From Elana K Arnold's
Tuesday Quick-Write
PART ONE: Take a pad of paper and a pen or pencil. Go outside and look around. Write a paragraph describing your surroundings. (I can't go outside right now, but I can write what I see here!)
I look out upon a library that is one long big room. Once you know it used to be a roller skating rink, you can't help but see it. The wood paneling that lines the walls, the edge that sticks out as it goes along the room, the way the back of the room has a hexagonal feel--these all seem like classic Happy Wheels traits that the library has carried with it. There are colorful fish kites around the walls, and you know if you got up you would probably find a sign that explains exactly what they are. The library is quiet right now, a rustle of newspaper and the clacking of keyboards is all you hear. The faint smell of broccoli is in the air, from what you can't quite tell. A staff lunch, you assume. The carpet is brown and pulling away from the walls, in need of replacement. It's not exactly what you envisioned a library to be like, but it feels homey all the same.
PART TWO: Now, you are a lost six year-old child. Rewrite the same description from this point of view.
There are so many spots Daddy could be hiding in here. It seems like I was just playing with the blocks for a minute and he disappeared. When I come out from the bookshelves that are taller than me, I can see even taller ones in the back! So many of them! How can I check them all? There are also lots of computers. I wish I could see him. Maybe if I just stand here in the empty space and yell, he'll come running.
(this one was hard to do! I've been in this building before when a child felt lost, but since it's just one room and pretty open, it's hard for me to imagine it lasting for a while, or being really scary.)
Now, you are a satisfied housecat. Rewrite the same description from this point of view.
This is a nice place. It's got a few cozy nooks where I can curl up and sleep. The mice and rat catching isn't so good, but the staff and patrons give me treats and that's all I need. There seems to be this strange replica of me on one of the high places, but it doesn't move or blink. It just appeared one day. I think one of the librarians made it. I like to skulk around, especially the back part of the building. Sometimes it is dark and the lights suddenly come on. If I jump and hiss, that scares people, which is also fun. Being a library cat is a grand time.
Now, you are a fifteen year-old whose parents just announced they are divorcing. Rewrite the same description from this point of view.
I wish I couldn't see why my parents picked this place. It's open, so any noise I make will be echoed across. Really, though, why couldn't they do this at home? Why must they pick someplace where I have to try to hold it together, lest I "make a scene?" I feel like I can't even wander away at this point. I mean, I can, but it doesn't make any difference. Even the brief privacy of some stacks still won't change the fact that this place is open, open, open as my world is closing, closing, closing.
A Handful of Stars by Cynthia Lord
