Here’s a writing course sample – will you open the box?

FLASH: Since posting this, I have learned that the NaNoWriMo courses for 2017 are now closed. Here's the current link, for those who want to see what's publically available. Or mark your calendars for 2018.

I just started another of the online writing courses NaNoWriMo sponsors with Coursera and Wesleyan College. This is my third of the four courses NaNoWriMo wrangled for people interested in participating in its annual November write-a-thon. Instructors so far have been Salvatore Scibona (The End), Amity Gage (O My Darling), and now Amy Bloom (Lucky Us). The classes are billed as lasting four weeks, but I clipped through the first ones at about two weeks each, starting in late August.

image: pixabay

As I’ve mentioned before, you can listen to the lectures and interviews, do the readings and writing assignments free of charge. However, you will need to pay the special $29 fee per class to get (and give) reviews and feedback from your fellow cyber classmates.

Even though one of my peer reviewers was kind enough to tell me that I failed the first assignment in Scibona’s course on The Craft of Style, enough of my fellow classmates gave me a pass to let me slither through the course’s pass/fail grading system.

The assignment was to write three paragraphs of description using language of the physical senses – sight, sound, touch/feel, smell and taste. He didn’t say we had to cram all five senses into those three paragraphs, and I only managed three. Here’s my effort.

***

The Box

I head for the garage to go through that box Matt and I kept in case there were more kids, even after we knew how unlikely that would be. When I flip on the overhead light, a small scorpion scuttles backward, claws clicking, tail raised menacingly. I’ll have to warn the kids about it. Or maybe I shouldn’t say anything. Their boys’ curiosity is as likely to send them in search of the deadly little creature as to scare them away from it.

The box I want hasn’t been opened, although two years have passed since our move here to Las Vegas. The tape sealing its seams is brown and peeling. Written on its dusty side is its room designation: nursery. I bend carefully at the knees to lift the box, conscious of the importance of legs, of knees, of the flex and stretch of muscles, of feet planted firmly on the ground. Things you don’t miss until they’re gone.

Then out to the patio. There are wet marks on the box when I set it on the picnic table. Sweat? You don’t sweat in the dry desert heat of Las Vegas. Sweat wicks off exposed skin before you even have a chance to feel it. But the marks must be sweat. They can’t be tears. Surely, I don’t have any tears left to cry.

***

I realized later, and classmates pointed out, that I could have done more with the smells of the box and garage, or the taste of the tears. Definitely remember that during NaNoWriMo's revision phase. I also (as did most of the classmates I reviewed) tried to make this part of a narrative, which Scibona later told us was not his intention. It only needed to be a portrait, not a complete narrative.

If any of my writing critique partners are out there, they’ll recognize this as a fragment from a work in progress, although the assignments are not intended to give us a cut-and-paste formula for our NaNoWriMo opus.

Could I have managed better by writing longer paragraphs? Maybe. At least one of the classmates I reviewed simply gave up paragraphing altogether. I laughed and gave him/her a pass because the language of the writing was in keeping with the stated assignment.