1) Take any brief clip you wrote for the NF unit and make it as fantastical as possible to convert it into a fictional story.; 2) Write a brief scene from memory (one already written in the NF unit or totally new) narrated in 3rd person POV
11 thoughts on “Conversion Exercises 1 & 2”
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NF Fantastical:
I stand in the doorway, wood creaking under my feet. A soft emerald hue emanates from the room, aided by the foliage found outside the windows and the greenery printed on the bed sheets that always smelled acidic and salty, like lemongrass. Like lemon detergent and the ocean we refuse to wash off. My sisters are giggling, fighting over a flash of pink sparkles. I have to investigate. As I jump onto the bed, their hands find tentative agreement, holding their hands open so I can see it– a fairy, real and gently tumbling into their fingers. As soon as I register what it is, their truce breaks and all of a sudden they are fighting over the creature. It skitters out in the chaos, extending its wings and ascending, where I watch it ascend to the wooden slats on the underside of the top bunk. In a burst of light and glitter, it disappears, charring a small section of the wood– evidence of supernatural beauty you wouldn’t find without any clue to look, but it was evidence no less.
3rd Person POV:
The two girls sit on the bedroom floor, one awkwardly brandishing her ankle to the other. A needle goes into it, covered in the ink of a dessicated pen that sits abandoned on the floor next to them. The moon hangs in the sky above them, peering through the window, illuminating the room in a much more pleasant light than the overhead bulb that shines a hospital-bright white. Sasha’s legs hurt in this contorted position on the wooden floor. She readjusts, leaning back onto the radiator (thankfully turned off, given the inordinately warm day, even in the very earliest days of spring). The stars twinkle, almost laughing. She breathes in sharply, trying not to twitch as her best friend apologizes quietly. Her friend continues, grimly resolved to be rebellious and tattoo this cute little paper airplane into her friend’s skin.
1) It’s raining but it always rains here. A motherland, but a mother that did not want this child. A place that you can only return to if you remember the exact way home. But going home comes with a price, and it’s always more than you’re willing to give.
So it goes. The temple glows by candlelight and a golden statue smiles down on us. We stand next to each other, foreign and familiar, my twin sister on one side, my best friend from home on the other. Lightning flashes but it does not deter those who have come to seek comfort amongst the deep reds blues greens of the temple and the lanterns that flicker above. Above us on the steps they bow—the more bows, the more devout they are.
In each of our hands is a colorful votive carved with the animal zodiac from the year we were born. They beg us to write our wishes on them, but we are unwilling to respond to their calls. Stubborn, still, we hold onto the things precious to us, the things it asks us to sacrifice. I hold the ram’s head in my hand, knowing exactly what is written on my heart. I hide it anyway and write down something paltry. I’ve never been good at letting things go.
2) How much of what was said can be undone, she said? Could I take it all back? Could I do it all over again?
She hated that, being overly sentimental. But she could also never let things go. She would fight to the death to prevent somebody from taking something from her, but if they asked nicely, she would lay down on the ground and let them have whatever they wanted. Openly, willingly, easily. Sometimes there was nothing left at the end.
You took everything, she told someone once. I only took what you offered, they answered.
1) I thought of how nice it was to be able to move my fingertips and toes without the caging cold of the White Room. Each person in the Green Room with me right now is on the same hibernation schedule. I love the Green Room the most; smells, colors, flowers, wind, but it never feels like long enough. The Red Room was next, and I could see the big clock in the sky counting down the hours until we were forced to switch. I still liked the Red Room, but sometimes the heat was overbearing, and the wind wasn’t strong enough to stop my body from pouring sweat. My hair gets unruly, and I never quite feel clean. For now, I would enjoy roaming the tall fronds of the Green Room and try not to think of the dying greenery of the Brown Room or the harsh cold of the White Room. Those two always take the longest.
2) The child wove between towering adults and shuffling legs, all in line to see the same scenes in the botanical garden. This child wasn’t having it, though. Escaping from the loose grasp of a distracted mother and sneaking away was easy. Up a flight of stairs, across a grated catwalk adorned with plants of all different colors and sizes. It was humid and warm. Completely unaware of surrounding people, a few more quick steps forward interrupted a family photo. After a few minutes, a raised voice called the child’s name. The mother was shouting out down below, and from the catwalk above, the child realized this separation should be scary. Panic set in, and small feet began running towards a staircase to reach the frantic mother. A desperate reunion quickly led to a harsh scolding; no matter, though, as the mother only cared for the safety of the child.
1) It was a warm humid day, when I heard Mother calling from the stairs. My desk light flickered in the darkness of the room. Its pulse like a hard, each flicker signaling the beat of a drum. It was like a war call. Something was off. I’d laid my outfit on the foot off my bed the night before, but now it lay crumpled on the floor. Mom’s voice flooded the upstairs and lifted me out of bed. I was up, but not ready. I stumbled to the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. A huge volcano, red and aggravated, it looked ready to explode. I was in utter shock. A gigantic pimple smack dab in the middle of my face… on picture day.
2) She waited in her room anxious for the minutes ahead. She asked her roommate for outfit critique hoping she had made the right decisions. She sat tapping her foot on the floor of the room waiting for the phone to ding. She talked with her roommate about ice breakers and conversation starters, practicing banter as if she could prep for the real deal. She spotted herself in the mirror and admired the makeup job, she’d done well that day. The three dots popped onto to the phone screen, “I’m here!” She called roomie over to her desk and they took a sip of a drink. Of she went, nothing like a first date.
Conversion 2
It is quiet, that Sunday, at Stuytown. They are learning, together, about the soft yellow safety of coffee and eggs in morning cool mist. Neither really speaks. Now and then a page turns. Now and then one looks up, excited, chatters. They have remembered something. The other laughs. Through morning, pencils scratch against paper. He has been struggling with quantum physics. She has been sketching a bird. It violates the laws of nature. He shows her his bird shots, talks about the cross-eyed grackle that let him get close, the bushtit and its nonexistent neck. She wishes that he was her brother or her cousin, that she had a reason forever to keep him close. She is only in New York for the weekend. Let me know when you can make it back, he tells her, gifts her a one-armed hug. She hurries down to the station. When she looks back, he is waving.
1. Having finished my assignment, this was my reward, yet I’m so scared. My assignment was to fly to Paris, France undercover as a professional chef for a famous family on holiday while gathering intel on what secrets they hold. My reward, meeting a super secret spy who works on movie sets for a living, Henry Cavill. Now no one would think he’s a spy because he’s literally all over the internet, but my association knows the truth, he’s a spy gathering intel for the US government as to which actors are truly good, and which have a bad bone in their body. I completed my mission of sending intel back to my organization’s headquarters, the family discussed everything over dinner and now I know all the juicy details. I know that as I’m flown back to HQ I’ll be greeted by my manager who will bring me to a room to meet my hopefully new spy friend! I’m so nervous, what if he’s super short and no one knows it, or what if he’s really mean, that would really ruin his appeal. Well no matter, I’m about to get off the jet and meet him, wish me luck.
2. She looks out into the crowd, surrounded by her Dance Company friends. She smiles at the thought of how far they’ve all come. The music starts up and she begins counting in her head. She’s just hoping that everyone’s counting correctly or they’re going to look like fools. She’s killing it and her friends are doing great so far as well. The music is loud in her ears, her heart beats louder. She just has to get through the next minute of movement before she can race off the field and rest. She’s been sick for the last week and a half. Her friends and family are counting on her. She loves performing with everything she has. All she has to do is push through. Her mom is on the sidelines waiting for something to happen. She comes off the field after performing and collapses into her mother’s arms. She can barely get air in as she gasps trying to sooth her rapid heart. She did it, her final field performance was done and she could finally breathe again.
Conversion 1
A short, swarthy feeling, the sidekick in a detective movie, dressed in a trench coat and with a balding head, slips through immigration in the night, hails a taxi, confronts me as I swallow a particularly large bite, white sticky rice suddenly determined citizen of my throat. What followed: a coughing fit, a hurt I didn’t imagine could still exist. Hello again, the feeling says, skipping past reintroductions. Cocking his gun. Pulling the trigger. Walking away.
In the Emotional Room the damage is assessed with urgency, the medics quickly engaged in staunching the flow. A search team is assembled but at my insistence, is quietly dismissed. There’s no point in an investigation, nothing to be gained in an arrest. The heart asks me, shrill, frantic, if I’m sure. Yes, I tell her. Best to let the feeling go.
Conversion #1
They were excited. It was going to be a fall wedding.
She had been excited to plan her wedding. The day he proposed was etched in her brain forever. The ring was massive. A big diamond. 5 carats. A solitaire. A rose gold band with engravings. Her dress was white, three-quarter sleeves with a V-shaped neckline. Mermaid cut. Embroidered with beautiful flowers.
He had been excited to plan his wedding. The day he proposed was nerve-wracking. It was a big proposal, in front of all her family, at Christmas. He cried, she cried.
The reception venue was perfect, although they had to spend 2 years on the waiting list. They had hired a DJ, per their wishes, but their parents weren’t happy. Those were just the biggest issues, not including the caterers, officiants, bridal party, and the disappointment of both their parents for the reduction in the guest list. The rehearsal, too, had been a disaster.
The orchestra played a beautiful rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. Her father walked her down the aisle. Now, almost 3 years later, she was about to get married! Yet, she was not excited. Forcing a smile on her, she looked at her husband-to-be, whose eyes shone with tears. He, too, had a forced smile on his face. The same exhaustion she felt was etched on his face. They weren’t excited. Well, at least, they got their fall wedding.
Conversion #2
Ruby felt calm. She was at her favorite spot, soaking her feet in the cool water of the lake. Things were going well so far. Today was a good day. In fact, she was so happy that she decided to wear her favorite pink skirt. Now, her best friend Rosette would say that all her skirts were pink, but Rosette didn’t understand. This skirt had a few peach stripes. It was different, and her favorite. Despite her mental peace and feeling free, she kept looking at her serene surroundings and felt a distinct contrast. She looked at her pink skirt and then the other people kayaking in the lake. They were staring. The people around her were staring at her too. To be fair to them, Ruby was the only flamingo among all these humans.
#1)
It’s late and the freeway is bathed in pale moonlight. Their car flashes past fields of black angus cattle and seemingly never-ending rows of telephone poles. Tucked away in the backseat, she looks up through the sunroof to gaze at the stars. They should be twinkling happily, but instead they flicker with nervousness. To her right, the mountains seem to loom over the night sky, casting shadows over long stretches of road. To her left, a vast lake shimmers in the distance. Something is brewing here, something bygone. The hairs on her nape stand up, suddenly alert. She feels her passageway narrowing as the entities on either side close in. It’s a clash of titans and she is caught right in the middle. They are relics of ancient times, only now awakening from a long slumber. In their eyes, she is callow and still wet behind the ears, a slight and trifling little thing. She does not belong, this she understands very well. There is no God in this world, there are only titans.
…
#2)
They say she is the Lady in Red, but she calls herself Jane. They say she’s working undercover, but she insists she’s just a concert pianist. Nothing more, nothing less. One by one, they accuse her of murdering prominent figures, but every time she refutes with a charmingly innocent “who?”, after which the question is forgotten as she struts up the stage and situates herself on the bench. Her fingers call to attention as they settle on a mosaic of black and white. In the audience, the lone spectator forgets to breathe, the anticipation is palpable. With each press of the key, the man in the audience grows a little weaker. He looks down at his hands but doesn’t notice how frail and bony they are. His body is aging in tune with each measure that is played. Ah, so that is how she sounds so otherworldly, on a piano that is infused with the souls of dying men. This is the price to hear her perform, and it is a steep price indeed.
Conversion Exercise 1:
Garnett learns to count one, two, and three with his stubby fingers. Everyone around him praises his talent – for learning how to count at such a young age. When he was two years old, he pulled out his hand in a high-five motion, like an accomplishment. He holds out his fingers, displaying his age on his short, plump, little fingers with no knowledge or concept of time.
Garnett is now five years old. He can understand how long a year is, how long a day is, how long an hour is, how long a minute is. He counts down the days until his birthday, thirty days after the start of kindergarten.
Garnett is confused. Why won’t his parents let him play with a phone? A tablet? A computer? He’s a big boy now, isn’t he? He is seven years old, and his parents insist that he must play outside, perhaps eat dirt, and get some antibodies so he would not get sick. Garnett wants to be older.
Garnett thinks his age is a hindrance to his life – he wishes to be older, to play with the big kids, to go out to concerts, to go out for a drink one day. He hates being a child, a teenager on the cusp of becoming an adult. He is fifteen years old.
Garnett throws stones into the river—or what used to be a river. He sits at the edge of a dried-out river, staring at the orange crisp sky and the shadows cast by the large mountains. Entranced by the beauty of his homeland, he lays back, letting the sun cast a glow against his body, illuminating his tan skin and wavy hair with vibrancy. He shuts his eyes mumbling how difficult everything is and why he wants to be an adult.
“No, it isn’t” Garnett sits up and rushes back, started by the sudden high-pitched voice.
A little girl walks down and bends in front of him, picking up a ball that went astray. “You complain too much,” she says with a sassy voice. “This is why big kids suck,”
Garnett, still startled, opens his mouth like a gaping fish, at a loss for words. “You suck because you don’t have fun. I don’t want to be big like you. Maybe one day you’ll want to be little like me,” the little girl taunts him, sticks out her tongue, and runs back to wherever she came from.
Garnett lays down again, staring at the sky, now covered in stars. His eyelids slowly close until darkness surrounds him.
His heavy eyelids flutter open, now more like a chore than an automatic response. His body feels frail, he can no longer count his age on his wrinkly fingers. He looked into that same sky, he wished he had not dwelled on those days. Once you reach the number, it means no going back. You only go forward.
Conversion Exercise 2:
Raindrops fall onto the ground, pitter-pattering against the cold concrete. Tree leaves gather the water, forming large drops that splat on puddles. From the distance, a tall girl runs out with her friends from a New England-styled building. She holds her umbrella for dear life while her feet stomp against the moist concrete. Her blonde friend holds out her umbrella, struggling to click on a button, and accidentally closes it in the middle of her walk. She screams as water rushes onto her small body and frantically clicks on the buttons to open the now-closed umbrella. The tall girl and the curly-haired friend laugh while pointing at their struggling blonde friend until she opens her umbrella, and they continue their stroll.
Cars pass by them as they walk back to their dormitory. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter.
The raindrops pick up speed, slamming against the ground with rage. The girls, now two of them as the blonde one parted ways, begin running in hopes of keeping their clothes dry. Water splashes around their feet, feeling the dampness in their socks, and the sprinkles of water on their faces. They laugh at this awkward situation—how they were caught in the middle of a storm at the opposite end of their home.
They finally reach a crosswalk when they suddenly hear laughter from the distance. Both girls look back at the bus stop and see two silhouettes. They squint to see the outlines of two girls.
Their giggles fill the air as they jump from the protection of the bus stop rooftop and into the rain. No umbrella. No fear.
They hold each other’s hands and one of the girls twists as her counterpart twirls her by the hand. Both girls jump and dance without a care in the world. They hold no fear of the rain, of getting wet. To them, it is their little word—nothing will ruin this moment for them.
They stop and look at one another, hold their hands, and bring each other into an embrace. Under the faint light of the streetlight, raindrops dance around them, pitter-pattering onto their wet clothes. They are in their own world.
“I can’t believe we are witnessing a core memory,” says the curly-haired friend with a smile. “Yeah…” nods the tall friend as the little walking person light appears on the crosswalk screen, signaling that they can cross.
“I guess we are,” she looks back at the duo, wondering if she would be that happy one day.
We all changed into our bathing suits, walked over to the biggest pool and cannonballed into the pool. Ivan, my cousin, did laps around the pool because he recently signed up for swimming classes and took this time to practice. Sofia, the youngest of the bunch, tried to grab everyone’s legs to trip them up. After an hour or so, we decided to head to the beach. My mom and aunts took a beeline to the beach chairs, and the rest of us ran into the salty waters. The waves are huge and powerful, so we made a game out of trying to jump the waves, so it doesn’t take us down. During the fourth round, we saw something coming closer and closer, it was a pod of dolphins. We were both amazed but scared, not wanting to spook the pod we stayed still, hoping they would go on their way. However, they were very friendly and started to play with us. One of the dolphins had a fish in their mouth and wanted to show us their meal. Thirty minutes later, they left, and we got out of the ocean to get dinner.
Bianca gets a call from her aunt, telling her to get ready as soon as possible, because she is on her way to pick her up for lunch. Bianca gets out of bed and rushes to the shower, knowing that the traffic in El Salvador is on her side for the first time. She quickly chooses her outfit and runs downstairs to inform her parents that Tia is coming to take them out for lunch. Her parents go upstairs and get ready, while Bianca makes sure she has everything she needs in her purse. Since she is all ready to go, she goes to the couch to watch tv while she waits for her Tia to arrive. Her Tia arrives twenty minutes later, and they all enter the car.