5 November 2003

Adventures in Writing with Max Merriwell: Facing Your Monsters
by Pat Murphy
www.brazenhussies.net/murphy

Pat Murphy has won numerous awards for her science fiction and fantasy writing, including the Nebula Award for best novel, the Philip K. Dick Award for best paperback original, and the World Fantasy Award. Her novels include Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell, Wild Angel, There and Back Again, Nadya—The Wolf Chronicles, The Falling Woman, and The Shadow Hunter. She lives in San Francisco, where she works for the Exploratorium, a museum of science, art, and human perception. She has taught writing at Stanford University and at the Clarion Writers Workshop. Her favorite color is ultraviolet.

When I was a beginning writer, I didn't have much use for writing exercises. They made me impatient. I wanted to write a story—not waste my time writing little bits and pieces that went nowhere.

Over the years, however, I've come to realize the value of writing exercises. When I began teaching science fiction writing at Stanford University, I found that a carefully designed exercise could lead a student to stretch and try things that she might otherwise avoid. I crafted exercises that encouraged students to strengthen weak areas in their writing. And because I sympathized with my students' desire not to write "bits and pieces" I created exercises that can be used to develop material that contributes to a story, rather than creating an isolated piece of writing.

Along the way, I recognized that a good exercise can help people explore depths and resonances in their work. It can help them discover hidden agendas in their writing and figure out what they are really writing about.

As I continued to teach, I discovered that I could also benefit from the exercises that I design for my students. Often, making use of an exercise slows me down and forces me to focus on aspects of the writing that I had come to take for granted. These days, I happily make use of my own exercises and exercises created by others.

In the last issue of the Broadsheet, I introduced writer and writing instructor Max Merriwell (a pseudonym of mine and a character in my latest novel, Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell). I also provided Broadsheet readers with one of the writing exercises from the writing workshop that Max teaches in that novel. (For more about Max and for that writing exercise, consult the Broadsheet archive.)

At the request of Diane Silver, our illustrious Broadsheet editor, here is another of Max's writing exercises. As with the first, I recommend that you give yourself five minutes to do this exercise. Don't give yourself all afternoon, even if you have all afternoon. Imagine that you are in a classroom, surrounded by other students, all of them scribbling their ideas.

OK, here is the exercise.

Everyone has monsters. Some people have monsters that live under the bed; some people have monsters that live in the closet. Most people do their best to keep their monsters in the dark. Most people don't want to look at their monsters.

As a writer, you need your monsters. You need to examine them carefully and use them in your writing. You can't go hiding your monsters in the dark. You need to believe in your monsters and bring them to life. You need to make them real.

Most people have monsters that are vague, incompletely imagined. As a writer, you need to look at things very carefully, describe the impossible in detail to convince your readers that it's real.

I want you to write about a monster. Something that scares you—really terrifies you. We all have dark places where frightening things live. I want you to go to one of those places and find something you don't like to think about. Something that gets under your skin and sends a chill up your spine. I can't tell you what it would be. That's something only you know.

If you can't think of anything, start with a childhood monster—something that scared you when you were little. Chances are that your childhood monsters have grown up along with you. They've changed shape, but they're with you still. Follow your childhood fears and see what you find.

It's hard to face your monsters directly, so here's what I suggest. Write a scene in which the monster is just out of sight. But you know it's there. Write about how the monster makes you feel.

You have five minutes. Start writing.

Are you done? If you're still scribbling after five minutes and you want to keep going, you have my permission to do so.

If you decide to keep going, here are a couple of things you might want to think about.

It's always useful to think about what your characters want. Think about what your monster wants. And think about what the monster fears. What could keep the monster away?

If you have any comments on this exercise and how it worked (or didn't) for you, I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to drop me a line at jaxxx@well.com.