Experiments in style: a mystery technique
See if you can work out what I've done here!
Greetings!
Welcome to my ongoing (and potentially never-ending!) project, experiments in style. The Introduction below explains what it’s all about, but if you already know then just go straight to the reworked version, below.
Enjoy!
Introduction
One of the things I’ve been trying out is reworking a piece of text into a completely different style. A full exposition and explanation are given here:
Here is the original text on which these experiments or transformations are based:
The original (template) text
In the middle of the night, I woke up (if you can call being semi-conscious being awake), walked purposefully towards the door to go to the bathroom — and almost knocked myself out.
The reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was facing in a different direction from the one I thought I was facing. As a result, instead of walking through the door, I tried to walk through the wall.
The next few days brought nausea and headaches. After much prevarication I went to Accident and Emergency, where I waited petrified among people for whom “social distancing” means not quite touching you, and who wore their masks as a chin-warmer.
An hour and a half later I emerged into the twilight, secure in the knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I failed to do much writing, but I was pleased to have read a further 17% of my book.
Reworked version using a mystery technique
I haven’t revealed the name of the technique I’m using because you’d likely be tempted to cheat and look it up. So I am afraid you will have to work it out for yourself, or wait for the big reveal next time.
Sorry not sorry. Here goes:
At some unearthly hour of the night, I woke up (if you consider being a bit dozy is the same as not exactly being in the land of Nod), walked with purpose towards the exit to go to the water closet — and then was almost flat out.
The reason was this: given the complete lack of light, and my being only half with it, I was facing another way from the one I fancied I was facing. As a result, instead of going via the customary type of exit, I tried to walk into a vertical section of the house.
The next few days saw my head going round and a very mild ache in my head. After much debate with myself, I went to the hospital, and waited somewhat scared among folk for whom “stay a fair distance from others” means “don’t quite touch them”, and who wore their face covering as a chin-warmer.
An hour and a half later I strode into the dusk, knowing that I had nothing very awful wrong with me. I failed to do much authoring, but I was glad to have read a further 17% of my novel.
Commentary
As you can see, I’ve changed some of the words and expressions to, as far as possible, their nearest equivalents. Even if you can’t quite work out exactly what algorithm I’ve used to determine which words to alter, and how to alter them, you ight consider whether the changes make a difference to the overall tone of the piece, or if it’s actually a better piece of writing than the original.
Let me know in the comments.
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Go on, treat yerself:
Nightmare! Despite checking this about six times I just spotted an error. I have now replaced the word 'brickwork ' with 'a vertical section of the house'. That may provide a massive clue. So sorry!
Update: here is a clue. Solution on the morrow.
It is right to provide one more clue. Solutions are better appreciated when they are hard-won, but occasionally a little latitude is in order. Of course, my clue is in itself an Oulipian subterfuge, cloaking the answer in plain sight. Got to keep people on their toes! Reading between the lines won't help you, I'm afraid. And don't even think about attempting to bribe me to reveal the answer early: I am impervious. Master the quality of patience, and we will all benefit!
Not quite at home in deliberate 'techniques', more of a 'feel' writer, who then later learns he had been using technique x all this time without realising it.
Few more things I noticed were that many words were replaced by 'not quite synonyms', more like vague descriptors of what the things are than actual synonyms. (What is a wall but brickwork, and what is nausea but your head spinning round) As a result, the story feels more 'distant' from me as a reader, almost as if someone is describing what happened to the protagonist as opposed to the protagonist themselves describing it.
If all that is a technique, I'd be interested in learning its name.