurs, phonies and the song of Take 40.  

Making tapes was a serious business. You had 45 minutes per side to get the maddest, baddest, raddest tunes on to the tape and turn it from the silent into the sublime.   

Whether it was taping the best new songs off the radio that you couldn’t afford because you were a temperamental prick at home that week and you weren’t getting that pocket change from your zookeepers, or if you were trying to win the attention of that crush you had your eye on for six months but couldn’t talk to without sounding like a hooting monkey, you had to have a plan, man.  

I always had the hook up. Much older brother, much older sister. Adults. With money, musical panache, and mix tapes of their own. They had access to the stuff that if your parents knew you had, they would probably send you to a containment facility. I’m talking NWA. I’m talking Led Zep. I’m talking that Motown stuff that makes the colour red blush.  

Two sides to a tape meant two moods: discontent and horny. Anything else was a mirage or conspiracy. To be a real tape slinger you needed to cater to both moods, on one tape. More bang for the dollarydoos, and more balance for the cosmos.  

Side note: Everybody had that one emergency tape that you broke out when you got dumped by your girlfriend because you had a shit haircut and (allegedly) flirted with the Tuckshop lady when you ordered a chocolate milk; so you closed all the blinds, wore exclusively black, hid under your doona with the stars and moon on it, listening to Nothing Else Matters over and over again until your dad threatened to make you watch a Current Affair if you didn’t come out of that room and eat dinner.  

There were rules too. Can’t make a tape without rules. 

  1. Always start with a banger. Non-negotiable. Premium songs go at the start. Let them know what they’re in for, set the TONE.  
  1. No dead air. Cut the song hard when it ends. Wait two ticks and on to the next one. Be professional, like a sound engineer or Grandmaster Flash  
  1. No more than one song from one artist per side. Show everyone you have range, not an unhealthy obsession.  
  1. If you had to fast forward a song, (look it up kiddies that’s real O.G shit) it’s a rubbish tape. Put the sticky tape over the top corners and start again  
  1. Never have just part of a song. Don’t make tapes if you can’t get the timing right  

These days it’s different. Wifi, and Spotify, and playlistify, mystify. There are no cassettes at all, no style or flamboyance. Flamboyance!  

Now, please excuse me. I have a cloud to yell at.  

Writing Exercise: Hokusai

EXERCISE: “Try to discern a story that you could create from what you see in the image (below) and whatever it may suggest to you. Now, write in response to what you saw. This is a free-form fiction writing exercise and there is no right or wrong and no rules except that you need to keep writing until you have filled one A4-sized page.“

Hokusai, K. c.1823-1829 Behind the Great Wave at Kanagawa

“When it stops being weird, it’s time to go home,” a voice rang happily from behind me somewhere.  

I looked disconsolately out the window, the gleaming metal and elegant rooflines of Japanese buildings mixing haphazardly among powerlines, billboards, and garish neon lighting. 

Impending doom was coming; bright white frothing and curling like the waves of an elegant Hokusai, vivid colours and nifty linework obscuring the concrete certainty that lay behind the two-toned blue of the wave. 

Doom. I was being cast out of the country, forcibly spat from the depths. Out from the wave of Japan, and on to somebody else’s dry land to be dealt with, or not. 

The Narita Express rocketed northward, but gently, unconcerned with my morose mood. 

An immaculately coiffed trolley lady rolled past, deftly navigating the passage while flinging beer cans, chu-hi, chips and change towards those looking for a snack, the airlocked carriage that separated the smokers from the sensible gliding shut behind her. 

“Go Shaimaseeeeeen,” she trilled, politely as she moved along.  

I didn’t bother responding. My hands stayed where they were, uncomfortable at my side. The man next to me didn’t stir either, being so typically Japanese. Taciturn. Well turned out. Professional. Unreadable. 

The voice behind me continued, and this time I focused a bit more. Better than contemplating ruin, even from the perspective of fine art, an admirably Japanese concept, I thought blackly. 

“You see, there’s a whole lot of weird shit in Japan, bubbling to the surface every day. And we get to see some of it,” came the voice, a bubbly female one, clipped and precise despite its casual delivery and conversational tone. Even the curse sounded professional.

English teacher. Either Australian or Kiwi – the accent smothered like it had been thrust deep into the bottom of a backpack, then sat on firmly to make sure nothing poked out. 

“One of my co-workers, he used to do some bartending on the side at a proper whisky bar in Yokohama…” 

“Whisky bar?” said her companion, an Aussie bloke, his age indeterminate, but gravelly voice easy enough to recognise. 

“Proper, whisky bar.” She emphasized the word proper, as If to imply that there were other whisky bars that were just for pretend. “Side street. No signage. One door. One bar. Jazz music. Only serves whisky. Japanese kanji name tags around the bottles. Shit stuff at the bottom – not much of it. Expensive and rare shit at the top. Proper.” She finished listing with finality while her companion whistled softly, impressed. 

I groaned. Just a little, but enough to get my seat mate’s attention. I felt a change in my space as his muscles bunched a bit, and his focus flicked to me from wherever it had been hiding. 

“He told me a bloke used to ride up to the bar, every Monday and every Friday, on a girl’s pushbike,” she continued, relishing her tale as it grew. She laughed. It was a beautiful, happy laugh that made me hate her. “It even had the bright streamers, flower basket and everything.” 

WRITING FOR THE WEB FAQ

400 Word Limit Version 

QUESTION: How does a writer decide what genre to focus on? 

“Genre is an essential part of the writing process, because specific language, styles and structures are used within different social contexts to communicate purpose,”

(Grimmer, 2018). 

Genre means ‘type,’ or ‘kind,’ in French and when used in writing denotes categories of texts according to their structure and thematic elements (Bruce 2008) (Frow, 2015) (Grimmer, 2018). “Far from being merely ‘stylistic’ devices, genres create effects of reality and truth, authority and plausibility, which are central to the different ways the world is understood,” (Frow, 2015).  

Choosing the appropriate genre for any creative endeavour can be difficult. Some writers, through choice or assignation, have clear goals as to what their genre should be and how it fits within their story. Others start at one point, and through the process of revision, re-writing and editing, adapt the genre of their work.  

Genres are not fixed, they often overlap within texts, and viewpoints vary on how genre should be defined. (Bruce, 2008) (Frow, 2015) and (Grimmer, 2018) The expectations of readers are entwined with the experience that they’re looking for in a piece (Rasley, 2013). 

When writers use genre as a tool, it has the capacity to galvanise the process and strengthen the nuts and bolts of a piece (Grimmer, 2018). For example, students – who often express uncertainty in the grist of writing academically – can create short texts that comprise differing genres, relying on and utilising dialogues with major sources to gain greater clarity in voicing a point of view (Brodersen and Kavli, 2019). 

Every genre has clear motivation, protocols, and limits that readers understand and expect; world building in high fantasy, first-person point of view in mid 20th century crime noir, or even classified advertising copy in the local newspaper.  

Being widely read can only help in choosing where to start, adhering to, and possibly circumventing genre conventions in written expression (Warner, 2016). Creators need to understand the rudiments of common genres, and the points of view typically associated with each one, particularly when encountering problems (Rasley, 2013). 

Researchers of writing fundamentals need to continue working beyond the basics to see their building contexts, with ideas and roles that may create conflicts for some. (Devitt, 2004)  

This extends to when publishers and booksellers use genre to attract readers – which is out of the writer’s hands -and can create issues for works that attempt to defy convention or move away from traditional genre classification (Grimmer, 2018). 

REFERENCES 

Brodersen, R. B. and Kavli, S (2019) ‘“Students Can Write!” How can Students Explore and Improve their Writing by Using Different Academic Genres, Sources and Voices?’ 

Bruce, I. (2008) Academic Writing and Genre: A Systematic Analysis. London: Continuum. 

Devitt, A. J. (2004) Writing Genres. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press  

Frow, J. (2015) Genre.   

Grimmer, R. (2018) The Evolution of Genre in the Writing Process. Australasian Association of Writing Programs.  

Warner, B. (2016) Green-Light Your Book: How Writers Can Succeed in the New Era of Publishing 

100 word Limit version 

QUESTION: How does a writer decide what genre to focus on?  

Genre designates categories of texts according to structure and theme. Every genre has clear motivation, protocols, and limits that readers understand and expect. 

Choosing the appropriate genre can be difficult; some writers have clear goals as to what their genre should be on commencement, while others start at one point, and through the process of revision, re-writing and editing, adapt the genre of their work. 

Being widely read helps in choosing where to begin, its important creators understand the rudiments of common genres and the points of view typically associated with each one, particularly when encountering challenges in voice, characterisation, and plot. 

*** These exercises were submitted as an assessment for the unit Foundations of Professional and Creative Writing as part of my Graduate Diploma of Professional Writing at Deakin University. 

Non-Fiction Review

 Call climate change what it is: violence, by Rebecca Solnit 

Most humans fear violence, and act; fight or flight. 

People don’t necessarily do anything when this violence is only threat, being more willing to talk it down, turn it aside, or let it go until choice is removed entirely. 

Author Rebecca Solnit makes threat redundant by calling climate change violence, the title signaling it’s fight or flight time and challenging the reader to be ready. 

Solnit lays facts out clearly, intelligently installing the violence of climate change on a massive scale, showing localised carnage but asserting systems perpetuate this violence and create actions that lead to revolt. 

“I suspect people will be revolting in the coming future against what they revolted against in the past: the injustices of the system,” Solnit writes, noting individual dissatisfaction to material issues is reactionary to this source. 

Using worldwide examples and utilising data from the US Agriculture Department, Solnit rends argument to systemic climate change and settles weight of complicity on the superpower by chiding “climate change is not suddenly bringing about an era of equitable distribution.” 

The irony here? This story was written in 2014 – the debate still rages on while science adds concrete layers of fact to Solnit’s assessment. 

“We are currently wrangling about how much we devastate the earth,” is her stinging rebuke, dismissing the argument as childish nonsense. 

Climate change is direct brutality on a systemic level, bleeding through the earth and its people – the time for flight or fight is now as choice has been reefed away. 

*** This review was submitted as assessment for the unit Foundations of Professional and Creative Writing as part of my Graduate Diploma of Professional Writing at Deakin University 

REVIEW: A Haunted House, by Virginia Woolfe

Virgina Woolf needs just two short story pages to turn ghost story convention aside in favour of the dreamscape of vague sensory assault.  

These ghosts don’t surprise by yelling ‘boo,’ they yearn for their goal just beyond vision, leaving you questioning the mind’s edges – are these ghosts or dreams? 

 A Haunted House, from Woolf’s 1921 collection Monday or Tuesday, uses slippery, subliminal doubt to convey the otherworldly.   

The ghostly protagonist’s quest flits across awareness, most successfully when the narrator’s distracted or dulled by sleep and skirting direct observation.  

The use of ambiguity from title, through the commonality of the rooms and behaviours, “doors shutting…curtains drawing… the beam of the lamp…” and even time spent in the garden, Woolf generalises the haunting as an incidental part of the house’s purchase price. 

The unidentified narrator seems familiar, newly come to an aged house, profoundly disquieted by differentiation from normalcy in sounds, scents, sights and even the “safe, safe, safe…pulse of the house beat softly.”  

At story’s end the ghosts claim their treasure, “The light in the heart,” but the reader can’t entirely be sure what this light is, nothing is expressed nor shown directly. 

Woolf’s story, vividly descriptive yet ephemeral in detail of the living human element, is akin to reading an article from someone else’s newspaper across the aisle. You’re trying to pinpoint the story yet only able to discern it from the corner of your eye because looking too directly seems rude. 

*** This review was submitted as assessment for the unit Foundations of Professional and Creative Writing as part of my Graduate Diploma of Professional Writing at Deakin University