John Noble (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jackofallgeeks) wrote2004-01-28 01:32 pm
jackofallgeeks) wrote2004-01-28 01:32 pm
A Literary Curiosity
Some one postulated something about the differences between how men and women write. Necessarily, me being me, I'd like to test this theory. So, I have here one scene written twice, once by a girl and once by a guy. What I ask of you all, if you would, is to try and tell which was written by whom, and then give me reasons to back up your claim.
Unless you know specifically which piece was written by which person, as that would tip the bias, necessarily.
Update: Oh, yes, and please don't read other people's votes and explainations before you add your own -- it might taint your answer, and I want to try and keep this as clean as possible.
It's Wednesday now. I'll give it a few days, to give you all ample time to read them and decide, and, depending on how it goes, let you all know what's what this weekend.
Piece One
When I was in college, getting a Bachelor's degree in English and Literary Analysis, my teacher once told me I had a lot of talent for writing, but that I hesitated. 'If you want to be a writer, write,' he told me once. It was a quote from someone famous, but I can't remember who. He said that I spent too much time trying to make the characters go where I wanted, and not enough time watching where they would take themselves. I didn't understand him then, but I tried. I tried to figure out why Miguel, my Argentinean, liked scrambled eggs more than sunny-side-up, or why Suzette, the snappish French journalist, preferred suede over leather. But it didn't seem to make sense; there was no point. What did it matter if Miguel liked his eggs scrambled, or poached, or thrown in a blender with bacon and toast and set to 'frappe.' It all seemed really pointless to me.
That's when I met Her. Well, OK, it was more 'saw Her' than actually 'met Her,' but still... I was sitting at Xandos, the little yuppie coffee shop down the street, sipping my mocha double-smooth extra creme and trying to care if Suzette wanted her stilettos red instead of black, when She walked in the door.
Piece Two
I had been working on my English and Literary Analysis degree when my professor pulled me aside with another C paper and told me that while I had a gift for writing, I hesitated. "If you want to write, write!" He urged me. "Don't try to force your characters do what they don't want, let them guide you!"
I nodded, took the paper home, and tried to figure out what he meant. While blow-drying my hair in the morning, I wondered why Miguel, my suave Argentinean, liked his eggs scrambled rather then sunny side up. While drinking my coffee, I wondered why Suzette, the snappish French journalist, preferred suede over leather. During another pointless biology lecture, I realized; there was no point. Who cared if Miguel liked his eggs scrambled, or poached, or thrown in the blender with his coffee, toast, and bacon, and frappeed to one creamy gooey mixture? It seemed rather pointless to me.
That's when I met Her. Actually, it's more of 'saw Her,' that actually 'met,' but still...
I was sitting in Xandos, this little yuppie coffee shop down the street, sipping my mocha double-smooth extra creme, and trying to decide if Suzette cared that her stilettos were black instead of red, when She walked in the door.
Unless you know specifically which piece was written by which person, as that would tip the bias, necessarily.
Update: Oh, yes, and please don't read other people's votes and explainations before you add your own -- it might taint your answer, and I want to try and keep this as clean as possible.
It's Wednesday now. I'll give it a few days, to give you all ample time to read them and decide, and, depending on how it goes, let you all know what's what this weekend.
Piece One
When I was in college, getting a Bachelor's degree in English and Literary Analysis, my teacher once told me I had a lot of talent for writing, but that I hesitated. 'If you want to be a writer, write,' he told me once. It was a quote from someone famous, but I can't remember who. He said that I spent too much time trying to make the characters go where I wanted, and not enough time watching where they would take themselves. I didn't understand him then, but I tried. I tried to figure out why Miguel, my Argentinean, liked scrambled eggs more than sunny-side-up, or why Suzette, the snappish French journalist, preferred suede over leather. But it didn't seem to make sense; there was no point. What did it matter if Miguel liked his eggs scrambled, or poached, or thrown in a blender with bacon and toast and set to 'frappe.' It all seemed really pointless to me.
That's when I met Her. Well, OK, it was more 'saw Her' than actually 'met Her,' but still... I was sitting at Xandos, the little yuppie coffee shop down the street, sipping my mocha double-smooth extra creme and trying to care if Suzette wanted her stilettos red instead of black, when She walked in the door.
Piece Two
I had been working on my English and Literary Analysis degree when my professor pulled me aside with another C paper and told me that while I had a gift for writing, I hesitated. "If you want to write, write!" He urged me. "Don't try to force your characters do what they don't want, let them guide you!"
I nodded, took the paper home, and tried to figure out what he meant. While blow-drying my hair in the morning, I wondered why Miguel, my suave Argentinean, liked his eggs scrambled rather then sunny side up. While drinking my coffee, I wondered why Suzette, the snappish French journalist, preferred suede over leather. During another pointless biology lecture, I realized; there was no point. Who cared if Miguel liked his eggs scrambled, or poached, or thrown in the blender with his coffee, toast, and bacon, and frappeed to one creamy gooey mixture? It seemed rather pointless to me.
That's when I met Her. Actually, it's more of 'saw Her,' that actually 'met,' but still...
I was sitting in Xandos, this little yuppie coffee shop down the street, sipping my mocha double-smooth extra creme, and trying to decide if Suzette cared that her stilettos were black instead of red, when She walked in the door.
no subject
I have concluded one thing. The second writer is more of a flowery writer. This would lead others to BELIEVE that this was the female.(It seems however with the comments that I was incorrect in that thought. A generalization, I am indeed sorry) However, description is not a matter of being male or female. There is no defining charictoristic to writing. It is impossible to tell and if someone is correct on analysis, it is simply a lucky guess. I know both men and women who have similar writing styles, however it is not defined by their gender, it is definded by their personality.
Take Andrew's writing style verses mine or Dorian's(A mustual friend of Andrew and myself). While all three of us write in a different genra Andrew's style is more direct and to the point. It is searching for something more and that is what you can pull superfically from it, anything else and we would have to get into a more deep analysis of Andrew's character and person. Mine and Dorian's both, while of different genras hold more of an etherial feel to them. They are questing, but not quite within the realm of the solid. But that isn't because of gender, it is due to personality. A good writer will leave a piece of themselves within the work, that is the humanistic element that readers crave from it. This is why today people still read Shelly, and Dante and the like.
Though, from what is presented here it is clear that the second writer is more a stdent of classical literiture such a Byron, pound and Lowell, the first is more of a modernist leaving out the elaboratness and flowery details that the second embelishs upon. The first piece caries a more direct point, there is nothing standing between the writer and their goal. The voice is fleshed and understandable and quite more of a strong voice whereas the second piece is more of an abstract created in such a way as to simply touch on the persons involved and not focus on them directly.
Ok, I am going to stop now as I could indeed continue for quite some time on this matter (English creative writing major).