The Classic Writer's Cheat

“Step one: type the quotation marks! Actually, scratch that. Step one: change the font. I hate Arial.”

“What good is either of those going to do?”

“Changing the font will make you not want to throw your computer against the wall halfway through writing your story!”

“And the quotation marks?”

“Just something to get you started.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It says to your story brain, ‘hey, I’m ready! Let’s get this show on the road!’”

“One, that still makes no sense, and two, I don’t have a story brain.”

“‘Course you do! Everybody does.”

“I’m amazed that as a writing professor you truly believe that. How many awful tales produced from some person’s ‘story brain’ have you read, exactly?”

“Ah! But you forget, my dear, I am also a writer, and therefore I romanticize everything!”

“Maybe I should go ask dad for help.”

“Oh, no. That would be a bad idea. You see, your father has a rare cerebral condition that has uniquely deprived him of having a story brain. Let your mama help you with this one, sweets.”

“My mama is not currently being very helpful, is the thing. At least dad could give me a plot idea.”

“That would be like asking chatGPT for a plot, my dear, and you know how I feel about AI.”

“Fine. I get it. Dad sucks at writing.”

“I never said that! He writes lovely essays on marine biology and… desert biology, and…”

“And…?”

“And he has many other important attributes to be considered, those of which led me to marry him! So the writing doesn’t matter.”

“They must be some crazy awesome attributes, considering you swore at the age of twenty that you would never marry a man who had not read Harry Potter.”

“We’re getting off topic.”

“You love getting off topic. You’re changing the subject.”

“We do not need to discuss my reasons for choosing your dad over Harry Potter (which I do not regret, to this day). What we need to discuss is your English assignment!”

“Ow, mom, please don’t slap my knee to punctuate your exclamation. I get it. I just really hate this assignment.”

“Why? I would have loved a project like this at your age.”

“Yeah, well, you were Little Miss Writing Freak at fifteen.”

“Ah! You hurt me. I was not a writing freak, I was an aspiring author whose skills so happened to be suppressed in highschool, because of that –”

“Mr. South, I know, you hated the guy.”

“I didn’t hate him. I hated his teaching methods.”

“Hmm. Well, I would take him any day of the week over Miss Davison. She gives us the dumbest assignments.”

“Don’t say such things. I one hundred percent had the worst teacher in this situation.”

“It’s not a competition, mom.”

“The prepositions! Have I told you about the preposition worksheets?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. Those worksheets truly deteriorated part of my brain.”

“Your story brain?”

“Precisely. Finally, she gets it.”

“Not really. But fine. Please, tell me, what is so great about having to write an all-dialogue story?”

“So many things!”

“You’ve never even written one!”

“But I will, now that your lovely Miss Davison has introduced me to them, so naturally I am thinking about how to do so and its many benefits. 

“Great. Can you write mine?”

“Remember our oh-so-recent conversation about chatGPT?”

“Yes, mom.”

“I will not become your chatGPT. Though, of course, I would do a much better job of the thing than that AI-crap-generator.”

“My mother, folks, the author who speaks so eloquently.”

“All words are eloquent when used in the right context.”

“Right. Anyway, benefits of an all-dialogue story!”

“Right! One: to develop your dialogue-writing skills. Dialogue is incredibly important in all stories.”

“But useless to anyone who doesn’t want to be a writer.”

“Incorrect. Writing dialogue helps you to develop your speaking skills. And I know you love to talk, so you can’t say that’s useless!”

“Fine, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you. Two: Makes way for fun, snappy conversation, with no awkward pauses.”

“Like what they have in tv shows?”

“Precisely. Think Gilmore Girls in a short story.”

“Ok, ok.”

“Ah, now she’s interested.”

“Maybe.”

“Three: no having to bother with long, difficult-to-write descriptions of scenes, which I know you simply love.”

“Alright, you’re starting to win me over.”

“Wonderful! Shall I keep going?”

“No, I get why it’s worth doing, but I still don’t actually know how to do it.”

“That is why I am here, daughter. Do not fear!”

“But you’ve been here for ten minutes and we’ve gotten nowhere.”

“I’ve convinced you it’s not a total waste of time!”

“Oh, no, I still think it’s a total waste of time –”

“Only because you’re a teenager and it’s a highschool assignment–”

“But I will admit that it’s a better waste of time than the usual crap.”

“Don’t say crap, sweetheart.”

“You say it!”

“In speaking about AI’s writing skills. It’s different.”

“Right.”

“Getting off topic again! Let’s think… what have you used to inspire you for other stories you’ve written?”

“Um, unlike you, mom, I’m not constantly writing stories for fun.”

“I mean for class. Surely this isn’t your first writing assignment?”

“No, it isn’t. All the other ones have been easy stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like a personal narrative: My first trip to the zoo.”

“Uy.”

“Or a four-line rhyming poem about your favorite food.”

“Agh! Mr South returns to haunt me!”

“I don’t think he’s dead, mom.”

“I was referring to his writing spirit, which had an attitude comparable to Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“So this is the first one I’ve actually had to think about.”

“You never tried to be creative and unusual with the other assignments? Spice them up a bit?”

“No, mom, only wackos like you did that in high school.”

“Writer, not wacko.”

“Same thing.”

“Ah! How – actually, no, that’s accurate.”

“Yup.”

“Well, maybe think of interesting conversations you’ve had or overheard!”

“Overheard?”

“Like in restaurants, or at the movie theater.”

“Mom, when was the last time we went to a movie theater?”

“Good point. What about all those wild conversations you have with your friends?”

“That would be unintelligible. My friends all talk over each other.”

“True. I’ve often wondered how you even understand each other.”

“We don’t.”

“That sounds like a healthy relationship.”

“Ugh, mom, please don’t start in on this again.”

“You never have any personal conversations with your friends, just one-on-one?”

“Well, maybe with Sam–”

“One of the boys? Actually, I’m not sure I want to hear about your personal conversation with a boy.”

“Sam as in Samantha, mom! For goodness sake!”

“Alright, alright.”

“But those are mostly about Sam’s personal drama, so…”

“Hmm. Maybe you could embellish?”

“I’m bad at embellishment. I’m just bad at writing in general. That’s your thing.”

“It could be genetic!”

“What? Writing?”

“Sure!”

“I think I got more of dad’s genes than yours, then.”

“Pshaw. I don’t believe it.”

“Please don’t say ‘pshaw’, mom. It makes you sound two million years old.”

“No, it makes me sound refined.”

“Or precocious.”

“I personally believe using the word precocious makes you precocious.”

“Then we’re both precocious?”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“Stop grinning like that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like you’re overly pleased with yourself.”

“I can be overly pleased with myself anytime I want!”

“No, you can be overly pleased with yourself when you’ve actually helped me write this story.”

“Fine. So, we’ve tried conversations you’ve had, conversations you’ve overheard…”

“Neither of which have worked.”

“Okay. Well, all I can really suggest is write what you know…”

“But I hear that from everyone and it hasn’t helped!”

“I know, I know, but I don’t know what else to tell you… unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless… you could use the Classic Writer’s Cheat.”

“Cheating. I like it. Continue.”

“Well, it’s not used much by mature writing professionals, so you might not find it in books or poems, but it is the time-honored writing shortcut of, when you cannot think of anything to write, simply writing about not being able to write.”

“Huh?”

“As in writing your complaints about how no ideas will come to you, nothing sparks creativity, etcetera, etcetera…”

“Oh! Like your 7th grade poem, ‘Ack! The Curse of Writer’s Block!’?”

“Precisely! That one was a masterpiece, complete with brilliant half-rhyme and everything.”

“I recall you using the phrase ‘It is an unforgivable pain in my flank’?”

“Well, nothing else rhymed with ‘blank’!”

“Uh-huh. Well, I might just use this cheat of yours. Actually…”

“Ah, I know that look!”

“What look?”

“The idea look.”

“‘Idea’ with jazz hands?”

“Oh, it is incomplete without the jazz hands.”

“When have I ever had that look?”

“Oh, you haven’t had it. I have.”

“Of course.”

“Wait! It’s your first Idea Look! Where’s your dad? He needs to see this!”

“Oh my goodness, mom.”

“David, come quick! You’re missing an incredibly important moment in our daughter’s life!”

“Mom…!”

“Oh, now it’s gone. It was there, though!”

“Okay, I’m outta here. I’m gonna go to my room to write.”

“Oh, how it warms my heart to hear you say those words.”

“Ugh.”

“Now, don’t let me hear you blasting any music up there! It impedes the writing mind!”

“Okay.”

“Limit all distractions!”

“Okay, mom.”

“I love you, my little authoress!”

“Too far, mom. It’s just one story.”

“For now.”

“I’m not a writer.”

“Yet.”

“Good bye.”

“I love you!”

“...Love you, too, mom.”