Through the looking glass
A writing exercise for you to try.
As I have probably said elsewhere, I am not a fan of writing prompts; they feel a little too much like abdication to me. But where I think they can have a role to play is as part of a broader challenge, for example where you are also asked to write in a particular genre / style / format. In such circumstances the overall exercise is about honing one’s craft, not merely finding something to write about.
So here is one such challenge - and it’s all about writing a monologue.
Ask people to write a monologue and often they will produce a piece of standard descriptive prose written in the first person. The tone and tenor of a monologue is entirely different. The voice you need to write in is much more conversational, as if you were speaking directly into a camera, or spontaneously recording your thoughts on a mobile phone app. The output needs to sound authentic when read aloud. If you need any guidance, just seek out Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads on YouTube.
And here’s the prompt that frames this exercise.
Either you are -
a person looking out through a window in your house / flat / apartment / hotel room etc.: what do you see? how do you interpret what you see?
or a person looking in through someone else’s window (into their lounge, bedroom, kitchen); what do you see? how do you interpret what you see?
The final piece doesn’t need to be very long - that’s not the point - but it must sound ‘right’. So when you’ve finished it, read it aloud. Better still, record yourself reading it and then listen to how it sounds. Is it really a monologue? Is it authentic? Is the language appropriate? (i.e. relaxed, casual etc.) Is the level of description appropriate? Have you conveyed a sense of character through what they’ve said?
And a clue here, as soon as you start describing your monologue character you’re way off beam. We don’t think of ourselves in that ‘third person’ kind of way.
Give it a go, and have fun. If what you’ve written is short enough, maybe share it later in the comments so others can see what you’ve achieved..!
Telling a friend what I saw out of my fourth floor office window:
You know, I sit here every day and look at the cars stopped at the intersection, waiting for the light to change. You know what I see? People on their phones, sure, or people digging in their purse or back pack or whatever that's on the passenger seat looking for something. But I see some strange things, too. I saw a woman giving a guy a hand job once. I saw a woman with her skirt hitched up to her waist adjusting her underwear. I've seen people changing clothes in the front passenger seat or in the back. Once I saw a driver turn around and punch someone in the back . They don't know I'm watching, but I see them. What would they think if they knew?
MONOLOGUE- WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON BRIDGE
They sat there those four women, or ladies as they liked to be called. They came to our weekly bridge sessions without fail every Wednesday afternoon. They used to belong to the clever duplicate game, but left under rather a cloud ( none of us know the details but the term cheating was mentioned a few times though never proved).
They didn’t give anything away but we heard somewhere that they were all over eighty. They went everywhere as a gang, like a particularly tight group of girl year fives. They were dolled up to the nines, foundation like cement, falsie eyelashes big as spiders, and the reddest lipstick you’d ever find in this small town. They dressed like Dolly Parton at her finest, the glitter from their sparkly dresses falling on the floor and a devil for us to pick up afterwards.
They never split up, as we’re supposed to and this way they always walked away with the bottle of cheap plonk our master gives as a prize to the winner. The losers came away with chocolates, and they alternated every week.
They had their own bidding rules, which were different to everyone elses’ and guaranteed that they’d make the most ( or fewest) tricks. They got up together to have the mid session tea and always had the same homemade cake ( which they never made). During the sessions we heard them chat endlessly. We wondered what on earth they found to talk about, but as they huddled together over the table, like a coven of witches, we could never find out. Though they used their sticks to walk, it always amazed us how quickly they exited the room without putting away their chairs, cards or scorecards.
Anyway, last week the master announced that two of them had died. They were not related but had a stroke and heart attack on the Saturday and Sunday.
We were all of us shocked. We never the other two again, and truth be told, we did rather miss them. They were always such fun to talk about and leave a big gap at our Wednesday bridge sessions.