#10 How Can the "20-Minute Magic" Work for Your Creative Writing? (With "The Forgotten Melody" by Frasier Armitage)

How can you stretch your imagination and boost your creative writing skills with just a 20 minute exercise?

Episode 10 includes two exciting announcements - including the first short story written by a Brainstoryum listener!

Plus the usual magic and weirdness of Exquisite Corpse.  Inspire your writing and brainstorm a new story today!

SHOW TRANSCRIPTION (does not include Exquisite Corpse game play at the end):
​
Hello imaginative people, and welcome to Brainstoryum!

This is the 10th episode – we are now in double figures – and I have two really exciting announcements today. The first is that I won an award! I am now an award-winning author, which is unbelievable. It is “I” For Immortality, the second volume in The Book of Exquisite Corpse, which has won the Imadjinn Award for Best Literary Fiction Novel, 2022. I’m just kind of reeling from that. When I entered I did linger over the option of entering it into one of the fantasy categories, but in the end I opted for literary fiction because I suppose it’s literary fantasy – and there is such a rich array of fantasy being written and my novels and stories are… quite odd, in case you haven’t noticed that yet! So they don’t sit squarely in mainstream fantasy, and I figured there’d be so much competition anyway, with stories that fulfil readers’ expectations of that genre in a more obvious kind of way – so I didn’t feel like I had that much chance entering fantasy. I’m so glad I entered into literary! It felt like a bit of a long shot, but it paid off!

Now, my second piece of really exciting news is that a listener to this show – an author, no less – has been in touch with me to tell me that he tried the 20 min writing exercise I’m always raving on about, based on one of the Exquisite Corpse results on the show, and he came up with a short story! This is amazing because it goes to show, it’s not just me! It’s also really the whole point of this podcast – to inspire people just like you, and to bring into the world stories that would not otherwise exist, because they are just so odd. So today, I’m going to read out a short story written by this listener, whose name Frasier Armitage, although before that I will talk a little bit about the 20 minute magic in the hopes that you might give it a go. And of course, there will be some fresh Exquisite Corpse results in the last section of the show. There are always plenty of ideas to work with when you’re messing around with Exquisite Corpse. So on with the show!

Ah, the 20 minute magic!

How and why I think it works: you set yourself 20 mins in which to write whatever you can on a story idea, and during that time you do not judge what you’re writing. You have full permission to stop after 20 mins if it’s not working – and you must understand that that is completely fine if it doesn’t work. That’s part of the magic. It lets you off the hook. Imagination can only really blossom if you go into something with a sense of play. This 20 min limit is also part of what gives you the impetus to really try, to really throw yourself into it and to keep pushing within that time period, as much as you can. You have full permission to even write nonsense, which I sometimes do – not quite nonsense, usually, but phrases I like the sound of which don’t necessarily make sense. You never know what atmosphere may be carried in that piece of nonsense; or it may contain a detail or nugget of unforeseen information about a character or the place – this is your unconscious mind speaking to you, so let it speak! If only for 20 minutes.

Also, I’m very much a believer in finding the rhythm of a story, and these can be found in little phrases that pop up in your mind that might not make immediate sense. I love the rhythm and the sound of words and I think that’s why I read so slowly, because I tend to hear the words in my head. The sounds are as much a pleasure as the meaning, and this goes back to when storytelling was oral, just around the fire. So if a phrase comes to you that doesn’t really make sense, or seem to add anything to the story idea, it may only be that it’s your unconscious mind trying to “find” the rhythm of what you’re trying to write. I suppose the closest thing to what you’re reaching for in that case is atmosphere or tone, that affects the whole feel of the piece.

Anyway: write whatever you can for 20 mins. Just keep pushing yourself to come up with something; come up with something else. Whenever your critical mind pops up and says something unhelpful like, “You’re not getting anywhere,” or “That doesn’t make proper sense” or “That’s a stupid idea” – tell it to “Shut up” and keep going. Follow the trail of breadcrumbs and you will find your gingerbread house. I think it works best if you have some kind of visual indication of the time – you don’t want to have to keep tapping your phone to see how much time you’ve got left, but to just be able to glance at a clock face or alarm that displays the time would be good, especially for those moments when you need to tell your critical mind to go away, or tell your imagination to just let go and get going, because you’ve only got X number of minutes left.

Ah…the 20 minute tool… The Tizardian 20 mins. Hm, not sure I can really call it that, I’m pretty sure this idea is already out there, many times over – call it what you like. But give it a go! And if you come up with something that works, that’s based on an Exquisite Corpse on the show, please tell me about it! Get in touch at annatizard.com or tweet me @annatizard, and if it’s good, and if I’ve got space – if it’s short enough for me to read in, say 10 minutes or so, maybe I’ll read it out on the show.

But for now, onto the first listener’s own short story. Frasier Armitage is a critically acclaimed and recently, award-winning science fiction author. His debut novel, New Yesterday is about a city where events in the present don’t just affect your future, they change your past. When Adam Swann searches the city for a woman he can’t seem to forget, he’ll discover his past isn’t exactly the way he remembers it… Yestermorrow is a prequel novella which will be released in August and will be free to his subscribers. He’s also written a novella called Rememory which is set in a futuristic world where memory is currency. It’s so clever and is full of high tension scenes as the protagonist is on the run, and basically trying to get back his own memories which have been taken from him.

You can find Frasier and his books at frasierarmitage.com.

It’s time for me to share with Frasier’s story, which is based on the Exquisite Corpse:
‘The helpless flute manicured the crumbling guitarist.’ (Pod no. 8, What Happens Next #2)

The Forgotten Melody, by Frasier Armitage

There was no music in the grove of statues. No whistle of wind. No call of birds. No hum of life among the stony gargoyles that decorated the elaborate garden.

Neglect haunted the cobbled path that coiled snakelike around the myriad sculptures. They had once been so different. Living, breathing monuments, full of song and cheer. It was the songs that had kept them alive. The pluck of strings. The beat of drums. A symphony of life, but played no more. All songs come to an end, and so it was in the grove. The music had faded. And now, those long-abandoned melodies remained trapped in stone.

At the end of the garden, two figures regarded the statues one at a time. One, a tall and spindly musician who carried his flute in a leather satchel. The other, a cosmetically enhanced beautician, with skin as perfectly polished as the marble and alabaster statues surrounding her.

“Are you certain this is the one?” the musician asked.

“Of course.” The beautician polished her nails. “This is it.”

“But . . . How do you know this is the one?” The musician turned his neck to the crumbling statue of a guitarist. Only a suggestion of a face remained upon it, and chunks were missing from the shoulder, but the guitar had been depicted elegantly, and still retained its proper shape.

“Look, this is it, okay? This is the one they were talking about.”

“The weird people who came for a treatment?”

“Yuh-huh. I knew what they were saying must have been important. They were talking all the way through their facial. And no one talks through a facial unless it’s, like, serious news, y’know?”

The musician raised an eyebrow. “What exactly did they say?”

The beautician shrugged. “Just what I told you. How there was this garden of statues and they all used to be alive, but then the guitarist stopped playing, and one by one, the rest of them did, and when the music was gone, the stone hardened and yadda yadda yadda.”

The musician nodded. There was life in music — this he knew. But life enough to animate statues? “And you believed them?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Even the part about certain melodies bringing them back to life?”

“Especially that part! They were so confident about it. They said they were close to figuring out the ancient melodies that would wake them up. And the music was in their bags.”

“Which is when you took it?”

The beautician’s hands stopped their frantic polishing. “Look, it wasn’t stealing, alright? It was just borrowing.”

“And you’re sure they didn’t see you?”

She shook her head. “It was a facial, remember? Their eyes were closed the whole time.”

The musician extracted the stolen pages of sheet music from his satchel. “Is this all of it? The whole melody?”

“Of course not! I couldn’t take it all, could I? They’d have noticed straight away. But I thought you might be able to figure out the rest of it, or something.”

The musician sighed as he scanned the notes which were barely legible on the faded parchment.

“Well?” the beautician demanded, flicking her hair back in a perfect arc.

“I couldn’t even guess at how it finishes. All I’ll be able to play is what’s here. Okay?”

“Fine by me.”

The musician frowned in disbelief. “Are you sure that this is right? That if I play this melody, the statues will wake up?”

“That’s what the people said. And if we start with the guitarist, then he’ll wake the rest. And that’s this guy. I don’t see another guitarist round here. Do you?”

The musician shook his head. “Alright.” He slipped the flute from his satchel and placed it to his lips. “Here goes nothing.”

The beautician held her breath and the musician pursed his lips and blew into the flute.

As he followed the notes, music drifted in a melody as strange as the grove itself. The tune was a jumble. A mishmash of quavers that seemed random, and yet, they belonged together. They danced through the air. They floated in the breeze. The beautician had never heard anything so moving, and a tear threatened to streak her mascara.

When the musician reached the final note, he stepped back, and lifted his head expectantly.

But nothing happened.

He approached the statue and ran his hand along its cool stone surface. But there was not even the faintest hint of movement. No sign of change.

“How long did they say it would take?” he asked.

The beautician shrugged. “That was so lovely.”

“You thought so?”

“Yeah.”

The musician shrugged. “It was okay. Tricky in the middle, but I just about got through it.”

“It made me feel . . . I don’t know. Play it again, will you?”

“Why? Once should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“No. I mean . . . Don’t play it for the statues. Play it for me.”

The musician sighed. “Let’s just see what happens to the statue, shall we?”

They waited, and waited, and waited. But there was no alteration. No disturbance. No awakening. No power to the tune, however ancient and forgotten it was.

“Well, I guess that’s it. Time to go,” the musician said.

“Oh no! Play it again! Just one more time. Please!”

“But why?”

“Because it’s . . . didn’t you feel it when you played?”

“Feel what?”

The beautician searched for the feeling, but there had been too many to name. “Everything. Didn’t you feel everything in it?”

“No. I felt nothing. It’s helpless. I knew this flute wouldn’t do a thing.”

“It’s not helpless.”

“It is! Do you know how many times I’ve played this flute expecting it to produce magic and then . . . nothing? I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different.”

“I thought it was magic.” The beautician’s eyes filled with a hopefulness that he could no longer ignore.

His shoulders slumped. “Alright. Look. I’ll play it one more time. I mean, it’s a nice tune. But then we’re leaving, okay?”

“Okay. Just give me a minute. I want to remember this.” The beautician extracted a kit from her purse. She called it a first-aid kit, but it held only equipment for manicuring in case of emergency.

“What are you doing?” the musician asked.

“I remember things better when I manicure.” She laid out her kit, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

He raised the flute to his lips and repeated the melody.

As the tune stirred the beautician to tears, she worked frantically on her nails. She marked every high and low with a sweep of her hand. Her heart laid bare by the power of the song. One she would never forget.

When it stopped, her fingernails had never looked so perfect.

“Ready?” the musician asked.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

The two figures packed up their things and left the grove, and the shadow of the guitarist. If they’d examined the statue before they left, they would have seen its face remained unaltered, an abstract shape and nothing more. Chunks of stone still chipped and missing from its shoulder. But its hands — its fingers — were no longer crumbling. They were the most perfect and polished they’d ever been.

"The end!" (Copyright owned by Frasier Armitage).

Brilliant! It’s so clever. It’s weird they both have an effect on the statue. It’s not just the flute playing – you fully expect that at the beginning, because the beautician has stolen music from people who've been saying that’s what’s needed to be able to wake up the statues. So it’s a funny twist at the end when the statue might not be awake – yet – but its fingers and hands are polished and perfect. I love how… I mean I don’t know if this is something Frasier intended to imply through the story as a second meaning – but I love how this seems to reflect on how all art forms really need both a creator and an audience in order to really be something in this world. If you play music or paint or write stories just for yourself, okay, that’s one thing. But it’s another thing entirely when you get to share it with someone who appreciates it. There is an art and a skill in appreciating music, and art and writing – it’s a kind of listening, a tuning in to something beautiful. And I also believe that a piece of art or writing or music becomes more than itself when it enters the minds and experiences of other people. It’s out there in the world, being experienced.

I also love the fact that Frasier said it’s not his usual style of story, but it was a fun way to get the creative juices flowing. Will Frasier write any more on this? There are other potential scenes here that could explored, like when the beautician is listening to the people having their facials done. What is it that makes her so convinced the magic is true? Maybe she witnesses something, some sign that it’s real, beyond a doubt. How does she know the musician – or how does she know she can trust the musician with this? And what’s the history of the statues? I’m very intrigued by this strange world we’ve glimpsed here.
 
Well, I hope that’s been enough to inspire you to see the opportunity here for brainstorming a story and giving the 20 min exercise a go yourself.

So – if you’re game – grab a pen and a piece of paper, or a tablet or a napkin and let’s see what potential new story ideas lie in wait for us in… the socks of destiny! 

Exquisite Corpse game play is not transposable... Please listen the last section of the show to enter a realm of deep silliness and inspiration!