Hazia’s Reflections

I attended Beth Yaph creative writing workshop on The Journeying Self: Travel & Identity (Part 1) today. She called it the Beth’s Twisted Writing Course. LOL!

She looked at travel writing & memoir from 2 different aspects:

1) Outer journey : travel through space - move in place, action, encounters, use the 5 senses. It sets the stage for the inner journey.

2) Inner journey : travel through time -  emotion / intellectual / spiritual journey, learn and grow. It’s an interpretation of / response to the outer journey.

Our first exercise involved writing the beginning of a story.

1) We were asked to close our eyes and imagine travelling to the place that we have been to and wanted to write about.

2)After that, we did free writing which is pouring out everything onto the paper - the raw material. This was where we should kill the ‘angel of the house’ i.e. our inner censor and just let go.

3) Then, we were asked to craft it to an audience as a beginning of a story - The HOOK, the act of seduction.

There were a few different ways we could begin a story:

1) Slow start, takes one back in time, transport to another place, feeling verbs

2) Fast start, slap in the face, action pack verbs

3) Unusual point of view, suspension of belief

4) Context / contrasts

5) Vivid language

6) Scene / interaction / description of place / action

7) Movie style

I think Sambal and Salsa style was more of like a movie, vivid parading of scenes. While most of my hotel stories are fast pace, the beginning is normally slow. I guess I was trying to bring the readers ‘behind the curtain’, they’re used to seeing only what happens on the stage. Only then did I start punching up on dialogues and action verbs.

I used the exercise just now as a testing ground to start off my 1st Haj stories. This is the main travel writing that I wanted to do, a real inner journey.

I read it to my work group. From their response, I ended up telling them the whole story. My instructor was right, non-Muslims would be really curious about what goes on on the forbidden land. I didn’t realise that the ’slippers hiding bit’ would trigger their interest. Naturally, the last sentence was my Hook.

Someone suggested starting off with that sentence. I don’t think so, I wanted to paint a peaceful picture first before bringing in the contrast, which is the Hook. And yes, this is a slow beginning story. I’m trying to ‘transport’ readers to the Masjidil Haram here, I’ll take my time.

Lost and Found - First Cut

I took off my blue and white slippers and put it in a plastic bag. I hid it behind a pillar next to the women’s entrance. That had been my own secret spot for the last few days.

I entered the grand doorway; the steel edge was delicately carved with rich floral motive in gold. An Arab security guard in grey uniform was leaning on the wall, a riffle in his hand. A woman in long black Hijab with a veil covering her face and black robe took my bag and looked through it. Satisfied, she mumbled a few words in Arabic and returned it to me. She then gestured with her hands for me to proceed. Two women were walking in front of me. From their crisp white embroidered Telekung and Baju Kurung, I could tell that they were Malaysians

I threaded on the cold white marble floor until I came to a series of large empty areas separated by low staircases going further and further down. Alas, the sight of a distinct huge square fixture located at the open-air centre of the Al-Haram mosque made me stop. Standing at xx ft tall and draped in fine black velvet cloth with four gold Arabic characters spelling the word ‘Allah’ was the holy Kaabah. I felt like it was waving at me, welcoming me to the house of God. I waved back at it and moved closer.

I looked at my surrounding and absorbed the calmness. The serenity of the place made my problems vanished. I found an empty space on the marble floor and spread my pink Sejadah. I sat down facing the Hajar Aswad corner of the Kaabah and opened an Al-Quran to read. Two women in white laid their prayer mats neatly in a row on my right and kneeled down.

Suddenly, I saw a burst of water flowing towards me. Huge waves were spiralling and creeping in closer and closer. There was a loud whistle and I heard men yelling, "Hajjah! Hajjah!" Fellow pilgrims in the front and the same row as me ran to the left side. Clutching the Al-Quran tightly, I got up and grabbed my sejadah and my bag. I rushed to follow suit.

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