A Little Writing Exercise - Part 1
I feel like I need some fictional writing exercise to upskill and get the juices flowing, so I've decided to play with the opening of 'Replay' by Ken Grimwood, because I think it's a beautiful opening to a book. Maybe the best I've ever read.
Last night I read through a small portion of the opening and wrote down sparse notes. This morning I attempted to reconstruct the original from my notes. This is a writing exercise I picked up from Benjamin Franklin. Let's see how I did.
Here are my notes:
on phone died
never heard her
heavy slammed chest
phone fell
cracked paperweight
week before similar
we need? pause
not final
sitting kitchen table
breakfast nook
formica table
Here is my reconstruction:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died...
"We need..." she'd said, but he never heard the rest of what she was going to say. Something heavy slammed against his chest, crushing the breath out of him, making it difficult to breathe. The phone slipped out of his hand and fell, cracking the glass paperweight on the desk as it hit.
The week before she'd said something similar, said "We need..." and made a pause. Not a final pause like this one, not an infinite pause, just a normal pause. They'd been sitting at the breakfast nook. It was really just two chairs and a formica table in the corner of the room, but she liked to call it a breakfast nook because it sounded better.
Here is the original:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died.
"We need--" she'd said, and he never heard her say just what it was they needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against his chest, crushing the breath out of him. The phone fell from his hand and cracked the glass paperweight on his desk.
Just the week before, she'd said something similar, had said, "Do you know what we need, Jeff?" and there'd been a pause - not infinite, not final, like this mortal pause, but a palpable interim nonetheless. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table, in what Linda liked to call the "breakfast nook," although it wasn't really a separate space at all, just a little formica table with two chairs placed awkwardly between the left side of the refrigerator and the front of the clothes drier.
Mine isn't bad, but it isn't as good as the original. Let's play with this a bit more. I'll take this section and one more sentence to finish the paragraph. I need it a little easier, and I'm thinking that if I keep the nouns and verbs that might work well for reconstruction. Here's the piece:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died.
"We need--" she'd said, and he never heard her say just what it was they needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against his chest, crushing the breath out of him. The phone fell from his hand and cracked the glass paperweight on his desk.
Just the week before, she'd said something similar, had said, "Do you know what we need, Jeff?" and there'd been a pause - not infinite, not final, like this mortal pause, but a palpable interim nonetheless. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table, in what Linda liked to call the "breakfast nook," although it wasn't really a separate space at all, just a little formica table with two chairs placed awkwardly between the left side of the refrigerator and the front of the clothes drier. Linda had been chopping onions at the counter when she said it, and maybe the tears at the corner of her eyes were what had set him thinking, had lent her question more import than she'd intended.
Here are the notes:
Jeff Winston, phone, wife, died.
"Need," said, heard, say, need, something, slammed, chest, crushed, breath.
Phone, fell, hand, cracked, glass, paperweight, desk.
Week, said, said, "know, need, Jeff?" pause — pause, pause — pause, interim.
Sat, table, Linda, call, "nook," space, table, chairs, side, refrigerator, front, drier.
Linda, chopped, onions, counter, said, tears, corner, eyes, set, thinking, lent, question, import, intended.
That seems messy, I don't like it. If I do just nouns it's like this:
Jeff Winston, phone, wife
need, something, chest, breath, hand, glass, paperweight, desk
week, pause, interim
table, Linda, nook, space, chairs, side, refrigerator, front, drier, onions, counter, tears, corner, eyes, question, import
I'm not sure that's great either. I could do every other word. I thought that would be a simple task for an AI, but they are not good at replacing every other word with a blank. ChatGPT was not able to successfully do it. Gemini came close. Grok kind of worked once:
Jeff ___ was ___ the ___ with ___ wife ___ he ___
"We ___" she'd ___ and ___ never ___ her ___ just ___ it ___ they ___ because ___ heavy ___ to ___ against ___ chest, ___ the ___ out ___ him. ___ phone ___ from ___ hand ___ cracked ___ glass ___ on ___ desk.
Just ___ week ___ she'd ___ something ___ had ___ "Do ___ know ___ we ___ Jeff?" ___ there'd ___ a ___ - not ___ not ___ like ___ mortal ___ but ___ palpable ___ nonetheless. ___ been ___ at ___ kitchen ___ in ___ Linda ___ to ___ the ___ nook," ___ it ___ really ___ separate ___ at ___ just ___ little ___ table ___ two ___ placed ___ between ___ left ___ of ___ refrigerator ___ the ___ of ___ clothes ___ Linda ___ been ___ onions ___ the ___ when ___ said ___ and ___ the ___ at ___ corner ___ her ___ were ___ had ___ him ___ had ___ her ___ more ___ than ___ intended.
That's an interesting fill in the blank. Sentence stems might be interesting. Here I've eliminated the second-half of each sentence:
Jeff Winston was on the phone...
"We need--" she'd said, and he never heard her say just what it was they... The phone fell from his hand and...
I'm not sure about that one. I like the idea of changing the context, perspective, and point of view. Let's play with those a bit, with just the first two paragraphs.
Original:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died.
"We need--" she'd said, and he never heard her say just what it was they needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against his chest, crushing the breath out of him. The phone fell from his hand and cracked the glass paperweight on his desk.
First person:
I was on the phone with my wife when I died...
"We need..." she'd said, but I never heard her say just what it was we needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against my chest, crushing the breath out of me. The phone fell from my hand and cracked the glass paperweight on my desk.
I accidently rewrote this the first time based on my reconstruction and I thought it was better than the original with a first person point of view. I'll do that here.
Original reconstruction:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died...
"We need..." she'd said, but he never heard the rest of what she was going to say. Something heavy slammed against his chest, crushing the breath out of him, making it difficult to breathe. The phone slipped out of his hand and fell, cracking the glass paperweight on the desk as it hit.
Reconstruction based first person point of view:
I was on the phone with my wife when I died...
"We need..." she'd said, but I never heard the rest of what she was going to say. Something heavy slammed against my chest, crushing the breath out of me, making it difficult to breathe. The phone slipped out of my hand and fell, cracking the glass paperweight on the desk as it hit.
Maybe I'm better at first person point of view. Back to the original:
Jeff Winston was on the phone with his wife when he died.
"We need--" she'd said, and he never heard her say just what it was they needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against his chest, crushing the breath out of him. The phone fell from his hand and cracked the glass paperweight on his desk.
Second person:
You were on the phone with your wife when you died.
"We need--" she'd said, and you never heard her say just what it was you needed, because something heavy seemed to slam against your chest, crushing the breath out of you. The phone fell from your hand and cracked the glass paperweight on your desk.
Let's take the original and just change the subject. We'll start with someone was something when something, and go from there.
Ben Green was walking a dog when he saw the comet.
"Look..." the comet seemed to say, but he never go to see just what he was supposed to be looking at, because the dog pulled on the leash, wrenching his wrist and shoulder. He stumbled and the leash slipped from his hand, sliding along the sidewalk.
I like that. I like using the same type of style, but with a completely changed context.
Well, I think that's enough playing for now.
Find more at JeffThinks.com or JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com and ResetMeditation.com
