Tag Archives: amwriting

Look forward to

18 May

morning. That’s when everything shifts for sakes of your story.

Always caught

15 May

in thought while

I walk the

vineyard

block.

article

30 Apr

View story at Medium.com

for interpretation

30 Apr

She tells me something,

I listen but don’t at all, not a 

Word.

I glare, meditate, then die.

Now Pages (writing prompt…)

24 Apr

Writing your scene, your currency, right where you are and what you see but not how it appears.  How you’re to put it to page.  Make it something different, something more exciting or dangerous, something odd.  Make what you see, the room you’re in or the picnic bench at which you sit, something else.  Become someone else in a different location.  Make it believably crazed.  Your writing in this piece should not only reflect your imagination’s expansive qualities and aptitude, but curiosity.  What the room speaks if you were there but in a different tilt and tint of it?  And, maybe, turn the room you’re in to something not even remotely contained.  Make it a cliffside, a beach, some alcove in an Arizona canyon.

Writing about your Now, yes, is focused on specifics but as well distances itself from where you are, who you are.  Crazed, and believably, honestly.  With sittings like this, producing pages predicated on and in immediacy there’s a devout liberty to your instincts.  Just write where you’re thoughts wish travel.  Curiosity’s its own cognition, and it can unearth gems for you, often.  But, there need be practice and inward conversation.  With this cue, remember, something else.  But, honest, believable, magnetic.  Right now where you write should never be seen as something boring, or incapable of translation and, or, re-translation.  All in your space is invitation.  Another intention of this exercise.

(my Now…). Stoic and stale cubicle spaces, trapping and teaching… “Don’t ever come back here again.’ They command.  I look at the gray-blue-purple-shale-coal color and feel sick, asking self ‘why’.  Phone rings, I imagine picking it up and someone telling I’m being sent out on assignment, to Africa, to write about tourism around a wildlife preserve and the animals roaming and surrounding.  Looking at the carpet walls of my cubicle, I see the stretch of that wild, arid stretch.  Some zebra, a couple wildebeest, then some other thin-legged animal that starts running.  I stay here in the swivel chair, listening to people make calls and promise things.  Sell things.  Things.  I want something else.

***Take a thousand words to write your now, right where you are, or somewhere you were recently.  Proximity and honesty are key, so be sure the location into which you dive and delve is truthful regarding when you were there.

(4/24/18)

Writing Prompt

24 Apr

200 words on the next two hours of your life. What you want to happen, how you’re going to make such happen, and who you’ll be at the end of your effort.

On a break, hearing the sounds

6 Apr

of everything around me. Music and machines moving in their mechanized strides. Quiet office for me to collect further, extended from this morning’s track. Planning on more work after this work. The writer need stay in mode, creative modality. With writing, there is no pause, lull, stop. On this “break”, I break not a blink from writing. But, I do make sure I more cautiously compose, for sakes of my character composition. Keep the Self connected to Self, what’s solicited from the atmosphere around me. Poetic, everything my eyes intake. Those bangs, clanks, and oggs, whatever that is being moved around out there, seen and heard. Wind against window, right, an image. Force your Self to type, move pen. Even if you have to use your phone, do. If you’re on a break, or some lunch, create. The sounds these thumbtips make while typing on this screen remind me I’m doing it, IT– recording my Now. This… me in a swivel chair, not letting a second go down some existence drain. Water in cup… wish it were coffee. Maybe the break room downstairs had some left in pot. Today teaches me that there is no break in this, this life I see for me… writer. My essays acutely accentuate life and all specifics in it. This room with its keyboards and screens, cubicles and notes pinned to odd colored carpet sides, somewhat-walls. This room sings it’s own tracks to me, telling me to tell everyone ‘keep your narrative sounding’. There will be no seen halt from me. Keep with your journal… write faster. Write two pieces with the seven minutes you have left on that clock. Their clock. But your time. Your page and story. Water gone, sipped rest. Like a timer, new clock. Gone. Me with musings, new sounds and music, all movements. Hearing and Seeing more from IT.