I dip my pen in the blackest ink, because I'm not afraid of falling into my inkpot. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it. ~Pablo Picasso
In the book What if? Writing Exercises for Fiction Writers, authors Anne Bernays and Pamela Painter write about one of the pleasures of writing fiction being "Letting your imagination and fantasies take off anywhere they want to go"
" 'Write what you know' is all very well, but it certainly does restrict most of us within narrow confines. You must also be able to write what you don't know, but can imagine. This is what your imagination is for. Let it fly."
Exercise (from their book):
Using the first person, describe an event of action you are fairly sure you will never experience firsthand. Be very specific--the more details you incorporate the more likely it is that your reader will believe you. Include your feelings and reactions. 530 words.
Later
Exercise 38
by Laurie Guerin
Guns drawn, we pounded on the Perp’s door, and heard the scampering of feet the size of a giant rat’s. Joe kicked in the door.
“Freeze!” he said and I sneezed.
No one considers that cops have allergies, but we’re as vulnerable as the next guy.
“Gesundheit,” said the Perp. There was a click as he cocked the gun aimed at my head.
“Bless yourself, you Nazi bastard,” said Joe and blasted a hole in the guy’s kneecap.
Joe’s hates irony.
The Perp’s bullet grazed my temple, but I stayed conscious long enough to read him his Mirandas. Good thing. Joe’s prone to skipping that step which has landed us in hot water more times than Hugh Heffner.
I woke up twelve hours later at North General, my head bandaged up like a Q-tip. My mother was sitting by my bed reading Danielle Steel.
“You’re fine,” she said, handed me a mirror and went back to her book. We’d been through this before.
I examined the damage. Blood seeped through the gauze like Rorschach had been there, but otherwise, not a scratch.
A nurse entered the room. He looked like Javier Bardem, but I didn’t have time to consider my options.
“Let’s go, Ma,” I kicked off the covers. “The toaster’s on the turntable.”
“Concussion,” The nurse said, in response to the eyebrow my mom cocked in his direction.
“Thought so,” she said. The nurse crossed quickly to my side.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, put his hand dead-center on my chest and gently pushed me back down.
I attempted to sit up, but his hand, warm as fresh baked bread, held me in place.
I looked deep into eyes so black I couldn’t analyze his pupils. “There are chihuahua’s.” I said.
“So I’ve heard,” he said.
My head pounding, I collapsed back on my pillow.
“Thatta girl,” he said.
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