The Ink

Notes

Lesson one requires us to understand the basic fundamentals of writing.

There are three things that we must know about writing stories:

1) The grammar used in the story must be in present tense. This makes sure the story is TOLD instead of being SHOWN.

2) The story should be written in 3rd person.

3) The story should be written in an active voice instead of a passive one. Active voice basically means that stronger verbs and immediate actions from the character is used. This is to make the sure the reader doesn’t get bored.

If we were to face a writers block, it is best to just knock the wall down and carry on writing whatever comes to mind. If a problem arises, solve it first. Never leave it hanging.

Reflection

I am never one to write about my life so openly but since this is for school work, I shall… well… Pen my thoughts down.

This class served as a selfish enlightenment more than a class about writing better stories. I, and I’m sure more than half of teenage Singaporeans, have been led to believe that we have acquired crucial storytelling techniques through the countless English compositions that we have been forced to write in our secondary and primary schools. ories. Call me selfish but I’m very happy to know that in time to come, I’ll be writing stories that hopefully will be good enough to bring me some glory. Or just girls will do.

Mister Ryan is a very interesting person. The way he teaches reminds me of Christian cellgroups that I used to attend a long time ago. Maybe it’s the air of superiority with a tinge of certain humility that makes me, and I’m sure all of us, very comfortable. I’m not saying that all Christian cellgroups make you comfortable though.

The name game was interesting. It woke my brain up at 10 in the morning. When we got down to writing, I was picked as an example. The whole class had to write about me. It was interesting. I had to alienate myself for awhile to write something about me. It was a strange feeling. I guess I’ve come to realize that names are just names in that small little exercise. They hold no meaning to who you are or what you are. After all, there are a million Dominics in the world.

Anyway, this is what I wrote. I think it’s a little confusing because I’m not exactly a fabulous writer and I’m a scatterbrain.

Dominic puts on his hula girl outfit and enters the temple. His nose is filled with the scent of incense as he slowly makes his way into the awaiting prayer room. Older people pace about urgently in the temple with seemingly no sense of direction. They must truly be troubled that even in a place of straightforward religious following, no one has no idea what to do. Dominic however, knows his route. He enters the prayer hall and smirks. He came here for one thing. A mate. The prayer hall, as he remembers as old, have miraculously changed into some kind of big tacky looking disco. Dominic adjusts his coconut breasts and sways towards the dance floor, hoping to catch someone’s attention. He is not alone. The hall is filled with growing males in hula girl outfits swaying together like a big tub of jelly. The girls cheer and eye their future mates with so much intensity that they could turn Medusa to milk. Dominic moves his hips the best he can with hopes that the girl he wants calls out to him. His body is sweaty and the coconuts on his chest constantly scrapes the skin. The pain pays off. Dominic hears his name and walks out of the prayer room. His eyes meet with the one who called him. Together hand in hand, they walk past the hallways and into the temple grounds… Where the parents wait in much anxiety.

I guess i’m finished with my reflection. Till next time then.

Peace.