Yesterday I did a workshop hosted by Australian author Robert Gott, a man that has published over 90 books. The workshop focused on point of view, either it be 1st, 2nd, or 3rd perceptive. I don’t know if it was worth the cost of administration but it did give me a few pointers and i was able to get a few ideas about my book.
Half way during the lesson we had to do an exercise where we pulled out an topic out of envelops. the topics were.
- Person 1:
- Person 2:
- Principal emotion:
In which case main were.
- Very ill person
These make up the main points of a story. Then we were to write a couple of paragraphs on the first perspective of person 1, and this was what I had managed to write.
It was supposed to be my time. No more snoty brats begging me to change their well earned Ds into As so that their stupid and equally annoying parents could allow them to waste the rest of their day blowing some poor digital creature to gory pixels, instead here i am, watching my poor excuse of a husband moan his selfish heart out.
When people dream of ocean cruises they pictured tan lines, men with more muscles than brain cells, and moments of rest between spiritually corrupting sex. or in my case its staying in a cramped cabin, holding the hair of a man I should have left at the pier; or better yet the altar, and waiting for that exact moment he missed the bucket and targeted my new blue high heels.
I can’t believe a man that spent our last anniversary fishing with his idiot friends would bloody get sea sick two hours out to sea, on my freeken vacation.
“Are you done yet?” I asked while having this desire to kick him in his keg of a stomach as to speed this process up.
The love of my life gave a moan as he held his swollen stomach. Then the moment came and I was forced to look away as my shoes received a new layer of polish.
After our break we came back and this time switched the perspective. Now I take I first perceptive view of the ill person.
Each rock and crash of the waves somehow rippled through the haul of the ship, into my wife and mine’s cabin, and shook my stomach like a can of carbonated water.
Above me my wife was holding my hair, she was a good lass, even if her cousin got the tits in the family. And as my head was hovering over a bucket I noticed that from her blue high heels and upwards that she had a good set of legs on her.
Too bad I wasn’t snacking on those instead of that bloody lobster in the lobby, I swear the thing wasn’t cooked. Regrettably one indication of this was that it snapped at me before I broke its arm off, but I thought you eat stuff like that raw, wasn’t it all sushi? I remember the wife telling me seafood was good for ya and she should know as she’s a teacher and all.
“Are you done yet?” The wife asks and I gave my reply by letting out a painful moan from my diseased stomach.
I hope she doesn’t notice that while down here I got a good peek up that skirt of hers. ‘Oh Shit.’ Another round of sick launched itself upwards, but due to my wife’s distracting lower body, I partially miss the bucket. Hopefully she didn’t notice her new shoes had a bit of carrot on them.
You would have to excuse the tense and the grammar as we only had a short amount of time before we had to say ours out loud. The others in the class were pretty good and well written and Mr Gott looked impressed that Ballarat had some talent.
I also got some praise for my book and was told that I should not worry too much about the grammar as that was what an editor was meant for. The problem is that because it is nearly the end of the year publishers aren’t looking for new work and getting an agent in Australia, especially for fantasy fiction is impossible.
It seems as a writer you have to be as hard as nails to handle the amount of rejections that you are bound to face.
Give me your input.