Two Nouns and a Verb

After gentle introductions Jezza, the tutor, a casually-dressed man in his thirties sporting an early dash of grey around his ears, scanned the nervous faces of the class before delivering their first ever creative writing exercise.

“Okay, let’s start with a simple one to begin with, to get you all warmed-up. Don’t spend too much time thinking about it. I want you to write the first thing that comes into your head. Don’t worry about vocabulary or lack of it. Just write what you feel comfortable with. The main objectives of this exercise are to encourage you to loosen up and start writing without fear.”

The class gripped pens and pencils with sweaty hands and held their breaths in anticipation of taking that first tiny step in what was going to be a glorious journey ending in Booker Prizes, million pound cheques and lunches with J.K. Rowling, while still secretly worrying if everyone else’s writing would be better than theirs.

Jezza continued, “I want you to think of two nouns and one verb, and construct a short piece from those words. I’ll give you five minutes starting from now.”

Twenty one year old Dave nervously looked around the class as the others began writing like they’d come in with pre-prepared ideas and fire in their bellies. Within thirty seconds, Jessica, a middle-aged lady in smart, blue business suit who’d introduced herself as one of life’s winners, had already filled a page of her shiny new A4 notepad and was heading at pace towards page three. But she was blown out the water by Barbara Cartland wannabe Brenda the twenty stone librarian who was already on page four. Dave tried peering out the window for inspiration but it was dark outside and he could only see the reflection of the inside of the classroom. Instinctively, he gave himself a quick wave before remembering his location and felt the blood rushing to his face. A quick glance around the room reassured him no-one witnessed his childish behaviour. But he now wished he hadn’t smoked that last joint before entering the building.

“Four minutes to go,” said Jezza, looking around at the busy bees all scribbling away as if their life, and not just their ego, depended on producing a substantial word count of perfect prose.

Dave saw Jezza surveying his kingdom and subjects and quickly ducked down pretending to be writing something. Grammar was never a strong point for Dave and his mind scrambled with thoughts of: ‘what’s a noun – what’s a verb - If I can’t even think of one noun, what are the chances of writing about two?’ He tried to sneak a peek at his neighbour’s pad but she was a left-hander who curled herself around the page in order to drag the pen across the paper.

“Three minutes.”

Dave’s mind drifted back to primary school where he spent most of his time dreamily staring out the window at the criss-crossing hedgerows on the hillsides. Many a day he nodded off while attempting to count the sheep roaming free and, if his neighbour didn’t give him a swift nudge, was often rudely awakened by a piece of chalk or metric ruler skelping his ear.

“Two minutes.”

Sniffing the air Dave was certain he could smell burning. He glanced around the class, stopping at Brenda, whose brow dripped with sweat. Her pencil, so elegantly pristine at the start of the evening, now measured about two inches long, and a pile of shavings sat smouldering in front of her. He thought of saying something funny about the sparks flying but decided against it as she was in a trance-like state, writing as if possessed by Cartland herself, filling pages faster than Dave could think of three words.

“One minute to go. Think about how you’re going to wrap up your piece and then we’ll begin reading them out.”

Dave’s heart banged his chest and he thought about leaving the class there and then but his jelly-like legs persuaded him to stay. And what little confidence he had left spied an open window and jumped without so much as a see you later. A panic attack neared. Steadying his breathing he tried repeating the mantra - nouns nouns nouns - verbs verbs verbs – nouns nouns nouns. Deep down he knew the answers were simple enough, but at this time of need he just couldn’t think straight and remember.

“Okay everyone, pens and pencils down. Hope you all had fun doing that little warm-up exercise to get you up and running. Let’s see now, where will we start?”

Dave counted the bodies to each side of him. He was strategically situated near the middle, so as long as Jezza started at one end of the room he would still have time to think of something.

Sheila, a twenty-something trainee Brand Manager, got the ball rolling, literally. “I am a ball!” she announced, as if the lead in an amateur dramatics production. “I roll and roll down the hill, forever onwards to my goal, bouncing over rocks and turf, feeling each and every touch on my skin like a burning fire burning me like a fire, almost turning me into a fireball. But I say ‘No!’ The sky watches helplessly as I tumble and rumble ever faster towards…towards destiny. The wind whispers like a hissing ball to the very core of my being. Eh, that’s as far as I got. Think I have an idea how to develop this piece further though. I’m going to call it – The Ball Who Rolled.”

Murmurs of appreciation and agreement rippled through the class like a Mexican Wave until it hit Dave smack in the face. He sat dumbstruck at the sheer absurdity of the piece but when asked to comment he scratched his chin solemnly and offered:

“Yes, I think you captured the motions and emotions of the ball very well. I could feel my skin burning as you read. I’d be interested to see where you go with this. It could definitely run and eh…roll.”

He was shocked to see not only heads nodding at the beauty of his ludicrous statement, but at those who followed on from him saying, ‘Yes, I agree with Dave.’

While the others all slapped Sheila on the back Dave thought hard about her piece for different reasons. Where were the nouns…and where was the verb? He kept repeating to himself, ‘the ball who rolled, the ball who rolled, the ball…got it!’

“Yes!” Dave shouted, kicking himself for forgetting something so simple because he was a bit stoned.

The class hushed and Jezza looked towards Dave. “Got something to add, Dave?”

“Eh?” said Dave. “Eh…no. Sorry. Was just thinking aloud about how beautiful Sheila’s piece…eh…rolls. The opportunities are endless.”

“Okay Brenda,” said Jezza, eyeing up her five minute tome and employing a diplomatic stance. “Perhaps you might want to choose an extract…just for the sake of giving others a chance to read before we stop for a break.”

Brenda fought back the tears welling and dropped her manuscript with a thud onto the desk. “Well, if I must.” She shuffled through and decided on pages 21-22. “The dark brooding sky that swept across the air like sweeping clouds filled my dreams like a Texan mom filling her Wal-mart trolley with chicken drumsticks coated with…blah blah blah…”

Dave switched off from Brenda’s monotone and tried concentrating on the blank page in front of him. With another three readers before his turn to read there was still enough time to get a few words down without anyone noticing. Nothing too complicated. Just a sentence or two. Something to work with. An idea that could be developed.

While still troubled about his own masterpiece he had to stop thinking and offer comment on Brenda’s, of which he’d heard nothing more than the first sentence before opting out to save his sanity. Looking around the class for moral support he saw only eager faces ripe with hope that he would say something that prevented them from thinking too much. He decided to conjure up a selection of tried and trusted clichés.

“I think you got the tone spot-on, and your descriptions were so real I felt I was there. Your characters were so real I could touch them and your employment of metaphors was outstandingly metaphorical.”

The murmurs of appreciation and agreement were complemented by rhythmic nodding of heads and solemn scratching of chins. And, much to Dave’s growing surprise, those following him all agreed with his latest critique. A similar pattern emerged when the next two readers shared their pieces and Dave’s reputation as a reviewer of note was increasing rapidly. Expectations were now running high, thus putting extra pressure on the quality of his prose, depth of idea and command of the English language. With just one more reader to go before Dave he stared down at the blank page and wrote probably the most important piece he’d ever written in his short life. On completion he sat back and looked at it with pride. It wasn’t perfect; he knew that. But a new seed of confidence assured him he could bluff his way through a discussion if pressed.

Everyone, including Jezza, sat forward in their seat. Dave cleared his throat in preparation for sharing his work in a crystal clear, effective manner worthy of such an occasion. A few classmates shooshed as others whispered. The weight of their expectation tried to fall on Dave’s young shoulders, but he felt only elation and relief at finally having something on paper before his turn to read. He took a deep breath and delivered.

“The cat sat on the mat.”

Stunned silence.

Jezza raised an eyebrow.

Dave smiled with the knowledge he had delivered two nouns and a verb.

Someone dropped a pen in the corridor outside and everyone turned around before lowering their heads again, pretending to be deep in thought, but more concerned any eye contact betrayed their honest feelings about the piece.

Sheila was first to speak. “I like it. I think.”

Jezza raised another eyebrow.

“Thank you, Sheila,” said Dave, who by now couldn’t care less what she or the other hopefuls thought, such was his relief at completing the exercise. “A compliment from a fellow writer as talented as yourself is one to be cherished.”

Brenda, still pissed-off at having to edit her epic to allow mere mortals like Dave an opportunity to read, opened her mouth to say something but no words escaped. She tried this manoeuvre a few times before giving up and going back to biting her nails and adding a few more pages to her trilogy.

“I think there’s plenty of scope to develop this piece,” said Sheila, taking the bait Dave had thrown her. “Do you have any…eh…plans to take it further?”

“Yes Sheila,” said Dave. “I’m so glad you asked. I have many ideas running around my head at the moment. For example: Why had the cat sat on the mat in the first place? Where had he been? How do we know it was a he and not a she? Was it a big cat like a lion or a small kitten? What sort of mat was it and what does that tell us about the cat…or the cat’s owners, if any existed? How often has that cat sat on that mat? And what if the cat wasn’t really a cat-cat? What if it was an old hippie talking about the days when he and a few other cats sat around on mats smoking a few doobery wotsits? Maybe it’s a metaphor? As you can see, the possibilities are endless.”

The murmur of agreement and appreciation returned like an old friend as the rest of the class decided they hadn’t been looking at the piece thoroughly enough. Not wanting to look stupid, the nodding of heads and scratching of chins soon began to rock the building and the bandwagon began to roll almost as fast as Sheila’s ball.

“I love the poetic nature of your work…”

“I like the way you say so much in so little words…”

“I think you should leave it as it is. It’s beautiful.”

“I had a cat who sat on a mat once…”

Even Jezza jumped aboard the wagon. “That’s one of the most profound pieces I’ve ever read. It takes the language of Shakespeare and existentialism of Nietzsche, condenses it in tune with the modern era and shouts from the rooftops about this being our time. Move over Kafka, your era is over. Dave, I think you’ve inspired me to start actually writing again rather than just teaching. I haven’t felt like this for a very long time. I can’t thank you enough.”

Dave sat smiling, nodding and shaking his head all at the one time, totally clueless to what Jezza was on about.

“Okay class,” said Jezza, still trying to catch his breath. “I think now is as good a time as any to take a quick break. In fact, I think we’ll just finish early tonight so I can get home and start on a new idea for a novel. See you all here same time next Tuesday and we’ll look at the evils of over-using adjectives and adverbs. Can’t wait to see what you come up with next week, Dave.”

Dave sat speechless while opening the internet on his phone and typing ‘adverbs’ into Google.