Meta. Write a short story about someone writing a story about someone writing a story.

Add your response

 

Submitted by I. Crane

There are 9 written responses to this assignment.


The Perfect World

Written by NaraClan on November 27, 2014 9:33 pm
Leave a comment

Elizabeth sits down with her pen, a smile on her face, white crisp paper on her desk. She brings the pen down to the paper, hesitates, then writes her first word. Happiness. Visions of a Mansion, Cars, Food, Dresses and all things happy inflate Elizabeth’s mind.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines and writes again. This time images of Elizabeth, her family, her friends, enjoying having a good time. Elizabeth writes about her getting married, having kids, living a good life.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines and writes again. This time she writes about herself going around the world helping people, from their own issues. She gives money to the poor, cures all the diseases, and give kids a place to stay.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines and writes again. This time Elizabeth writes about creating peace in the world. She rid the world of the robbers, murderers, rapers.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines, *shrugs* and continues to write again. This time she fixes her mistakes, instead of killing robbers, murderers, rapers, she creates a system, she monitors everyone, everything, no wrong doing.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines, really thinks about it and continues to write again. This time she doesn’t arrest the robber, murderers, rapers, she purifies them. Elizabeth makes everyone good and righteous.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few line, and now she’s really struggling, and continues to write again. This time Elizabeth goes back to her previous perfect world and notices, it’s fault. She sees people hating. Giving hate looks. Elizabeth changes their views.
But wait.
Elizabeth hesitates again, then she erases a few lines, confused, she continues to write. Elizabeth notices that people who hated the person before now love them but now someone else hates them for loving them.
Confused Elizabeth.
Stops Writing.
Hesitates.
Continues Writing.
And She Becomes
God Of Her New World.
But wait. Elizabeth hesitates, throws out her paper, walks out of the classroom, disappointed, sad. A classmate behind her utters “Elizabeth didn’t look so…. Happy”


Struck

Written by karenatsharon on September 11, 2013 10:51 am
Leave a comment

Typing, typing, typing. Click, click click. A rapid fire staccato that is not quite musical in its nature. Pauses, hesitations become part of the beat as a room full of students, some with fingers flying, others hunting and pecking, on their way to explaining their most intricate thoughts. Sometimes you hear a flurry of typing and sometimes there is the quiet of deep reflection. Shoulders are hunched, fingers are moving up and down, much like the key stokes of the old typewriters computers have replaced. Gone is the quietness of the scratching pencil or the silent flow of a liquid pen. No pencils find their way into student’s mouths to be masticated while pondering the next word of their masterpiece. No eraser droppings pile upon desks to be swept to the floor. Sometimes, heads loll on a drooping neck as the writer is confounded by what to write next about their imaginary character. What to say about the process of writing a story?

Why I decided on this topic I can’t remember. I do know that I wanted my students to really think about their thinking while they were writing and reflect on what goes on during the creative process. How do we think of writing? In the arrogance of my youth I used to think that writing should be effortless. Now I know it is a battlefield where we wrest with the demons of creation. I can see from their body language who is struggling and who is comfortable with the task. Soon, but not too soon, I will put them out of their misery and ask them to share their reflections. How hard the process of writing, how hard the process of sharing. Would I ever be brave enough to share my own work? What a hypocrite I am to ask of my students what I could not do myself.


White Paper

Written by fiedegufei on September 10, 2013 9:59 am
Leave a comment

He stared at the white paper. Transfixed. At the top where the few sentences he had written hours earlier. For ages it seemed he had sat there, unabel to move, unabel to get more to paper.

His throat was dry and his heart was racing. He felt like screaming but he was not sure if he even would have had the strength for a whistle. It felt as if the glaring white of the paper would suck every last bit of liveliness out of him. The longer he stared at it the slower his mind seemed to work, his thoughts gooey like rubber. The few first sententenes stared back. He had read them a thousand times. And with each time they seemed to make less sense.

Like in trance he started reading again:

“He stared at the white paper. Transfixed. At the top where the few sentences he had written hours earlier. For ages it seemed he had sat there, unabel to move, unabel to get more to paper.

His throat was dry and his heart was racing. He felt like screaming but he was not sure if he even would have had the strength for a whistle. It felt as if the glaring white of the paper would suck every last bit of liveliness out of him. The longer he stared at it the slower his mind seemed to work, his thoughts gooey like rubber. The few first sententenes stared back. He had read them a thousand times. And with each time they seemed to make less sense.

Like in trance he started reading again: ….”


Remember When …

Written by @dogtrax on September 10, 2013 6:23 am
Leave a comment

Dear Mom,
I received your letter the other day. Do you even remember writing it? Here’s part of what you wrote. I am still stunned by the revelation.

Dear Charlie,
Someday, you will get this letter and wonder why it has taken so long to arrive. That’s how I planned it. Tucked inside the folds of this paper is something that you need to know. Don’t unfold it yet. Before you do, I want you to know that our family history is convoluted and odd, and that you will probably make judgements on us. Please, don’t. We are your family and we love you, and you need to find it in your heart to love us, too.

This arrest warrant is issued for Robert Scaffold Sr. for the robbery of the Evertold Bank on the date of July 17, 1897.

Charlie, stay strong and know that what you did is not something we are ashamed of?

Mom, I don’t understand? Are you saying that our family fortune came from a criminal past? Is that the way our family established ourselves? Is this hereditary? Please write to me when the Warden allows you, too, and tell me more. We know we have nothing but time now.

Sincerely,
Charlie


What If Romeo and Juliet Had Lived?

Written by Cris Crissman @Cris2B on September 9, 2013 11:34 pm
Leave a comment

So let me see if I can get my story straight ;-)

Our writing challenge given by S was to respond to the prompt: “What if Romeo and Juliet had lived?”

So M wrote a story about Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet with Juliet as a lesbian, bisexual, or at least bi-curious. S read it and wrote an adamant criticism about Shakespeare including many homosexuals in his plays but that Juliet was clearly not one of them. She stood for purely romantic heterosexual love. Now, Romeo was another story S wrote but this one is about Juliet. M replied that at age 13, Juliet was hardly certain of her sexual orientation and might very well be exploring her sexuality.

This discussion led to a really lively discussion about the writer creating the story but then once published it belongs to the reader. That’s every reader and not just one reader’s interpretation but as many interpretations as there are readers. A terrific introduction to Rosenblatt’s Reader Response theory.


Writer’s Block

Written by cnovak on September 9, 2013 11:16 pm
Leave a comment

Norman snatched the paper out of the typewriter, crumpled it up into a tiny ball and hurled it into the metal wastepaper basket with a hollow “pang”. The story was so banal, even his mother wouldn’t read it.

Genna looked at the screen, wrinkled her nose and highlighted the second sentence. She pressed the “delete” button – again. She knew how Norman felt. Probably nobody would read her work, either. But she didn’t even have the physical evidence of crumpled failed attempts to show for her two hours at the keyboard. All she had was the hint of a headache to come, and the pangs of an empty stomach. Genna clapped down the lid of the laptop, and thumped downstairs to the kitchen.


Telling Alice

Written by @swilson416 on September 9, 2013 9:17 pm
Leave a comment

Alice was a journalist who covered the community events of the small town. She was sitting at her desk putting the finishing touches on a column about the unveiling of a plaque in the local park when she had an idea for another epic masterpiece. She would write a story about Gertrude Stein writing the Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, a fictional autobiography of a fictional autobiography. She inserted a sheet of paper into the typewriter.


A Fall Story About Winter

Written by @rljessen on September 9, 2013 8:20 pm
Leave a comment

A young woman sat down in the schoolyard with her back against one of the big shady elms. She looked up; the leaves were just starting to turn golden at the tips. It’s fall, she said to herself, I don’t care what the calendar says, the leaves are starting to change and I am back in school so it’s fall.

She settled against the tree, reached into her backpack and pulled out her notebook and pencil. As she opened the notebook she closed her eyes so that she could see the house that she had dreamed about.

It was sunny but cold. Snow lay in drifts, and smoke curled from the chimney into the blue sky. The snow had been neatly shovelled from the walkway and there was a big stack of wood piled by door. To the left of the door was a window, where a girl could be seen writing in a notebook. She wrote furiously for a while, erased something and then continued writing. She continued to write for another hour, pausing occasionally to stare off into the distance and chew on the end of her pencil.

Eventually the pace of her writing slowed down and then stopped. She sat looking out the window for a few minutes and then closed her notebook, stood up and disappeared from view into the house.


What Jenny(0) did

Written by Jenny(n) on September 9, 2013 10:32 am
Leave a comment

Jenny(0) started writing a story about Jenny(1):
Jenny(1) started writing a story about Jenny(2):
Jenny(2) started writing a story about Jenny(3):
Jenny(3) stopped writing.
Jenny(2) stopped writing because Jenny(3) stopped writing.
Jenny(1) stopped writing because Jenny(2) stopped writing.
Jenny(0) stopped writing because Jenny(1) stopped writing.