Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting

Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting
April showers bring May flowers

Thursday, 4 April 2019

⌗IWSG, April 3rd 2019

It's the Insecure Writers Support Group day. Every first Wednesday of the month. Post your answer to the question of the month. Share with other insecure writers, comment on their posts, and spread the word.

If you would like to join the IWSG,
go here

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say. 

This month's wonderful co-hosts are J.H. MoncrieffNatalie AguirrePatsy Collins and Chemist Ken!

And this month's question: If you could use a wish to help you write just ONE scene/chapter of your book, which one would it be? (examples: fight scene / first kiss scene / death scene / chase scene / first chapter / middle chapter / end chapter, etc.)

My answer :

As last month, I will say that I do not have the experience in novel writing to fully address the question. However, here is my response : an extract from the third chapter of my novel in progress. (see my post from last month, IWSG March 6th)

New York, March 1988.

Mathilda is looking over the Western entrance to the park. She can distinguish a few early joggers rising from the lake towards the grey slick boulders. It rained heavily last night and the sky drips mist, leaves glistening in the rays of a shy sun. Double croce and 3 by 4 rhythm. Transcript analysis. How boring ! Mathilda is studying history of music. She is writing her thesis on the origins and birth of Jazz. At Easter break, she's travelling down South to collect material and get her out of her books.

             Mathilda slams the folder shut and pushes back her chair, her hair. She grabs her brown swede jacket and clatters down the stairs, stuffing her keys in her jeans. Rushing across the Avenue, she's honked by a yellow cab, Once in the park she strolls down yhe macadam path, over the bridge  to the esplanade. The beat reaches her and she stumbles on the group in a curve  behind a bush. Three tall, stunning-looking Africans are slapping intent, toes tapping the leather of their sandalled soles, on goat-skinned drums. Tuffs of animal hair crown the rims. Tam ' em ti tum.

                "Hi,"  the one in an ochre tunic and matching slacks lifts his eyes and smiles at her.
                "Salut !" He greets her. Deep warmth glows from his face.

                  Their conversation weaves a line between their chants and Mathilda's smiles. The tallest African looks at her through eons, his eyes twinkling wisdom as if he knows what she is thinking better than herself.

And then I was stuck for a long time. And I know why. I'm not very good with dialogue ! It's bad enough in a novel, it's even worse in a short story. So whatever entity is up there, the muse of dialogue, come and visit me sometime !


Thank you for reading. If you would like to share your thoughts, please comment below
and I will be sure to reply. Have a nice IWSG day.
Finally rain, here in Toulouse, a nice spring patter and even some sunshine, now at noon.

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