Tag: Prose

The Joyous Islands of Exposition and Narration (or, You Can’t Swim Through Description Forever)

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

Looking at my current short story projects, I’ve realized some are all bite and no bark. In a few of these stories, I thrust my protagonist into action on page one, and other than their internal reactions to what’s going on, I don’t showcase their reflection on the past or their hopes for the future; nor do I show their abstract thoughts of the present. Ah, Dialogue and Description, you wiley beasts—you’ve overtaken my prose!

All is well. Well, all will be well. I’m going to go back and, between some paragraphs, add character thoughts. If you’re in a similar boat, I’d advise you add some exposition and narration too.

Here’s a good reason why. I’ve got a story going where my protagonist ends up in another world. Pretty crazy, right? But right now I just have him walking around and interacting with stuff, instead of using narration to freeze time and have him react to the strangeness of things—what would his mother think if she were there? And oh, what is his mother like? Even if we never met her, exposition like this enriches a story, and taking the time to narrate such details gives healthy space between bustling description or long stretches of dialogue.

I’m gonna go make these changes. Happy writing!

Quote Me On This

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ 4 Comments

Can we learn anything by writing down quotes? I ask myself this sometimes, when I read a punchy phrase in a crime story, or one that tugs my heart’s strings, or one that’s constructed expertly, each word placed like a brick forming a smooth column. I analyze the quotes sometimes, pick them apart like a vulture and savor each segment, then step back again to marvel at the thing as a whole. But how does this help me grow as a writer? I haven’t found myself mimicking the quote. Nor do I want to. I want the pride of having created something myself.

Perhaps it’s got to be a conscious effort. Perhaps it comes down to rereading those quotes a couple times in a week, and deciding to use its technique, whatever it may be for that particular quote that makes it stand out. Perhaps it comes down to rewriting it a few times, and then doing something similar on my own, and then finally my brain will guide me to making my own powerful quote. And if that method doesn’t work, doesn’t lead to me creating my own power quote, at least I’d learn how to appreciate more the one I already loved.

Quotes are like beautiful paintings you hang up and can look at again and again and always draw inspiration from. Quote me on this 😉

The Nine Billion Names of God – Short Story Review

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

The Nine Billion Names of God is a short story that speculates God’s purpose for mankind and how technology intersects with spirituality. With a total of three scenes and no particular protagonist (rather, we hop from 3rd person limited over various scientists as they interact with Tibetan monks), the author Arthur C. Clarke makes it clear that rather than character growth, the story’s events are what readers should focus on.

Throughout the story you’ll gain a sense of wonder at the monks and their planning capabilities, culture, and history, even if they tend to be vague and cocky. For instance, they gladly explain their goal with the device known as the Mark V computer—to discover and transcribe all of God’s names—but offer no explanation as to how they can tell what a “real” name is compared to other names. As you learn about the Mark V’s progress, you’ll be introduced to a captivating twist, one that will make you question the cosmic-spiritual rules of our own reality.

While character development is nonexistent, character is very present, and I’m certainly grateful for it. The monks are like poker players holding secret knowledge, and the scientists act as clueless as we feel. One scientist, who doubles as a salesman, questions just how is it that the monks know how to handle technology like the Mark V.

Another scientist name George is bored working in the monk’s temple, is anxious to leave, but his commitment to his job shows us some humanity in contrast to the stoicism of the temple-goers. There’s even humor to be found in his critiques of the monks. And in the nick of time, the scientist named Chuck arrives in the story to provide a sense of adventure.

Prose-wise, this story is written in colloquial, easy-to-follow English with a healthy amount of dialogue and narration—it’s thin on description, but objects and setting details aren’t overly important in the narrative. The lore of the story unfolds at a quick pace, thanks to a time skip, and the rules of spirituality remain consistent and left open just enough for readers to fill in some blanks with their imagination. My one complaint is that it’s never stated why God has multiple names. What, does he have a lot of nicknames or something?

Overall I think this story does an excellent job getting readers thinking. What is our purpose in the universe? Is technology a part of it? Are we even supposed to reach our purpose? If questions like these interest you, or if you like science, philosophy, or religion in general, this is the story for you.

Sensory Sentences Exercise #1

~ Jamal H. Goodwin Jr. ~ Leave a comment

Using Sensory Words to Create Vivid Scenes

(1.

Silver wax oozed from the crevice of the door, clammed shut thanks to my flamethrower.

(2.

It was my mistake to guide the children to the roaring music hall, where bellows hoisted violin strums on their backs and where the madness drowned out the screams of the 2nd graders.

(3.

Alix trained hard, for months, chucking rocks to build biceps, dismantling Legos to construct meteorite wrists, til he was finally bulked and poised with a pencil to launch the final bullet to his Chemistry exam, the impact starting a fire that smelled old and musky, but the completion of his mission placed a buttery taste on his tongue.

(4.

The grilled cheese sizzled on the pan, murmuring secrets only the flies could hear. Its greased surface threw white back at the light bulbs; oil droplets popped up, fell down, slid like ice atop the pan and beside the sandwich. The bread was tan, black along the sides, and carried a charring-hot taste—not because it was cooking but because red pepper seeds were peppered throughout the melty orange cheese. It carried the smell of a quesadilla.

(5.

His phone twinkled from the hill’s bottom, guiding me like the north star to safety from this freezing forest.