Exercises in Style

As a freshman in college, I took my first creative writing class. We had an assignment to write a piece based off of Exercises in Style by Raymond Queneau, in which he retells the same story 99 times in 99 different ways. It’s a great exercise to get your creative juices flowing. When I did this assignment, I chose to retell my story through the lens of different sensory systems: visual, auditory, and tactile.

I am sharing this with you, because this piece marked a turning point in me. It was the first time I considered pursuing writing as something that is more than just a hobby. It triggered one of my many existential crises while in college. Three years later, and I’m still stuck between science and writing. I guess matters of big change take time.

Notation

He sat on the side of the road, instrument in hand. I’d never heard such skill come from a homeless man. The pluck of each string tickled at my ears and played with my emotions. The melodic noise bewitched a handful of passersby to a stop, while others were deaf to the beauty and walked by without even a sideways glance. Those who stopped listened until his tune was complete and dropped him some change. The man bowed his head in respect to his patrons, picked up the seven dollars, and seeked out a cheap dinner. 

Visual

He sat on the side of the grimy road. Dirt snaked into every crack and crevice from the street to his wrinkles. Wiry hair sprouted from everywhere, ears and nose included, and framed the wooden instrument in his gruff hands. I was not expecting such a glossy beauty to be held by such leathery skin and was even more surprised to see those arthritic hands create something so refined. People in dark colors strode by, briefcases in hand and a destination in mind, their collars turned up against the cold. A few, however, were entranced by the rich colors he produced from the reverberating strings, and they paused to listen. Serenity replaced the stress lines that decorated their faces. A small pile of copper, silver, and green grew before him to which he replied with a nod of his wrinkled head, the jungle of hair veiling the instrument for a short instant. His bent fingers wrapped around the bills and coins and he shifted up into a squat. Placing his hand against the brick wall behind him for support, he pulled himself to his feet and hobbled off to find a cheap dinner among the florescent lights of the city.

Auditory

He sat amidst the din of the noisy road. Every breath was a wheeze interrupted occasionally by a set of shallow coughs. His clothes ruffled as he positioned himself to play the instrument in his hands. I was surprised to hear such perfect tone come from something played off of the street, but the strings rang perfectly in tune, its frequency matching up with mine and rattling my frame. Meanwhile, the feet pounding against pavement, the cars whooshing by and the breeze passing through my ears added even more dimension to the melodic notes. Some of the pedestrians paused when the song penetrated the silence of their day. They stopped and absorbed the calming music. Coins clanged together while being scooped from pockets and hit the ground with a ring. Bills brushed against each other and were placed underneath the coins so as not to blow away with the wind rushing through their ears. He coughed and bowed his head, his wheezing increasing in volume as he did so. He scooped up the money with a series of rustles and rose with the creaking of his joints. His footsteps contributed an unsteady rhythm as he searched for a cheap dinner among the honking cars of the city.

Tactile

He sat on the side of the road, the cold biting at his cheeks and nose. His fingers traced over the smooth wood of his instrument and started to press down on the metallic strings, their rough texture had long ago carved callouses into his fingertips. I was not expecting his roughness to create such silkiness. The noise moved up and down my body, tickling my spine along the way. Meanwhile, people passed by with warm fabric pressed against their skin to barricade against the stinging wind. A few felt the music pass through the layers of clothing to deliver goosebumps all over. Those were the ones to stop and savor the tingling sensation that he produced. When he was done, they retrieved coins and bills, warm from sitting in their pockets and absorbing the heat of their bodies and placed them onto the rough concrete. He bowed his head in thanks, the wind brushing his cheeks to a raw red. Scooping up the metal and paper, he shifted to a squat, the stiff fabric of his clothes rubbing against him as he made it to a stand. He hobbled off in search of a cheap dinner among the cold metal of the city.