Wattpad Workshop Series


  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    Welcome to the Wattpad Workshop Series.

    These are workshops for Wattpad writers who want to be inspired and challenged. You'll come away with new ideas, new techniques and, most importantly, you'll generate lots of new writing. The workshops run every Monday on the Wattpad Blog and all you have to do to join in is read the post and get writing – post your writing on the Weekly Workshop Series Discussion Thread!

    May28th-June 25th Ideas, Inspiration and Overcoming Writer's Block. July 2nd-July 30th Character - The Pulsing Heart of a Good Story August 6th-Sept 3rd Dialogue - Hear Those Voices On The Page Sept 10th-Oct 8th Take It To A New Level - Fixes For Your Fiction Oct 15th-Nov 12th Kickstart Your Writing - Trying New Things To Fuel Your Writing

    The workshops are run by Alice Kuipers, author of Life on the Refrigerator Door, The Worst Thing She Ever Did and 40 Things I Want To Tell You. Visit her at www.alicekuipers.com

    The first workshop and prompt will be posted on Monday May 28th on the Wattpad Insider.

  • _boringasusual
    _boringasusual
    1 year ago

    Here's mine (Hope it's not too long :) :

    I never thought I would have my life changed in such a stupid way. It was that bright day in April that I decided to do something I would never do. Text and drive. Now I know you’re probably laughing, but within a few seconds of me looking down and typing a few characters on my phone, I got into a car accident that would forever affect the way my brain and imagination worked. And now here I was, out of the hospital, out of surgery. I was waiting for their diagnosis to affect me. They had told my mother, my poor, single, and very stressed mother, that I was probably going to have a hard time doing most things now since the part of my brain that conducted normal, everyday things was damaged. Yet, that wasn’t the worst thing. They said the part of my brain that made ideas and sprouted imagination was forever impaired. I would have to be watched at all times. Or I might start seeing hallucinations or get terrible night terrors that might lead me into a bout of depression. All because I decided to text my crush a smiley face. It was that night that their prophecy came true. My dreams started in a beautiful wonderland of hope, dreams, and fluffy rabbits, but quickly morphed into something that would scar me forever. The field of happiness I was frolicking through quickly turned into a dark void into hell. As I screamed and ran in the other direction, the whole field around my started caving and creating dark voids like the one I had ran from. The chunks of land fell like flakes of dandruff. And it was long before I fell with it too. The void seemed never ending. I had an Alice in Wonderland complex as I grabbed for something to hold onto as I fell into this never-ending cavern. But after what seemed like hours I finally hit the ground. The ground stabbed me and sharp pain erupted from my side. I had fallen onto some sharp rocks. It had pierced my skin. And suddenly all I could hear was a loud cavernous voice booming.

  • _boringasusual
    _boringasusual
    1 year ago

    “Wake up! Wake up!” The voice snapped me out immediately and I realized it was my mother shaking me awake. I had fallen out of bed and hit my pointy night stand. Blood was dripping from my forehead. I walked into the bathroom, with the help of my mother. I looked into the mirror. Snake scales covered my facial features. I immediately grabbed the tissues and scrubbed my face.

    “Honey, it’s off. It’s off!” she started saying to me.

    “What’s wrong with my face mom? What’s wrong with it?!” I screamed.

    “It’s fine baby, it’s just got a bit of dried blood,” she tried placating me.

    “No! No! The scales!” I screamed. My mother face morphed from confusion into realization. Her grip dropped from me and tears fell from her face. I was crazy, truly crazy. But would it always be this way?

    thanks :D

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    Wow - this is excellent! I love how you've taken this and made it your own (and so quickly too!) The voice is very strong, the details great (I like the chunks of dandruff simile). Great work.

  • UnicornFartGlitter
    UnicornFartGlitter
    1 year ago

    I was a little confused about the task, so I kinda just wrote stuff :P If it's not right, then let me know and I'll start again! It's follows a girl who thinks that she is in love with three guys and kinda covers her little freak out as she thinks about who she is going to pick:)

    What the hell was I going to do? Tom, Jamie, Connor... Who was next? Who next would I fall in love with? I slowly turned around to the wall I was leaning against before slowly bumping my head on the cold bricks of the wall, hoping that it would stimulate some brain growth so I could figure the entire situation out.

    The reason was clear: I walked around with my heart on my sleeve, dragging these innocent (well, not always innocent) guys deep into my heart. However, the answer to my problem was still shrouded in mystery. A mystery that needed to be cleared before fifth period.

    I could just run away, I could be halfway to Mexico before anybody reported me missing. Then I wouldn’t have to face this, I would instead be sunbathing in sunny Mexico on some deserted beach, happy as a bee. But running away wasn’t the answer, never would be.

    I had fallen flat out in love with three boys. Three utterly perfect boys who are totally different, and worse still, like me back. How wonderfully perfect is that? Not!

  • UnicornFartGlitter
    UnicornFartGlitter
    1 year ago

    There was Tom - the school hottie with his drool worthy six pack that made any girl go weak at the knees and his position on the school football team that made him top of the high school food chain. Tom seemed like the obvious choice, dirty blonde hair and oceans of deep blue eyes that made your insides melt like chocolate; but then there was Jamie. Jamie, with his cute tufts of brown hair sticking up everywhere that made me just want to run my fingers through it and mess it up some more. Jamie was a music nut - he lived and breathed music, and that gave me something to talk about with him - rather than Tom who was all looks and no brains. While Jamie was a Beatles fan; I thought the Stones were cooler and that was something we argued like cat and dog over - but it made me fall for him even more. Both boys had their good points and bad points, but then Conner. Conner was the difficult one. He was the quiet one, the one who always had his iPod in, separating himself from the crowd. He was the one that you wanted to figure out, the one who you had to fix. He had this vulnerable vibe about him, and after I figured that out, well, it was hook, line and sinker!

    Three boys: Tom the hottie; Jamie the adorable; and Conner the broken. I couldn’t choose! I wouldn’t choose!

    Why couldn’t I just lock them in my basement and force them into some sort of Hunger Games type match - that would sort everything out! Wouldn’t it?

    I let out a breath, turning around once again to slide down the cold wall, my butt bumping on the floor. I didn’t want to hurt them, nor lose them. Who would I choose?

    Sunny Mexico seemed like a good choice...

  • _boringasusual
    _boringasusual
    1 year ago

    @AliceKuipers Thanks so much :D It means a lot.

  • _boringasusual
    _boringasusual
    1 year ago

    @UnicornFartGlitter Your passage was really good! But I think she was looking for a 500 word story on a character's life after s/he suffered some kind of brain damage to the part of the brain which conducts imagination. Cheers :D

  • Becmaryfrances
    Becmaryfrances
    1 year ago

    Here is my attempt :D

    WRITING EXCERISE #1 – WRITING IN THE VOICE OF AN IMPARED WILL

    I push the wooden door open slightly, wincing as a loud creak sounds from the rusty hinges. In one continuous, fluid movement, I activate the monocle clamped to my wrist and recognize the sensation of invisibility created by energy traveling through my nervous system. For a few moments, I revel in the skill of my own stealth. Lina will be easy to find, I think with amusement. Perhaps I will try to scare her. Yes, I’d love to see the look on her face. How dare she suggest that my mind is cluttered with paranoid, obsessive thoughts? She will pay for her insolence.

    But I must not lose focus. Quickly, I regain my composure and focus my attention on the spiral staircase. Like the rest of the house, it is old and wooden and DIRTY! How can anyone live in such a pigsty? Resisting the urge to drop to all fours and scrub with the vigour of a dentist, I continue onwards. Thankfully, Tabitha’s continuous snores echo down the hall like a cargo ship’s foghorn, masking my progress.

    Before I begin my ascent, I place the heavy weapon strapped to my hip on the ground beside me. It will only create more noise if carried along. Plus, something about facing down that menace with hand-to-hand combat seems very satisfying to me. My hand against her hand…

    I hate that girl. Adrenalin rushes through my veins as I sense her presence. She is emerging from the bedroom, I realize with delight. Kidnapping her will be so simple. She enters another room and flicks on the light, forcing me to blink rapidly. Within seconds I am stationed outside of the door, turning the doorknob. I am a jungle cat. I am a panther. She is my mouse. I open the door, prepared to pounce.

  • Becmaryfrances
    Becmaryfrances
    1 year ago

    “WHAT THE HELL!” she cries from the toilet. Immediately, she swings her left arm in a looping motion, sending a bright, telekinetic concussive force towards the heavy, wooden door. Before I can react, it slams into my face, sending me flying backwards. I break through the railing of the balcony and tumble towards the ground, smacking my head on the edge of the dinner table during my descent.

    Bright lights everything bright. My head spins hurts ah! Images spinning above me – people! Rabbit! Balloons! I count balloons, not thinking of peoples’ voices – loud, cry, harsh, ah! – one balloon, two balloon, three balloon, four balloon – NO! This balloon is red. The others are blue. That balloon should be blue, like the other balloons. My fingers reach out, have to pop balloon, MUST POP THE BALLOON!

    “THE RED BALLOOON!” I hear my foggy voice cry. “MUST POP THE RED BALLOON!”

    “Why?” asks Lina, curiously.

    “BECAUSE IT’S NOT BLUE!”

    “Well, that’s a bit hypocritical. Your face was pretty darn red when you walked in on me taking a wiz earlier.”

    My finger reaches up, jabbing her cheek forcefully.

    “There,” I declare, resting my head on the floor, “I have popped it.”

  • BlazeAloft
    BlazeAloft
    1 year ago

    “Well...” I nod my head up and down. This is fun... Shaking my head now. Back and forth. Faster and faster. My bright yellow bangs are a pendulum in front of my eyes. My face, the clock face... No, it isn't a pendulum at all. It's a curtain of snot, dripping down my face, sliding past my chest... I feel the blood in my cheeks draining away.

    “Whoa, hold on there.” He grabs my face, holding it still in his big, strong hands. “Try not to do that, please. It isn't good for your neck.”

    Or for my poor, bungled brain...I almost nod in assent. Almost. “OK.”

    “Now, I asked you a question, if you remember.”

    Ah, yes. The question. Which question was that again? I stare at him inquisitively, lifting up a silent prayer to the gods of telepathy. "Please, let him read my brain." I think he's getting it, by the look on his face. "Thank you. I offer up the pink snake as a token of deepest gratitude." I pull at it, barely managing to yank it off my shoe. I toss it in the air. It doesn't come back.

    When I look back at the man in the big, white coat, his eyes are wide. Bugging out of his head like... like a rat. His face suddenly contorts. His little, black goatee is spreading. It covers his skin now. He opens his mouth in a grin, and his shiny incisors come to a point, like... like a wooden stake. “You are so cute, you know that?”

    I don't need to hear anymore. I don't need to see anymore. I'm through with this man – no, this rat – and his ridiculous questions. I hop down from the table and bolt.

  • alissende
    alissende
    1 year ago

    Here's my attempt.

    “Oliver, there’s someone here to see you.” The curtain next to my bed was pulled back, and Dr Hanner appeared, wearing his perennial smile. He had to practice that smile in front of the mirror. I could see him in his bathroom, staring at his reflection, working on his smile until he’d achieved the right degree of curvature, enough to look upbeat and optimistic, but not enough to appear insensitive to the sick people he saw on his rounds. How many years had it taken before he’d got it just right? Maybe he’d had help from a friend or a mentor at some point. I’d have to ask him someday...

    “Oliver, are you listening?” Marian, my girlfriend, laid her hand on my arm and squeezed, bringing me back to the present. Her hand was soft as a cloud on a summer’s day...

    With effort, I broke free of the daydream. My hands shook and I clutched at the blanket to hide it. Marian was still talking to me, oblivious to the fact I’d been miles away. “...he wants to talk to you about the attack.”

    I looked at the man standing by my bed. He was dressed like a policeman, but he didn’t look like a policeman. His uniform didn’t seem to fit very well, and he was far too young, barely older than me. Was he really a policeman? He was a fake, he had to be. What was he doing here? He could be one of the monsters who’d attacked me in the alley, and he’d broken into the hospital to finish the job. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, no, no, no.” I tried to get out of bed, to escape, but Dr Hanner stepped over and pushed me down.

    “It’s alright, Oliver. Calm down. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He stepped outside the curtain and gestured for the other man to do the same. Marian rubbed my arm, whispering that everything was alright. But it wouldn’t. It would never be alright again. Dr Hanner was one of them.

  • alissende
    alissende
    1 year ago

    “Oliver sustained quite a severe head injury during the attack,” Dr Hanner was saying. “At the moment, we aren’t quite sure of the full extent, but he is finding it very hard to distinguish between what is real and what exists solely inside his head. He is very easily confused, and he has a tendency towards paranoia...”

    He continued talking, but I stopped listening. I was watching his silhouette on the curtain, watching as it morphed and grew and changed into a hideous black beast. I lay helpless as its claws wrapped around my ankle and pulled me out of bed. It threw me to the ground in the alley, and stood over me, claws glistening with my blood. I tried to scream and the talons sunk into my chest, pain blossoming like enormous red roses.

    I could hear someone calling my name, from a long way off, but it was too late. I was gone.

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    I've been reading these through the day and I'll have more to say tomorrow morning when I'm back at my desk. I'm really enjoying reading through the writing. Thanks, Ali

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    @UnicornFartGlitter Although your interpretation of the writing prompt is different to how I imagined it would turn out, I think you should be very pleased that you explored a way that the mind plays games and tricks with us. The idea behind any of these prompts during the workshops is that you take them and let your imagination run loose. I like the physical description of all three boys and I enjoy the mixture of humour, passion and fun in the text, like this line, which shows you have a strong voice: Why couldn’t I just lock them in my basement and force them into some sort of Hunger Games type match - that would sort everything out! Wouldn’t it?

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    @Becmaryfrances I love the blend of the frightening and the humourous here. This is an imaginative and fluid piece of writing, filled with good, clear writing with a touch of the bizarre and funny mixed in, like with this line: Resisting the urge to drop to all fours and scrub with the vigour of a dentist, I continue onwards. The dialogue is nicely surreal. Di you notice that you shifted from the past tense to the present quite early on? It works well for me in the present, but perhaps you had a reason for the shift. Good work.

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    @BlazeAloft My bright yellow bangs are a pendulum in front of my eyes. - This is a great line, physical and surprising. Good writing. I love the use of the word hop in the last line too - strange and compelling. This piece is strong and vivid because you use good verbs and clear imagery.

  • AliceKuipers
    AliceKuipers
    1 year ago

    @alissende I looked at the man standing by my bed. He was dressed like a policeman, but he didn’t look like a policeman. His uniform didn’t seem to fit very well, and he was far too young, barely older than me. Was he really a policeman? He was a fake, he had to be. What was he doing here? He could be one of the monsters who’d attacked me in the alley, and he’d broken into the hospital to finish the job. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, no, no, no.” I tried to get out of bed, to escape, but Dr Hanner stepped over and pushed me down. - This paragraph has terrific momentum. The way you use questions and short sentences really gives a the feeling of terror and confusion that Oliver is experiencing. You do the same thing in the second to last paragraph to great effect - I wonder if finishing with 'enormous red roses' would be even stronger, letting us feel that Oliver is gone but not having him tell us. Great characterisation here.

  • AndyHoldcroft
    AndyHoldcroft
    1 year ago

    Yes. No. Maybe. Brief, fragmentary snippets of memory had started drifting through my mind, often in that drowsy period between sleep & its opposite, yet increasingly also during the waking day, usually when I let my thoughts disconnect with the concrete world of interaction. Which of these were real? I usually doubted my capacity to discriminate as my confidence in this respect now ebbed. It did not help that some of them were bitterly vivid with intense sensations of smell, colour & even taste: in fact I was inclined to distrust these the least. Most seemed disconnected from each other and few seemed to evoke actual events I thought I could definitely recollect. On the other hand, the most fragmented and elusive suggested veracity to me for reasons I could not begin to rationalise: if indeed I was in any way capable of rationalisation any more. What frightened me was that these phantom promptings were more exciting and stimulating to me than the world I supposed myself to be engaging with: this, by contrast, seemed merely dull & relatively devoid of character or emotional resonance for me. How far should I retreat into this unsafe inner world? Was this madness? Was it rather a preferable state where even if I could not trust much, what I was experiencing was clearly more enjoyable. I had no way of knowing whether this was the world of the “lunatic” as in that realm, their experiences was limited to their own inner lives & I could no more enter there than I could explain my own paradox. However it was a tempting choice and at very least would prove both a pleasurable way of existing for a period which might be the whole balance of my life and also exorcise the fears I currently had.

  • AndyHoldcroft
    AndyHoldcroft
    1 year ago

    by embracing them. On the other hand, the persisting rational part of me still advocated not so doing. Shrilly it sang out of “wrongness” and self indulgence. This voice urged engagement instead with the cold and clinical world of doctors and cold steel, hard choices and electric shocks: the way of repentance, guilt and self flagellation in the light of the recognition that I was “broken” and that at very least I was not entitled to enjoy myself let alone wallow in fantastic non-experiences which I was currently doing. This route I was sure would lead to suppression of all these inner dreams and stimuli, one way or another, and I was not sure I thought that “sanity” was a price worth paying, nor that any sensations I might later recover from the world I could not presently gain as much from, would in any way compensate, nor that more reliable memories would satisfy nor console. And so therefore.......

  • Rose_Hill
    Rose_Hill
    1 year ago

    Hi, I found out about this and decided it would be awesome to do, so here's what I wrote. By the way, you all are wonderful writers!

    I threw the covers of off of me. My sweat was enough to keep me warm, sticking to me like the midday sun during July. I stared up at my ceiling, seeing things move in the darkness. It felt as if everything was breathing, becoming larger, cascading towards me, invadinginvadinginvading. . . . How can you live with yourself? My mind was snickering, making my nerves press against my heart, making it clench in the most painful way possible. He was your father, how could you deceive him like that? I gritted my teeth, feeling my eyes sting with tears, my hands still shaking as I clutched my sweat drenched sheets in my fists. How could you lie about what he did? How can you stand yourself knowing that you lied about him and the little girl. Lie about him and you? I turn onto my side, my back arching, trying to relieve this pressure that was surrounding my heart, my nails itching my skin, trying to get his hand prints off of me. I could feel where he had touched me, and it burned, everywhere burned. My fathers face flashed before my eyes, his smile, the crows feet that appeared at the corners of that smile, his blue eyes and carpenter hands. So different from the new one, the one that I barely knew. . . The one with the beer bottle, the one who couldn’t walk straight, the one who didn’t pay attention. He wasn’t the father that had done his best to raise me, worked his hardest when I was just a little girl, teaching me the beauty of life, giving me it to breath on. Now he was taking the beauty away, and I was suffocating, my lungs hurting because all there was now was this unbearable darkness that seemed to press in on me. You lied.

  • Rose_Hill
    Rose_Hill
    1 year ago

    No, I hadn’t lied. I hadn’t been there, I didn’t know if the little girl was telling the truth about what my father did to her, but I knew what he had done to me! I protected that little girl because on her face all I could see was my dead, innocent baby sister and how I would’ve protected her from everything, even the very man that helped create her. I protected that girl with the truth of my words, hoping it would shield her innocence even though there was a good chance that it had already been stripped away without her consent. He hates you now, you know that don’t you? I squeezed my eyes shut, tears falling and pooling in my ears. I gasped at how much my heart hurt. I knew - it must’ve - been imploding on itself. Shrinking and shrinking, taking away all life, and then exploding, because I didn’t deserve the very thing that kept me alive. He’ll never except you as his daughter, and when he gets out of jail, he won’t remember you out of his own will, because you destroyed him. There was no air. No light. I opened my mouth, trying to suck the substance of life in but none came. Had I already died? Was this hell? Had I already been cast into purgatory? I saw the reflection of a cars headlights on my mirror and I knew that it wasn’t hell, because I was still here on Earth. It was something far worse. . . . Me living inside someone that I couldn’t live with.

  • alissende
    alissende
    1 year ago

    @AliceKuipers Thank you for the feedback. And this workshop was a really interesting experience. I look forwards to doing more of them.

  • NataliaAlejandra
    NataliaAlejandra
    1 year ago

    This is my attempt. Hope you guys like it.

    Part 1

    I've always loved chocolate with a passion. It isn't a crime, why should I feel guilty about it? Chocolate and I always got along. It didn't make me fat or anything, so I had even more reasons to love it and cherish it. Yes, you could say chocolate was the love of my life. I might be exaggerating, maybe not. That's just how I feel about it, to say it in just a few words. However great my relationship with chocolate was, I never imagined what the depths of the effect it was meant to have in my life. I never thought it could be possible, but yes, chocolate changed my life. How? You may be wondering. It all happened during last Easter. I hadn’t been able to help it when I saw the hugest Easter egg ever. I bought it and took it home with me with a huge smile in my face, almost as huge as the Easter egg. I placed it on the table and admired it for a few minutes. I wanted to keep it on my memory as I knew I would probably never buy one like that again. Just a few minutes I gave myself to admire, then I unwrapped it carefully and broke the first chunk. I started eating it slowly, tasting it, loving it. Soon I was eating a second, a third, and a forth piece of that treasure I had. I couldn’t stop myself, it was my vice and I was an addict. I was hopelessly addicted to it. Needless to say, I couldn’t stop myself until I had eaten more than my stomach could hold. I have no idea how I managed to do that, but I did it.

  • NataliaAlejandra
    NataliaAlejandra
    1 year ago

    Part 2

    I was feeling weird. I was on a high I had never experienced before in all my chocolate eating life. My mind was sharp and my eyes were wider than ever. I had a river of new ideas in my mind and I had to do something about that. I wasn’t in complete control of my actions when I sat on the computer and started writing. If I had been, I would have thought it foolish to start writing a story. I always loved stories, but I never had good ideas to write any and knew nothing I wrote would be good enough. But this time, it was different. Chocolate made me picture a whole new world in mind, and I couldn’t stop till a whole story was written. I wrote for hours on end, typing without knowing where my ideas came from, wonder running though my veins. That night I wrote a story that, surprisingly, would later become a best seller, and which, as I already mentioned, would change my life forever in ways I had never even dreamed about. And all thanks to chocolate.