3 Reasons to Write Stream of Consciousness Narrative

Stream-of-consciousness narrative can sound pretty intimidating, especially when it brings to mind being tortured with Faulkner during your high school or college years. You remember reading passages like this, right?

…you might go up into maine for a month you can afford it if you are careful it might be a good thing watching pennies has healed more scars than jesus and i suppose i realise what you believe i will realise up there next week or next month and he then you will remember that for you to go to harvard has been your mothers dream since you were born and no compson has ever disappointed a lady and i temporary it will be better for me for all of us and he every man is the arbiter of his own virtues but let no man prescribe for another mans wellbeing and i temporary and he was the saddest word of all there is nothing else in the world its not despair until time its not even time until it was

The last note sounded.

~The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner

Stream of Consciousness

Photo by Chris Willis

Now, you probably did one of two things there: 1) Jumped right into the passage, trying to puzzle out which part of the story it was from and what this particular passage was talking about; or 2) Read a couple lines in and then let your eyes glaze over and skipped down to see what kind of point I’m making.

Well, here it is:

 1. Get into your characters’ heads.

Stream-of-consciousness narrative can be a good way to really, really get into your characters’ heads, to see what makes them tick, to see how they got from a conversation about oranges to a recollection of a childhood trip to the zoo.

 2. Flesh out a child-like whimsy.

Ever seen the movie Up? Doug is a typical dog, except for having the ability to talk. He commonly gets distracted by squirrels or weird scents. Your characters can get distracted and trail off, interjecting “Squirrel!” or something better suited to the situation. This is a technique James Joyce used to great effect.

 3. Use it to show when something is wrong.

Perhaps the passage above from Faulkner looks like something from the mind of someone with a brain injury. It works that way, doesn’t it? Stream-of-consciousness narrative can reflect disorientation in many forms, from just waking from a nap to a car accident victim.

Why don’t we give it a try!

PRACTICE

Let’s try writing stream-of-consciousnessly today. And for those still uncertain, feel free to not follow Faulkner to a T. Use punctuation, use full-sentences, but flesh out what your character is thinking and feeling.

Write about that character of yours that still seems a little bit of a mystery to you. What would they do if they were in a room full of people, but tuning everyone else out.

Write for fifteen minutes of 250 words, and post your practice in the comments when you’re finished.

And if you post, be sure to comment on a few others.

Here’s my practice, about thirteen-year-old Sam. She’s a little dramatic and silly, but then, she’s thirteen.

*********

On days like today, sitting two desks away from the big window doesn’t help. The view’s much nicer from this room. Last year was a dreary gray driveway. On rainy days, there would be squiggly lines of dead worms scattered all over it. It was like the muddy trenches of Normandy or some such place. Except with worms, of course.

But this year! This year there’s a line of trees! Someone said that the person who lived in the house on the other side planted them ages ago because they didn’t want to look at and listen to all us kids. We’re not that bad looking. Maybe they didn’t want to see the dreary defeated worms.

But the trees have so much scope for the imagination – they’ve grown quite a lot and today the sun is out. There’s a little squirrel out there…wonder if he’s gathering food for his family? What if a hawk swooped in right now and just snapped him up by the scruff of his neck? His poor family would all cry little acorny tears. Acorny tears?

I smile, but not enough to give away that I’m doing working on homework. Refocusing on a patch of sky, I wonder if I’ll ever get to see water precisely that shade of blue, besides in the pictures in magazines that lie around the house. One day I’ll travel the world, exploring nooks and crannies. Obsolete nooks and crannies. Wait, not obsolete, ah, the other word. Ob-, ob-, ob-…Well, anyway, in some wayside bookstore or coffee shop, I was bound to meet some beautiful, young, foreign man with a passion for books and a heart for music and he’ll sweep me off my feet and we’ll see Paris and the Taj Mahal and New Zealand and-

“Pst! Sam! Stupid!”

 

About the Author

Danielle Duvick

Danielle is a professional editor who loves a good novel. You can follow her on Twitter.

  • Brendan

    I rose to my window to the fascinating flurry outward. The sun had temporarily allowed moisture to fall in it’s presence, and the wind-kicked dust remained so, combining in a seemingly artificial amalgam of elements, at odds-but even in their part of an ignorantly  disoriented enigma dry-wet-hot-still-stirring and suffocating, each shouting loud in mindless inaudible force . I turned to see him still sleeping. I then returned, but the enemies had recognized their futile intrusion and abandoned Abaddon in exasperated tantrums as children, leaving the ultimate illuminator to rule supreme. But it would be bested yet again by man’s invention. Time– the intangible polypheme, unfluctuatingly passive but continuously static in it’s action. Soon enough it would banish and paralyze the star westward, summoning the moon with cain and his bundle of twigs.

  • Brendan

    Ok, here is my attempt at Faulkner-style stream-of-consciousness

    I was turning it over when the door went and the sun shone in and isolated each insignificant dust mote. I felt it then felt then heard then turned to face her, changing my face and deciding not to decide.
    Where is he
    I dont know
    Did he come back
    No
    I didnt know and even if I did I couldnt say, I wouldnt. Hes my brother.
    I didnt know but I could feel him, and I knew it.
    And words cant capture feels to say, not even to your mother

    Ma Ma Mother Mother he said and I followed him
    She was there, she was dry and tired and slow and dead but alive

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      That was beautiful, Brendan. At the end it felt more Joycian than Faulknerian, but the dust mot and the sun is very Faulkner. He had a thing for dust. It might have been just a touch better if you didn’t repeat the word face in that second sentence. It’s all about sound, you know, and an echo makes it sloppy. But besides that, I really liked it. The Ma Ma Mother Mother was great.

      • Brendan

        Thanks man, I’m working on my first novel, and I’m only 16 haha. Should I post more?

        • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

          That’s awesome, Brendan. Good luck on the novel. :)

          Yeah, dude. Post more. Why not? If you practice on the latest posts you’ll get more feedback. It’s harder for people to respond down here in the archives. 

          • Brendan

            Oh and p.s., Faulkner and Joyce are my biggest inspirations :p

          • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

            Nice! I like them as well. How do you feel about Cormac McCarthy?

          • Brendan

            Yo, I put up more, check it out if you’d like

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  • http://twitter.com/SidonieAlxander Sid_LX_Writer

    Stream of consciousness.

    Amelie decided she was emotionally unavailable. Not just to Oliver but to anyone. Not that there was anyone else besides Oliver, so she was emotionally unavailable to him. It may have had something to do with walking in on her last boyfriend kneeling naked behind another girl wet with sweat and with a look of sheer determination on his face as he pounded her mercilessly. Perhaps it was her parents untimely death when she was only a child. Of course it probably had more to do with the way Oliver ran hot and cold with her. The way he could slash open her feelings with one swipe of his sharp tongue without even thinking. Amelie shuddered at the effect he may have if he put some more thought into his comments. She was still confused about his Christmas Day confession about not liking people but in fact liking her as a person then the almost kiss they nearly shared on New Years Eve. Her head still spun at the way he could be so tender one minute and then a ferocious burning inferno the next. Had they not been interrupted as his soft lips brushed hers momentarily who knows what might have happened. He was indeed, devastatingly handsome and so devastatingly high maintenence but he did look so terribly delicious in jeans. The way the denim hugged his buns was mouthwatering. Surely one needed more than just a physical attraction to make a relationship work otherwise it was bound to end in tears. More than likely, Amelie’s tears.

  • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

    If God didn’t want me to marry him, why did he give him those kind eyes? Nobody ever looked at me with such kind eyes before. And doesn’t God want me to look into kind eyes? To be touched with such a gentle touch?

    I’m sure God made him wonderful so that someone would fall in love with him, and I’m sure God was the one who brought us together. That couldn’t have been an accident. Well even if it was an accident, it would have been God’s will. So why shouldn’t I marry him? God made him wonderful and brought us together and made me love him and he sanctified marriage.

    I think the people who believe that Christians and Muslims shouldn’t marry aren’t really following their own religion. If they were, they would see that there is only one God, and it doesn’t matter what he is called, and it doesn’t matter how different people worship him. So if we’re all worshiping the same God, why shouldn’t we marry one another?

    It doesn’t make any sense! They say that if I marry him, I won’t be able to inherit. I don’t care about that. My family doesn’t have anything to inherit anyway. And my husband will take care of me. His religion won’t let me inherit either, but who cares about that? I don’t need money after I die. I just need to be taken care of while I’m alive, and I know he’ll do that…

    • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

      Thank you Nora. It takes courage to love out-of-bounds.

    • Oddznns

      This is good… keep going. Will she be taken care of ? That’s the crux of the story isn’t it?

      • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

        You’ll have to wait a couple of years to find out. I’m about 6 months from finishing the first draft. I’m not even sure I know exactly how it turns out yet!

  • Oddznns

    Stream of consciousness from a Persian carpet in 1001 nights…

    The ground and I, we have lain together so long we understand each other.

    The ground quivers, “she” is coming. And indeed, she comes. Light foot over light foot, step upon step, her silk veils softly swishing, her anklets trembling. She comes borne by it, then by us, towards him.

    The ground is indifferent to who “she” is. There are so many of them, yet so the same, it seems to tell me; only one “she”, every night, the same. But I, I remember each of them a particular and individual, every night a new “she”; different little girl feet, some brushing against me like a caress, some scampering and dancing, others reluctantly dragging or trembling. Almost always, the feet are pumiced soft as silk, prepared for what must come next — the ground shivering and trembling, the air above us filling with heat and damp and tears and giggling and laughter and sighing. Then the silence after, as deep as night; broken now and then by the ground heaving, echoing a pushing and grinding from somewhere deep in its bowels, far away south beyond the mountains.

    On other occasions the ground awakes shaking, aroused from slumber by surface movements in another part of the palace where I am not; men running and scurrying in other rooms and courtyards, stamping their feet, loading and unloading. Travellers have arrived, the ground tells me. Tributes and merchandise are being set down and unwrapped, a feast is being prepared. Or, it may tell me, its armies approaching that causes the stir, viziers gathering for war councils, captains being sent on their way to war.

    I do not know these things, the activities of fighting men, the palavering of viziers and amabassadors. I and my brothers and sisters were gathered together and woven against each other to grace pleasure pavilions and accompany dalliance. This palace is where we’ve lived all the time of my remembering. But the ground, which spreads out from this platform of turquoise where I am, feels through the palace and beyond its walls into the sands and far below. It knows. And so, I know too.

    The ground reports each season’s turning. It expands in the summer heat and grows brittle with the snapping winter winds. In spring, when the sparse rain falls, it opens to absorb and hold the precious drops, softening in delight. And in autumn, when the air dries and days shorten, the ground shudders painfully as men pull the sagaux and plain grasses out by by their roots to store away for their animals’ winter feed.

    We have our differences, the ground and I. For one, the ground thinks I am insignificant; only a skein of silk on a patch of wool covering an infinitesimally small part of its vast surface. I have no depth. I am young. I am ignorant. Someday, the ground tells me, I will die. This is not the case with the ground, it hardens a little with pride against me. It has always been.

    Be still, listen, suddenly I am the one who cautions the ground.

    Can you not hear it on the wind? Bit against bridle … clanking … once … twice … a thousand times. Do you not feel the tremor in the ground? Hooves … ten thousand … a hundred thousand … beating … running …

    My brothers and sisters – the horsemen ARE COME !!!!

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      This was really good, Audrey. What a unique way to experience Arabian nights. I loved this, “We have our differences, the ground and I.” The whole paragraph about how the ground and the carpet feel about each other was great.

      This was beautiful too,” Can you not hear it on the wind? Bit against bridle … ”

      Yes, I really liked this. You should finish this, I think.

    • Yvette Carol

      Wow Oddznns. Sheer poetry….

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      That first line took my breath away.

  • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

    I feel shy about posting this, but here’s Lucas,

    “Who doesn’t have a past and mine is lot more extensive than hers but I’ve always been honest with her and I will be even if I have to serve my heart up on a platter for her as proof. Or maybe I mean my head I guess it won’t come to that but Isabelle is a snake and I wouldn’t put it past her to get even at the best available target God why can’t she just get the fuck and move on and how did she know that I’d have tickets here tonight whatever, she has someone else on her arm and Claire shouldn’t wear something like that in public but damn its nice and I want to go home now and forget the exhibit it’s all pretence anyway because she likes to go out and I like to make her happy when she looks at me and the corners of her eyes crinkle and she gets that grin like she knows what I’m thinking, my God I hope she doesn’t but I can read her and it’s so easy to tell her mood, and we don’t have to pretend at dinner at this affair, and wouldn’t you know there’s Darius now, and he never comes to these things, no doubt Isabelle has told him all about Claire and she doesn’t even know any of this what the hell she got into it will be even worse than the story about Isabelle she probably would never ask about Isabelle after this or maybe in light of years the time when Isabelle and I were lovers would be irrelevant and left well enough alone I don’t ask about her ex-husband except what she’s wanted to tell me and I’d rather not know anything else because I don’t want to imagine Claire with him because then I’d just want to kill the guy and that would be a bad idea because it would be obvious to Claire who did it and then what do I do explain that I was hungry? Yes Claire I was hungry she shouldn’t smile at me that way because it makes me want to have …”

    • Yvette Carol

      It’s even more admirable when you feel shy and yet post it anyway. Good on you Casey! Is Lucas one of the characters you’ve been working on? You seem to have a good handle on him….

      • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

        Thanks Yvette. He’s a main character in the novel I keep saying I don’t want to start for another year or two.

        • Yvette Carol

          Ah. Yeah, then it’s a good idea to use exercises like this to come to know the character further. That’s what I did with mine, I tried being inside the head of one of the subsidiary characters of my WIP. In fact I like to use the writing exercises here in that way as often as is possible….

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      I loved this, Casey. I read it twice to get a handle on it. For some reason, stream of consciousness combined with skirting around the edges of the scene makes a swanky dinner (some kind of charity fundraiser?) sound so much more mysterious and interesting.

      I think if you combined this voice with observation about setting and the actions of the other characters it would be really interesting.

      • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

        I think maybe I’ll try that. It was fun to jump around like that, if only my fingers could keep up. Thanks Joe.

    • Marianne Vest

      This is good Casey. Have you ever read “Mrs. Dalloway” by Virginia Woolf? It is stream of consciousness and is about her having a party. It is not an easy read but you might want to just check it out if you are going to use this. I really like the way you have handled it because you are really into the his head and not having him think a narrative. It’s very realistic IMO, but then who knows what another’s consciousness is like really.

      • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

        No, I haven’t. Is it a short story? I’ve heard that one of James Joyce’s novels–Ulysses, I think– was written in stream of consciousness. It’s easier to write in character this way, but I’m not so sure how easy it is to read. Readers would have to have patience and that’s something hard to come by sometimes.

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      All the self-doubt in here made me FEEL the character. (Perhaps there was something in there I could relate to, though it’s not in my consciousness.) I think the relationships of ex-lovers is fascinating and a great topic. I’d love to read more.

    • Oddznns

      This is a vampire right….?

  • Yvette Carol

    What a great idea Danielle! Why not? I’ll give it a whirl….

    ‘Blah, blah, blah’ They talk a lot. Like a hive full of bees ever buzzing. How do they hear themselves think? Or know what the right thing is to do, what their parents and teachers would want them to do in any given situation? Incessant. Annoying.
    Blast them looking at me. They are going to talk to me again, try to drag me in. I can not stand them. They are not my people. They are not who I like. But I must be here. I must do what I was sent here to do. And let them be…children.
    Need quiet. Need space. Must practice what the Master taught me….

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      Thanks, Yvette! I liked your piece – it made me laugh. It reminded me of someone kind of grumpy, kind of aloof, but like they have a good reason to be, perhaps? This would be fascinating to draw out longer, to see this character actually interact with the “children” and to hear the inner monologue as he/she responds to their responses.

      • Yvette Carol

        Thank you. I guess it’s kind of the traditional clash of East meets West (but different, they are shape-shifting critters after all, which takes some of the pressure off). Funny thing is, they’re all more or less the same age, but when I came to sit inside her head that just came out. This was my first time giving her an inner monologue. That’s why I chose her for this piece because she was still a superficial character despite my efforts!

    • Marianne Vest

      That sounds like a bad place to be. Are they in a class or at school. I hope she can hold out against them and not be drawn in.

      • Yvette Carol

        They’re on a plane on their way to begin a very dangerous mission. The rest of the youth team have been together for ages, but she’s only new. This is ‘Three’ a character from my WIP, The Scorpion Empire, (2nd book in The Grandfather Diaries). She is New Zealand born but raised in Japan. I tried to get inside her head for the first time really with this exercise. I have a number of Asian friends and felt I could handle her, however actually expressing her thoughts was provocative for me. I like the last thing you said there, that made me think about her in a new way. Thanks for that!

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      “They are not my people.” — great line!

      • Yvette Carol

        Thank you Nora. Feels funny to say ‘her words, not mine’ but hey, there you go! I liked your piece too :-)

    • http://twitter.com/SidonieAlxander Sid_LX_Writer

      ‘Blast them looking at me. They are going to talk to me again, try to drag me in. I can not stand them.’

      I love this, so harsh yet so honest. I can relate. I’d like to know more….

      • Yvette Carol

        Thanks Sid! This character is from my work in progress (The Scorpion Empire)

  • http://KatieAx.blogspot.com/ Katie Axelson

    Joe, I like your practice. I could follow Sam all the way through her thoughts. Although, I’m not sure she’d come with the Normandy analogy unless she added something about studying it in class so maybe.

    Katie

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      Thanks, Katie! I’ve actually written more about the character Sam and she’s a bit reader – really into WWI and WWII, especially ships and water-front invasions, which is a bit different, I know. She’s dramatic and comes up with all kinds of crazy things, so it fits for her. But, yes, since she’s at school, she may have learned about Normandy recently, I never really thought about that…

  • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

    Stream of my character’s consciousness:

    I open my eyes and I wake up to a brand new day. Without missing a heartbeat, the pain starts to claw its way up to the surface. Add to that the feeling of my head being split open by a vodka flavored butcher knife. I feel like throwing up and crying and screaming at all the wrong things life threw at me. I feel a lot of things but the strongest one is the longing. At this time, there should have been the smell of pancakes drifting all across my small studio apartment. At this time, the music of The Beatles would be playing loudly on my stereo. At this time, I’m supposed to be having the time of my life. Funny how life turns everything upside down. It dangles a shiny thing in front of you and you get attracted to it. You chase it and when you finally caught up with it life pulls it up taking you along for the ride. You feel better than ever. You’re flying! But, just like what I said, life has a way to turn everything upside down. Suddenly you’re no longer holding on to anything. You’re flying but you’re falling. You know? Falling starts off just like that. You thought you’re flying at first but you’re actually plummeting down at the speed of gravity. Then splat! You’re pancake on the pavement. One minute you’re at cloud nine, the next you’re getting drunk every night and crying or throwing up or both the next morning. I wipe away the tears and I curse at the ceiling, at myself, at life.

    I force myself up. Today’s a Wednesday. I’ve to pick myself up put myself together again and move on are what my friends have been saying. Bullshit, that’s what I call them. Have they tried smashing a cup of coffee on the ground and trying to glue it back together again? It won’t look the same as before. The cracks will be there. That coffee cup will forever be broken. No putting it back together again, no moving on, all that’s left for me to do is wish for the brand new days to never come. But I’m scared to off myself. I’ve been thinking about it. God knows how much I’ve been considering the idea. But I guess I just don’t have the balls to do it and I wake up to another god forsaken brand new day.

    I turn off the shower and I dry myself with a fluffy white towel. Inside my bedroom I start putting on my work clothes. At this time, she should have been tying my tie around my neck. But not this time. I tighten the knot and I take another two pills for my splitting headache. I walk to a small drawer sitting at the foot of my bed. I strike a match and I light a big fat candle sitting on top the drawer. I place the candle beside her photograph. Her smile’s been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. At this time, she should have been here with me. Alive. But not this time.

    • Yvette Carol

      Good flow there with this character JB! Nice touch, that vodka flavoured butter knife :-)

      • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

        Thanks Yvette :) Though it’s a butcher knife actually hah.

        • Yvette Carol

          Oops! My bad :-) I read it once and that’s the image that stayed with me….the old memory dude, what can I say!! Still, have to say, either way works. Ha ha

          • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

            ha ha. yeah. both are deadly though one has a buttery touch to it. :)

    • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

      I like the vodka flavored butcher knife, too, and then how he should be smelling pancakes, and later being a smashed pancake on pavement.

      • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

        thanks Casey.

    • Marianne Vest

      That is really good. It is arranged so well. You are gradually drawn into his world and you realize that there but for the grace of God go we all. I like the part about life dangling something shiny in front of you but fooling you so that you think you are jumping when you are really beginning to fall. The line about the vodka flavored butcher knife is one of my favorite images too.

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      As I read this, I got interested in the stuff that you didn’t write — what was s/he saying internally when s/he woke up hung over? I would be interested in knowing that, and if the words are tired and garbled, all the better.

    • http://twitter.com/SidonieAlxander Sid_LX_Writer

      vodka flavored butcher knife….. I can feel the pain

  • http://www.youngaspiringwriter.blogspot.com/ Chihuahua Zero

    Okay, I will do a quick (and probably too short) SoC from my RP character’s point of view, Blue. For contest, he’s in a The Hunger Games-esque game and is in the aftermath of a chase:

    Okay, I’m up to a big task here. Here I am, with a small empath, a bleeding terrakinesis user and a disgruntled hydrokinesis user right in front of a jewelry store which has all its window display dumped right in the doorway. Why isn’t anybody noticing this? Where is everybody? This whole game is strange already. Did that girl on the radio cast a spell on everyone so they don’t start running around screaming and calling for the police? While that would be good, it’s absolutely and utterly uncanny. I mean, why? If I was a passerbyer and I see us in our horrible state, I would go right to the doorway and start scooping up all of that gold and silver.

    But since I have a bottomless wallet, I wouldn’t need it anyways. This is definitely magic going on. But what’s with all of the greenbacks? Wouldn’t that wreck the economy too? Or does the girl on the radio also have it under a spell?

    Thinking about it, how would we know that we’re all not under a spell, and we’re only playing pieces who think we have free will?

    Nah, I don’t want to think about that.

    Hmm…Link does look good with that purple cap on.

    Why does that remind me of a song? Well, it’s not like I would be able to remember it anyways, considering my memory had been spirited away too.

    Oh, hell…might as well get those hotel rooms now.

    • Marianne Vest

      That’s interesting. I like the “how would we know that we’re not all under a spell, and we’re only playing pieces who think we have free will?” Then “Nah, I don’t want to think about that”. It’s like you person doesn’t have complete control over their thoughts, they have to argue with themself.

      • http://www.youngaspiringwriter.blogspot.com/ Chihuahua Zero

        Amusing enough, “Link”, as mentioned in the SoC, might use his empathy for emotion control later.

        Personally, I think Blue ponders in the wrong direction here, but I think this was still a good practice to go through. Blue, I think, gets stressed, and I’ll work on ramping that up through the roleplay.

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      I don’t read fantasy but I really liked your piece. You asked the kind of questions I ask when I read stuff that “out there” (from my POV), and that seems useful because then you can answer them. You got me interested!

  • http://bikerider.Writing.Com/ Angelo Dalpiaz

    The character, Severino, right after he killed a soldier with his hands on the side of a mountain on a cold, winter night during World War I.

    You’re so young. Much younger than me. Why didn’t you just back away? Why did you have to come at me like that? I would have ignored you, let you get away, you’re just a kid–was just a kid. God forgive me. Look at you, you should be home with your mama, not lying here with blood oozing from your wounds. Wounds I inflicted on you. God forgive me!

    Seems like a lifetime ago I was your age. Before the war, long before the war, war was just a game we played in the village then, no one was ever hurt, not like now, the real thing when so many don’t make it home again, like you. Why did you have to come at me, you’re so much smaller than me you couldn’t think you could beat me. So why, then? You are, were, too young to know better, I should have known better, but what was I to do?

    God forgive me, you’re just a kid, just a kid. I’m sorry.

    • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

      That was good Angelo. Especially the parts when Severino thinks over and over again that he’s just a kid. I also like how you link his thoughts back to playing war as a kid.

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      I like how he keeps asking God to forgive him, over and over again. It seems like this would be an interesting character to get into a longer piece, just to see where is the point that he breaks. He has to kill this kid, he is obviously sorry about it and so aware of how what he is doing now is not a game. What will he do with this in the future?

    • Marianne Vest

      That’s good Angelo. I wish there weren’t wars.

  • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

    stream of Lanie’s consciousness:

    Lanie hung up the phone and continued to gaze out the window. She suspected that she knew what Brad was thinking. They both wanted kids and it just hadn’t happened. It was so hard to work, every day, with abused kids, unwanted kids, people with too many kids. It had gotten to a point where just looking at a pregnant woman broke her heart. Why God? Why is it so easy for everyone else to get pregnant but it’s beyond us? Have we done something to offend You and you’ve made me infertile to punish us? Do you still do that? I know You did in the Old Testament but I don’t remember it happening after Jesus came. Besides … You said that I stand pure and holy, guiltless, in Your presence so why would You punish me for something that I don’t even remember doing? I guess You wouldn’t. So WHY? Why can I not get pregnant? Why no babies? Why is my husband now “shopping” for an orphan? Have I failed him? We haven’t even talked about adoption yet God. Well we have but only in general terms. I want a baby. Fresh. New. One that only knows us as parents. Are You REALLY calling us to adopt an older child? One who has suffered so much loss and abuse? God she is going to be so emotionally needy and I’m not sure I have the strength. What are You trying to do to me? Heaving a heavy sigh, Lanie turned back around, sat in her chair, and started to read Allie’s case folder.

    Lanie is one of the main characters in a serial fiction story that I’m writing as part of a blogging challenge this month. The story began here: http://www.bethszimmerman.com/2012/04/01/afraid/

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      Hi Beth. Good practice. I hope this helped. It’s interesting, your version of stream of consciousness here sounds very young adult fiction. I’m wondering if that was intentional or just came from the inner monologue your portraying. In general inner monologue makes the writing sound young.

      Which is weird, because Faulkner or Joyce or Woolf spent a lot of their time in their characters’ heads and it didn’t sound like YA fiction. I’ll have to think more about that. Anyway, good practice. How is your challenge going?

      • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

        It’s going quite well. I’m enjoying the journey and finding that I can get these characters who perpetually live in my head out into print. :) And I suppose YA Fiction is probably one of the genres I tend to be drawn to. Or Christian Fiction. Thanks for taking time to leave a thoughtful comment!

  • http://twitter.com/davidsaleeba David Saleeba

    OK- the Faulkner bit hit home (and I was out of school when I tried to read “Sound+Fury”!) Here’s the practice:

    I wish I knew where this place was! I never should have lost the GPS… now I’m relying on stupid Mapquest. They give the craziest directions sometimes. I don’t even know what radio stations are around here. Ugh. Let me flip around and see. Oh! David Jeremiah’s radio program! I like hearing him preach- he’s pretty good. Conservative. I don’t think his voice matches the pictures I’ve always seen of him, though. He seems a lot older. Hmm- he’s in Revelation again these days. He likes…

    Dang it, that was my turn! I miss my little bossy English lady saying, “Turn left ahead. In 500 feet turn left.” Oh, how I wish she was still here, talking to me from the console-thingy! I’m going to be late, I know it. I hate being late. It makes me feel so incompetent somehow. OK, what am I going to say to them if I’m late and he’s already gone?

    Hey, I can turn here! This is the parking turn- sweet! Sweet-sweety-sweetness! OK, if I boogie I can hopefully make it in time… just want to see him before they take him in for the operation. No… no, no, no!

    I’m two quarters short for the little meter thing? What kind of crazy parking garage is this? Back home you take the ticket then pay. Amazing. My luck that I’d find the world’s stupidest garage where you pay the flat rate. What does Revelation say about dumb parking garages, Dr. Jeremiah?

    • Marianne Vest

      I like this, and I identify with the lost and irritated person talking to himself, when his familiar technology helper is gone and the new one isn’t working well.

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      Ha nice ending, David. I actually interviewed Dr. Jeremiah for a magazine article recently. He was very nice. Was this you channeling a character or yourself?

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      Ah! So frustrating! I like that the whole thing loops back around to Dr. Jeremiah. The slang and the not-quite-spitting out the correct words make me really feel like I’m right in this guy’s head.

    • Yvette Carol

      David…nicely done. This character has a real voice. I felt that the sweet-sweety-sweetness was an elegant way of putting it, the way we often say the silliest things in our internal dialogue that we would never say out loud.

    • Oddznns

      I like the way you mesh the familiar (Dr. Jeremiah) with what’s obviously strange (trying to find your way, the funny parking meter, no more GPS). And the way it loops back to Dr. Jeremiah too!

  • AliceFleury

    Oh my gosh. This is why my story sounds like a play instead of a novel. You’ve named it. Now that I know what its called, maybe I can fix it. Here’s mine, although not 250 words.

    Bree thrust the book in my hands. “Don’t you wanna know who she is?”

    I didn’t want to know. That dead girl wreaked havoc in my life before. Before Kate rescued me from a house full of kids without parents. When the only friend I had was someone no one else could see. Someone who hid the other kids toys when they wouldn’t share or include me in their games. Someone who made me different because I could see her. I don’t want different. I want normal.

    I threw the book on the table. “For all I care, she can go to Hell.”

    • Marianne Vest

      This should be in a novel. It is eerie in that I’m not sure if the person she is thinking about is really a dead person or is a fantasy that she has.

      • AliceFleury

        Thanks Marianne. Actually, when I read this writepractice, I was stuck in a scene. And realized the description of stream of consciousness was what I needed to work on. It’s exactly what I have trouble writing. And as I thought about the scene I tried to get in Gen’s head to figure out what she’d be thinking about.

  • Meghan Malcolm

    Stream of Claire’s Conciousness

    Claire’s mind drifted into consciousness, a piercing ring hissed in her ears, “The baby! Oh baby, please be okay. Be okay. Mommy’s got you. Wait…Mommy? Never called myself that before…” Claire slowly moved her frail hand onto her ballooning belly and tried to lift her heavy eyelids. One glimpse of a smoky sky set her into a panic. “Where is the ceiling? Where did it go? Why am I laying on the floor of the girl’s washroom? Why can’t I hear anything except this terrible ringing? Did I fall and blackout? Maybe this is a pregnant girl thing. Hopefully, this doesn’t get added to the long list of embarrassing moments of “teen mom”. Carrying a fat belly and leaving twice a class to pee is bad enough… No, this can’t be cause of the baby because that doesn’t explain why the ceiling is MIA. Unless I was thrown out the window..Psh, I’d be dead if that’s what happened. And I’m not dead…right? Oh, what’s going on? Please baby, don’t be hurt.”

    Still unable to hear, Claire lifted her head up off the ground and propped herself up on her elbows and suddenly felt grateful that she was deafened to the horrors around her. Brick and rubble layered the blackened ground, familiar faces from the school halls lay around her, injured and weeping or still and lifeless, and…“Fire. Fire….Fire. Gotta get up. I gotta get me and baby out of here. My baby. This is my baby. You’re safe now. Mommy’s got you.”

    • AliceFleury

      Some bomb or something went off at the school. Great way to show the aftermath and move your character on her arc that she realizes she cares and loves for her baby.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      Oh wow! This REALLY grabbed me! VERY well written. I want to buy your book! :)

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      This was great, Meghan! It had lots of energy and was deeply entrenched in her consciousness which was good. For it to be traditional stream of consciousness, you’d have to chuck all those periods, but I thought what you did was great. It was surprising from the beginning.

      • Meghan Malcolm

        Wow, thanks everyone! I really appreciated the feedback :) I’ve been following this blog for awhile now and it was fun getting involved in the practice for the first time.

        • Yvette Carol

          The FIRST time! Meghan, you may be a slow starter but you’ve got it girl. Get in more often. Yes it’s terrifying posting your work (baring your soul) for others to see…but that’s what being a writer is all about :-) At least we’re all in the same boat together!

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      Good imagery – I like that we’re just seeing snapshots out of this girl’s mind, overlaid with how worried she is about her baby.

    • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

      I have to agree with all the other comments. This was really good. Nice job Meghan :)

    • Oddznns

      I like how this goes from angsting about being a teenage mom, to the school bomb blast, and back to loving the baby.

  • Marianne Vest

    I went ahead and used and unreliable narrator like Faulkner as well as stream of consciousness.

    It’s hot and they’re all standing around me, in the living room, by the Christmas tree Anne said my hospice bed wouldn’t look good in the living room, but I don’t want to miss seeing my family.

    She’s trying to get me to drink eggnog again, saying it will fatten me up, but it makes me sick. I want to go to the bathroom but the black girl says I’m not to get up. She took my cane this morning. She broke into our home last week, and now here it’s Christmas and they are giving her eggnog. She must not have a home because she stays right here with us. I need my cane.

    The tree is glittery. It binks. I thought I saw the ornament that my parents gave to Anne and me when we got married. The wedding is today. Anne’s beautiful, and the war’s over, and we’re on top of the world.

    We need to water the Christmas tree so it doesn’t dry up, start a forest fire, and run the bears into the house. Anne says she watered it. I can rest.

    More medicine now. I have to take a train to to Baltimore. It’s getting dark and I need to hurry. Here are my daughters, all grown up. They’re crying. I don’t want them to be sad. I need to take care of them, my babies. Anne’s holding my hand, waiting with me but I don’t think she’s going to get on the train.

    • http://rehunter.org/ R. E. Hunter

      I like it. Let me guess, Alzheimer’s?

      • Marianne Vest

        It is roughly my father dying from bone cancer with the hospice worker there. He was on morphine and did make it through Christmas. He died in early January (years ago not this year). He was really confused by the hospice nurses being there. It was sad.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      Wow! I love the way you ended this. Well done!

      • Marianne Vest

        Thank you.

    • http://jblearnstowrite.tumblr.com/ JB Lacaden

      It was a very good read Marianne. Thanks. I love how you clearly portrayed the narrator was sick and how you injected your personal experience into the story. It added emotion. Nice job. :)

      • Marianne Vest

        thank you JB

    • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

      “We need to water the Christmas tree so it doesn’t dry up, start a forest fire, and run the bears into the house. Anne says she watered it. I can rest.”

      This was good. I’m reading about Christmas trees and bears and suddenly I’m thinking about Goldilocks. It’s funny how the mind makes paths that are just completely irrelevant and yet somehow true.

      • Marianne Vest

        Bears, forests, fires, etc. The words do lead the thought sometimes because of connections between them, don’t they? Now it’s clearer.

    • Yvette Carol

      Woa, I felt like I was reading a book. Marianne, is this the start of a short story? Evocative of age and atrophy and quiet angst.

      • Marianne Vest

        It’s just about my father when he died. It was sad to see someone who had always been so rational and in control become that disoriented. He was on mega doses of morphine though. I’m glad people here liked this. It was hard to write although he’s been gone since 05.

        • Yvette Carol

          Wow. I’m sorry….And yet, Marianne, you know sometimes the memories around which we have the most emotion can be the richest source for story….If we are brave enough to go there, that is!

    • Oddznns

      I love the way you’ve done ‘old, disoriented and confused’ . especially the bit about the black girl who’s broken into the house and the Christmas trees and bears.

      • Marianne Vest

        Thanks – you got it.

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      Did she die at the end?

      Really good practice, Marianne. I love your writing so much. I know I’ve said that a lot. But your words feel clean and spacious, easy to read and yet full of complexity of emotion.

      • Marianne Vest

        Wow thanks Joe. That sounds particularly good today when I’ve mostly produced drivel.

  • Charlotte Udziela

    Here is my stream of writing exercise:

    She wanted to wear her hair in a wispy bun pulled together at the nape of her neck but no her neck was too short so she put up with the thinning grey helmet that was her hair hating the jowls the wrinkles the puffiness of her hooded eyes which reminded her of her grandmother’s eyes, so angry and terrified they were set above those lips flecked with tobacco spittle and the only saving grace in her memory was the trace of Yankee accent that she held onto a half a century after the old lady had died alone in a nursing home of a thrombosis and lay somewhere in an unmarked grave – she didn’t even know the cemetery except of course it was so far away out in the west in that nondescript town so far from the hills of western Mass. where her grandmother was from and she knew she was being petulant and lazy, always lazy, wanting to learn French but having no discipline ever rueing the dust that covered her desk as she stared at the coffe-stained unsent pledge plea to some liberal org that lay there one of many she gave to lamely ten dollars here five dollars there to feel a part of something when she never felt a part of anything or at home anywhere, always on the outside looking in, what had her grandmother felt landing in Reno fatally embarrassed by the mistress her cock of a husband took and married and set up in Longmeadow and she then died of cancer no tears shed for that woman, Henrietta or was that the woman her own father took up with after the War. At her house growing up, at all the houses here and there across the country in one dismal town after the next it was always before or after the war, but everything stank of acrid cigarette smoke they all smoked her mom and dad and the grandmother they dragged along since she couldn’t live alone given that she was prone to fits and wild weeping rarely dressing and going on and on about how she had seen Sarah (sayruh) Bernhardt and Maude Adams, which was a name she liked even today along with Tess, though these were things she never could share with her husband, whom she avoided comparing with Charles in M. Bovary. Too painful, too painful and Emma was way too vain and silly anyway.

    • AliceFleury

      I got a little confused, but wow, this really tells who this woman is. That she’s older than she wants to be, doesn’t want to be like her grandmother and probably is. Probably married or likes some jerk like her grandmother married.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      Well done! Reminded me (a lot) of the Faulkner segment.

  • http://profiles.google.com/lialondon.g Lia London

    I’m laughing so loud I’m scaring my kids because I TOTALLY did option #2 with the glazed eyes and the skip ahead. Thanks for a great start to my literary morning!

    • http://joebunting.com Joe Bunting

      I know. Wasn’t that great? I did option #1 and was thinking, how many people are actually going to read through this whole thing. It was a nice surprise I read the question.

      • Marianne Vest

        What part of the story is it from? I know it’s Quentin because of his saying no Compson would disappoint a lady and the stuff about Harvard and the sadness of it. That was a hard story to follow, and a depressing one.

        • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

          It’s at the end of “June 2nd, 1910.” Quentin’s been in a fight with Gerald and he wanders away to look at the river, then go home to wash the blood out of his clothes.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      Me too! :)

  • http://twitter.com/pootlesuzie Suzie Gallagher

    stream of Mary’s consciousness

    Oh no, mum’s passed out again, stupid, stupid, stupid. Jake the little… Why did I come home? I hate this, I really hate this. Jam everywhere. Is there anything in this room that is not bleeding red jam. And Jake, where is he? Okay, so if I check the baby first, change it’s nappy cos I am sure mum didn’t bother. Thursdays are just zero days. I wonder how long it took her to get from the bank to the off license. Did she even pay? I should ring Halloran’s, see if we owe them anything. Oh mum, remember when it was you, me and dad. He built that swing in the yard and we took it in turns to swing. We laughed. Do you remember laughing? Proper laughing at something important, not the bottom of a vodka bottle, or some random tosser you picked up. I mean laughing ‘cos it’s summer and the grass smells green and the sun is shining just for us. Oh mum, look at the baby’s bottom, it is raw, red, why don’t you change it? I am so past tears, mum, I wish you could hear me, Jake doesn’t know how to laugh, I barely remember, mum, please ….

    • Marianne Vest

      That really shows how immediate stream of consciousness is. I feel the sadness and frustration there.

      • dafd

        Though I agree with much of what was said, I would suggest toning the thoughts down a little bit. They seem a bit mature for a young girl and clear headed for someone in a distressing situation — also although the story and content is itself sad, the form and force of each assertion is not; sometimes its even effective to try to displace the structure and content in order to create some cognitive dissonance.

    • AliceFleury

      I could visualize this as she’s plodding through the room. Love the jam bleeding everywhere. I knew she was changing the baby. I liked this.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      Just heartbreaking! Very well written! I felt Mary’s pain, frustration, and longing! A young girl who shouldn’t have to worry about such things. :(

    • http://bikerider.Writing.Com/ Angelo Dalpiaz

      That is very good. Talk about getting inside a characters head!

      • Yvette Carol

        Yeah. Ditto what Angelo said!! Brilliant Suzie.

    • http://kinswomans-pursuit.blogspot.com/ Casey

      Bleeding red jam and a baby’s red bottom. I like those images.

      Is the mother missing in action? I get the feeling that the mother is off somewhere and shifting responsibility onto Mary.

    • Oddznns

      Really sad. Very good.

  • http://twitter.com/Amberdreams Amber

    Stream of consciousness – Nathan

    So I really should be helping the guys sort out this problem but I’m too worried about Jake to listen to what Hank is saying. Why does my brother have to be such a stubborn stupid ass? Why did I push him away like that, I knew he was feeling vulnerable but I just couldn’t bring myself to let him know how I was feeling, just lashed out and now he’s gone. Okay, maybe it wasn’t all my fault, I can’t be watching him 24/7, he’s a grown man and responsible for his own actions…

    But maybe if I’d been paying more attention he wouldn’t have just taken off like this. I mean, no word from him for weeks and that really isn’t like him at all. Every other time he was away, even when we’d argued, he’d always come round within a few hours and then he’d ring or text me every day just to see how I was doing. He was always there if I needed him, day or night and I don’t know what to do with him gone.

    Oh come on Nate, pull yourself together! You are moping around like a lovesick teenager who’s been dumped, instead of a grown up with a life of your own to live and work to do that Jake just abandoned – and why the hell did he run off when he knows he might well hold the key to all this mess?

    Damn it, Jake. Where the hell are you?

    • Marianne Vest

      That’s interesting. It allows you to say how Nathan is feeling, but still kind of tell a narrative back story.

    • http://www.bethszimmerman.com/ Beth Zimmerman

      I hope Jake comes home soon but something tells me that isn’t meant to be. Well written!

    • http://twitter.com/Danielle_Reads Danielle Duvick

      It’s very interesting how Nate seems to go back and forth between blaming his brother and then blaming himself for not being patient enough. I like how there’s the sibling relationship, but there also seems like something more, because he’s not just the left-out brother, but the “lovesick teenager,” which makes it seem like there’s another level to the whole story.

    • Nora Lester Murad in Palestine

      This feels really honest to me. A person feels responsible and yet resentful. You showed that nicely.