The second writing assignemt from the book The Fiction Class by Susan Breem is:

Think of a person from history who intrigues you. Napoleon? Cleopatra? Martin Luther King?

Write a tw0- to three-page description of that person eating a meal. What would s/he eat? How would s/he eat. What would s/he be thinking about as s/he ate? Would someone be sharing the meal with him or her? What would they talk about?

Remember: Bring your character to life.

Well, here I am again, and I have completed my first assignment. But, before I post it, I have a couple more suggestions.
The first one is to those writers who may want to accompany me on this journey: Buy yourself a copy of The Fiction Class, by Susan Breen, and follow along with the story as we go.
The second is a deadline. The assignments are all to be completed by December 31, 2009.
Here's my first completed exercise. Remember the assignment was to list five obsessions and then write about one of them.

OBSESSIONS

My five obsessions:

1. Gadgets

2. Having the right equipment

3. Perfectionism

4. Books

5. Trying to make everybody understand me.

It was hard to come up with five obsessions. At first, I though: Obsessions? Me? No! Then, I put denial aside and it was not long before I had my completed list. There they are; five perfectly good obsessions. They are not necessarily in their order of importance. I chose the second to write about.

The first true skill I learned was to knit. At the time, in post WWII England, knitting was taught in elementary school. The only accessory needed for knitting was needles and yarn. The school provided both. My brother was also taught this basic skill, but he rebelled against it and deliberately twisted the knitting needles and tangled his yarn. The teacher assigned me to untangling his yarn, and I grew to hate the knitting class, but I enjoyed the knitting and pursued that throughout my life.

The next skill I learned was sewing. I was about nine or ten years old and held in my arms a teddy "bare". I would make him a pair of overalls. I had watched my mother sewing enough to know how to do it. She allowed me to use her sewing machine, a hand-cranked Singer in a shiny, domed box. However, she accompanied this permission with dire threats about what would happen to me if I broke it.

In spite of this, persisted. This was difficult in many respects. The Singer was awkward to use; I had to keep one hand turning the wheel and use the other to guide the fabric under the needle without sewing my leading finger to the project. I was spectacularly unsuccessful some of the time, which certainly sharpened my instincts for self preservation. Things did go wrong occasionally and my fear of what my mother would do made me into a pretty good mechanic. I learned to take that Singer apart and put it together again so that she would never suspect there had been a problem.

That was only one of my problems. This took place a few years after the end of the second World War. Everything was scarce--especially money. I used fabric cut from an old blue shirt, unmatched sewing thread, a blunt needle, and blunt kitchen scissors (the only ones my mother would trust me with). In spite of it all, I finished the trousers and tried them on Teddy. They did not fit. I had not known to cut the pattern pieces in a curve to accommodate a three-dimensional body. With barely enough fabric, I persevered, and managed to produce a pair of trousers that were more successful and Teddy's modesty was preserved.

I continued to sew, eventually making clothes for myself, completely my first summer dress at the age of eleven. But those years of austerity had eaten into my soul, and I became obsessed with the need to have all the right equipment for whatever hobby I undertook. At first it did not take much. I amassed a collection of knitting needles in different sizes, no longer having to hunt around under sofa cushions and in drawers to find a matching pair. I filled a sewing box with whole packets of needles, a rainbow of embroidery threads, two pairs of scissors and a thimble sized just for me. And eventually, my own sewing machine. In fact, more than one sewing machine, as sewing machines were exchanged many times, each one better and able to do more than the one before.

As my hobbies grew, so did my needs. I became a hooker, making hooked rugs. I needed a frame and a strip cutter, and of course, blades of different widths for different rugs. I collected wool fabric, and learned how to dye it. I owned several rughooks, having to try out quite a few before I found the one best suited to my hand. Then, if I made a latch hook rug, it meant a different kind of rughook and many tries to find the best, and a gadget that would mechanically cut yarn to the needed lengths. And books on How To Do It. My obsessions began to overlap.

My most recent hobby is quilting. My book obsessions also contribut to this, and I have a huge selection of quilting books (to go along with my hooking books). In addition, I have several rotary cutters, many rulers of differing lengths and sizes. My stash is overwhelming and I have six pairs of scissors and so many pins I could make a herd of hedgehogs. And three sewing machines. Actually, I have four sewing machines, but recently put one up for sale. I just recently traded in a perfectly good sewing machine for one that has more bells and whistles. It cost more than my first car.

Too many sewing machines, too little time. I realize that I cannot take up any new hobbies. During this time, there was one hobby I did not give up and that was writing. And the best thing about writing is that one only needs paper and something to write with, be it pen, pencil, or word processor.

For years I have wanted to be a writer, but somehow other things kept getting in the way. For instance, knitting, reading (especially reading), quilting, sewing, embroidery, etc., etc. Since I am not getting any younger, there may not be too many years left for me to do this. So, I am trying this blog to see if I can jumpstart myself.

My sister is a published writer and poet and I think that gets in my way. But then, any excuse, right?

Recently, she suggested that we read The Fiction Class by Susan Breen. In it, the protagonist, Arabelle Hicks, teaches creative writing to an adult education class and in the process gets to know her difficult mother better. At the end of each chapter is A Writing Assignment.

I am proposing to use this blog to do each writing assignment, and I wonder if there is anyone out there who would care to join me?

So, tomorrow I am going to do the first assignment, which is:

Make a list of your five obsessions.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5

Now write a few paragraphs about one of them.

Sheen