Lyrical Prose: Raise Your Writing to the Next Level by Georgina Key
Two Saturdays Nov 6 & Nov 13 from 1-4
Do you enjoy stories that immerse you in place so you can smell the sea air or that describe an object so acutely you can feel it in your hand?
Finding a poetic cadence, adding sensory detail, or distilling profound meaning in just a few select words can raise your writing to another level that sets it apart from mere plot driven storytelling. I will offer you techniques to incorporate lyrical writing into your prose that doesn’t take away from the story itself, doesn’t bog it down with unnecessary detail but instead adds depth and nuance to every aspect, including character, theme, place—the opportunities are endless! We’ll work from generative prompts in class; you may bring samples from current works in progress that you’d like to enhance with lyricism, and we’ll look at some of my favorite lyrical passages as inspiration.
Did you know Dorie's house in Shiny Bits was based on my own little yellow house by the sea? Here it is...a nd as a bonus/extra: that amazing kitchen window I mentioned (along with a special musical accompaniment by Joe, my hubby!)
dedication page Nan & I at her 90th birthday I've often wondered who the people are that authors' dedicate their books to, what their relationship is and why they chose them. What a huge decision. But I knew very early on that I would dedicate Shiny Bits In Between to my grandmother (Nan) and Sheila, her eldest daughter. Both women have been muses for me, and many of my artistic endeavors are rooted in their persons. I couldn't have written this book without either of these extraordinary women. *** It was the early 1930's when my curious and fearless grandmother found an advertisement in the newspaper about a job in Brasil. It sounded like an adventure, so she applied and got the job. She boarded a boat in London and crossed the seas to Brasil where she met my grandfather. Nan had children late for the era. She was over forty when she had my uncle, her last child. She had adventures to enjoy, after all. Ethel Kenning (Nan) Nan and She
Photo by Georgina Key Every year Clementine and her father visited Angangueo to honor her mother. On the mountain top, monarch butterflies hung from Oyamel tree branches, thousands of them in pleated layers like discarded quincea ñ era dresses. During Dia de los Muertos, families gathered and brought picnics and shared stories, memories of their loved ones. She watched them laugh and weep and dance and eat while her father stood silently by her side. Him in his black suit and her in a white dress with ribbons that her ni ñera , Maria, insisted she wear—the perfect little daughter. Her father's grief was a silent and endless prayer between himself and God, a conversation she was not a part of. So she waited and watched the butterflies and the families, and wondered what it felt like to be loved. ( shiny bits in between, danaus ).