I'm teaching a one-week fiction-writing class for adults on the summer-lovely campus of Meredith College in Raleigh this week. Today was the first day.
Sometimes people in a newly formed group hang back a little at being among the first to read from their work, or the first to comment on someone else's work.
Not these ten women. They launched in from the first instant, and didn't seem to think anything of it. Promises to be a good week.
Today we talked about plot, what makes a story a story. (Answer: a main character with an urgent problem that has to be resolved in spite of dreadful obstacles, internal and external, by the end of the story. And the problem needs to be one that threatens the character's identity, her sense of who she is.)
I've taught at this annual writing week before, but hadn't planned to do it this summer. And then my friend who was scheduled to teach had to drop out. I dropped in. (Bold of me, yes?)
Tomorrow: developing characters from the inside out. These ten bold women already know a lot about that.