The ‘Noble’ style in the book seemed to use words that were sometimes overly complex without necessity, and made the simple recount appear to be a Legendary story. It also often referenced medieval times.
In the Feast Hall, during High tea, a young chap, perhaps of ten years old, was ingesting a specialty in the region: steamed pork and hardened milk sandwich, or as the people of the future would know it, a ‘ham and cheese sandwich’. His outer garment was too tightly pressed on his inner, with the whitened cloth of his torso stalking through the gaps his iron ore buttons formed. Young squires of the third battalion paced the royal corridors, uttering sounds from mouth to mouth while feasting on roasted Quail. One of the Squires accelerated in velocity and thrashed against the scapular of the young chap, who was entitled Wilbert.
That’s all I managed to write.
Andre Martinovici 10J
The style I tried to use was the onomatopoeia. I feel like I needed a few more onomatopoeias.
Raucous in the dining hall. Zing! A button flies off a blazer too tight but still done up. The possibly year 10 student wearing the blazer is chomping away at a possibly ham and cheese sandwich. Sounds of shoes clapping away as students blabber and enjoy their own sandwiches. Crash! Somebody smashes into the aforementioned student knocking his lunch to the floor. The student gasps and turns to shout but the culprit already zipped away. Squelch, splat, squish, the sandwich is already obliterated under the thundering feet of students rushing to class. “Pfft,” the student swears under his breath. Sighing, he goes over to a friend hoping to get some sympathy.
Two hours later he is daydreaming about defending himself against the events that just happened. The teachers monotone voice calls out his name twice. The second time he groans as he is slapped out of his dream and replies groggily ‘Pardon Sir?’
How do you live with yourself, with your own expectation, and those of others, to be better than you are when you know that you just can’t be any more?. I spend a lot of time going over things over my head, no one knows me better than myself and yet, I cant fathom why that’s a curse. Actually I totally do, I’m selfish, setting high expectations while being too lazy to reach them and by far, I think I can be the biggest prick that I know. I have some serious issues. But let’s not psychoanalyse everything about me, just the matters doing my head in.
Being such a self aware person, it’s easy to spend hours on end hating myself. Hating my circumstances, hating the way I am, hating that self righteousness that don’t I deserve better? Surely I deserve better than being in that dead end of a path repeating every year, from the holidays where I wasted my times of self improvement, to the weeks in the term where I regret everything. I.Despise.Myself. The way I am; my body? My family? The religion I was born into? …..the way I look. And being terrified of not being smart enough. It seems like one of those vague dreams where I was doing well…(in primary school) being happy with my results, study habits, being naturally smart. And as of now, being surrounded by the genii of our school. Why did I get in? I am yet to prove that intellectually I belong there, and this is what I am left with. My amazing legacy, the trace of extra/co-curricular activities I participate in. My friends and family ask me multiple times why I am so involved in what I am and you know what, I’m just a scared and trapped little attention whore. I’m writing this for attention, in fact. And I LOATHE knowing that about myself.
I’m definitely digging myself a grave, while simultaneously trying to build my way out of it. I’m in a loop with myself and I don’t just want out, I wanna blow the whole freaking joint up. But you know what, back to self hating, I can’t get past the fact that I’m nothing compared to what I keep building myself up to me. Every moment to myself thinking about I recently did, every glance at my reflection in the mirror. SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THROWING UP WHEN I SEE ME. it’s like a nightmare where you keep wishing it to go away and sometimes you forget about things, let yourself go.mbut you know what, you just let yourself go im the middle of the sky and now you’re pummelling back into the real world with your heart and mind in two different places. Brewing apart in the free fall, and looking for a recluse, a hiding place. But you can’t hide from yourself.
Well that’s enough for now. If I ever have such a deep moment of self hatred I’ll be sure to pop it down. But for now, that’s all. And sorry if this is a roller coaster, in fact, more like multiple roller coasters and you’re jumping inbetween trying to get your head around what it is im trying to say. I guess this is more for me than anyone else.
The Internet has allowed the rise of a large numbers of parodies of popular ‘memes’ including songs, videos and other images that have spread through social media and become ‘viral’ simply by slightly changing an original idea and riding on its coattails. Parodies are often seen positively for being humorous and breathing new life into something that is already well-known and widespread, yet at their core they lack artistic integrity and change little, shadowing the achievements of others for recognition and attention.
In the world of writing, the concept of a parody is generally regarded unfavourably, yet elements of satire are common as authors challenge societal views and values by drawing upon pre-established conventions to create contrast. Satire itself is often imbued with humour as writers poke fun at what we often accept without question, provoking thought by masquerading as something that seems familiar.
American author Kurt Vonnegut is also well-known for his use of satire and black humour to support his views while simultaneously making his novels enjoyable and entertaining to read. Slaughterhouse-Five is one of his best known novels for going against the conventions of war novels, exploring the horrors of war from the perspective of Billy Pilgrim, a soldier who experienced the firebombing of Dresden, becoming ‘unstuck in time’ and reliving his past and present experiences as a comically bad soldier who seems to have survived by chance alone. Vonnegut favours humour – often of the bleak and depressing kind – over gritty realism to focus on how war has become perverted into a display of glorified nationalism and heroics instead of reflecting its true nature.
So if you find yourself stuck for ideas of what to write, as I have recently, using satire and writing a parody can be a way to ease yourself into creativity, or expressing your views more tangibly.
There is a very good book in our library called Exercises in Style by Raymond Queneau. It contains the same story written in a wide range of styles. It even includes pig- and dog-latin!
For a writing activity this Friday I’ve pulled out some of the styles and whacked them into a slideshow. I’ve also written a short piece in the ‘notation’ style which is the first one in the book. The idea is to look through the features styles in the slideshow below – or ask to look through the book (which I am holding onto at the moment) write the ‘notation’ story below in one of the styles. Have fun!
The story (in ‘notation’ style, ie stipped to the bare essentials which means you need to flesh it out, provide details, etc.)
Exercises in style – Raymond Queneau – My example for the exercise:
In dining hall, during lunch. A student possibly in year 10 whose blazer is too tight but still done up, the white of his shirt visible between the buttons. He is eating a sandwich, possibly ham and cheese. Students walking around, chatting, eating their lunches. Someone runs past the aforementioned student and bumps him so that his lunch falls to the floor. The student wants to shout out but the running student is gone. He bends to pick up the sandwich but it’s too late; it is squashed under the feet of rushing boys. He swears under his breath. His is unhappy but not used to standing up to others. He sees a friend and goes over to him, hoping to get some sympathy.
Two hours later he is daydreaming in class. In his dream he defends himself against all the unjust bullying and accidents he’s experienced. The teacher calls his name twice. The second time he looks up and says, ‘Pardon, Miss?’
Wherever the wind blows
It starts in the willows
Underneath is a bed of grass
Waiting for the night to pass
You can hear the willows weep
As you lay down to sleep
So as the night goes on
The weeping willows sing a song
Listening closely you hear a chant
Followed by an orchestra of plants
The moon drifts high in the sky
Bathing the earth in luminous light
So when the sky turns bright
The weeping willows start to sigh
For their gloomy night is over
And the winds gave no bravura
Followed by the clovers
Singing their four leaf song
So if the wind blows
It’ll start on the willows
Underneath is the bed of grass
Which bows as the wind comes to pass
You can hear the willows sing
“Hurrah, today is now spring!
The farmers look toward the evening sky
An orange glow illuminates the land
Sickles stand by as harvest time draws nigh
Never witnessed before, a land so grand
Western zephyrs, a dark cloud encroaches
A low buzz, becomes a deafening roar
A soft breeze, now a gust, approaches
A peaceful sky, now chaotic in war
There is no mercy; they proceed to feed
Like a Devil’s newest incarnation
There is no mercy; they are driven by greed
Leaving behind trails of desolation
Sickles fall down as harvest time draws nigh
Never witnessed before, a land so dry