Thus the rewrite exercise. Impose a different set of circumstances onto the sentence structure
of someone else’s writing. I did it myself. I chose a writing style and structure that I thought was something I wouldn't ordinarily use.
The original is from Dylan Levi King’s “The 33 Transformation Bodies of the Bodhisattva Guanyin” published in Grain, herewith:
The original is from Dylan Levi King’s “The 33 Transformation Bodies of the Bodhisattva Guanyin” published in Grain, herewith:
There
was a man seated in the back of a flatbed tricycle. His hair was bright white,
combed back, and he wore a threadbare black blazer. The man smiled at him from
under a pink umbrella trimmed with lace. The procession kept walking. The
megaphone chastised the rain. Incense steamed from Guanyin’s shoulders. The
rain--
--stirred
the sea under her lotus desk and she calmed it with a sweep of her willow
branch. She looked up at the clouds. The rain fell and didn’t reach the sea and
fell only into the mouth of her ceramic jar. The rain--
--left
its cool moisture on her skin.
--fell
in juddering waves. The water came to his knees as he walked through the park
at Granville and Number Three Road. In the parking lot at Richmond Centre, the
water rose to his waist. He climbed the escalator at the SkyTrain terminus
station and the water rose to seal him on the platform. The water threw itself
against the glass walls of the station. White foam swept along the surface of
the water, carrying torches of bull kelp, a yellow hard hat, a crate of
oranges, shredded paper. He heard the rain drumming on the blue skylight above
him. He saw a train siting a few hundred yards down the track, halfway to the
next station at Landowne. The rain--
--emptied
into the drain with a dignified, steady gurgle. She sat down at the head of the
tub with her legs pulled up against her breasts. She pushed back the shower
curtain. Cool air dried the warm water on her face. She folded her legs under
her and stood up. She turned off the faucet. The shower curtain held in the
last bundles of steam. She reached out and grabbed the heavy white towel,
wrapped it around herself, and stood breathing in the steam scented with her
roommates’ shampoos and soaps, the smell of her clean white hair.
*** *** *** *** ****** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
My Rewrite
There
was a man seated in the front of the club at a small table. His hair was bright
blue, tied back with a black velvet ribbon, and he wore a dazzling sequined
blazer. The man smiled at Pete from under long fake eyelashes. The room begin
filling up. The electronic dance music drowned out all other sound. Reverbs
shook Pete from his feet to his shoulders. So many people. One--
--brushed
past Pete to reach the bar and she sat next to the blue-haired man with a sweep
of her long black cape. She looked up at the rows of bottles behind the bar. Her
index finger rose and pointed to the wall but she didn’t catch the bartender’s
attention so her finger hung there and pointed until it dropped to the shiny
black surface of the bar. She was a man--
--stood
in front of Pete for a moment to reveal a tattoo on her skin. A knife on her
throat--
--danced
in shuddering jerks. His jacket reached his knees as he jangled himself through
the crowd gathering near the bar. In the dance floor at the far end of the bar,
a waiter in a pink bow tie bowed in front of two middle-aged men in striped
trousers. The waiter held a round tray with two martini glasses for the two men
and the two men took the drinks and toasted the waiter before they drank the
contents of the martini glasses in one gulp. The waiter threw confetti on the
men and went back to the bar with the empty tray. White dots of light swept
along the faces and clothing of the crowd, tracking spots from the disco ball
above the dance floor, across top hats, a yellow beret, a pair of giants, solitary
woman leaning against the wall. Pete heard the beat drumming in his head and
above him to the neon blue ceiling. He saw a bouncer sitting a few metres from
the bar on a stool near the restrooms, his back to the room as he spoke to a
young man in high heels--
--lapdanced
with a white-faced man or woman in a kilt with a slow, steady rolls of his hips.
He sat with his hand on the man or woman’s shoulders near the front of the club
with his legs straddling his or her lap and his chest pushed against his or her
breast. He or she pushed back the lapdancer with two palms. Hot air poured
above Pete from a vent and dried then moistened his body in his clothing. The
lapdancer folded his arms across his chest and stood up. He turned up his nose.
The lapdancer stepped back into the crowd in front of the bar in a gap of
light. He or she reached out and grabbed the lapdancer before he faded into a
gap of darkness, dragged the lapdancer back onto his or her lap, and leaned back as the lapdancer put his
hands on his or her shoulders and squirmed in his or her lap against until the
white-faced person on the chair smiled so wide the blue light from the ceiling
struck the gleaming white teeth and the dark lipstick around his mouth and
turned the entire room into his or her expression.
