by Richard J. Chwedyk
Theodore Sturgeon once wrote this, emphatically, honestly, and truly: “One should write fiction carefully and consciously to someone, as one writes a letter; and the selection of that someone is the single most important skill that a writer can develop.”
by Richard J. Chwedyk
I have my students do some exercises where they utilize stories about recent scientific/technological developments as a basis for fiction. We call it “NOT a Science Project.” I’m always amazed at how well some of them do their homework, and how often a simple exercise becomes the basis for a final project.
by Richard J. Chwedyk
Writers are often asked to teach. Many writers take to the change of pace with enthusiasm. Many others view this kind of employment with existential dread. Perhaps for good reason. Before you can teach, you need ask yourself what you know.
by Richard Chwedyk
Here’s an assignment I give my students:
They receive a copy of the first chapter of H. G. Wells’ War of the Worlds.
It is roughly 2,250 words.
I tell the students that Mr. Wells has just received a note from his editor. “Great stuff, Herbie, but you go on too long here. Cut this first chapter in half.”
by Richard J. Chwedyk
When I started “teaching” the Science Fiction Writing Workshop for undergrad and grad students at Columbia College Chicago, I had no idea what my priorities should be. There’s an obvious plethora of things you want to communicate – a million things you want your students to know. But I wondered: what’s the most important thing for your students to come away with?
They are the last survivors of the settlers of the moon Sturnus, forty children rescued by the benevolent people of the planet Janus. Except Bear is starting to remember, and what he remembers is nothing like what he and the others have been told.
Jean Marie Ward writes about all things weird, wonderful and downright peculiar in her hometown of Washington, DC. Sometimes she writes fiction. It makes a lot more sense than the facts. Her web site is JeanMarieWard.com.
