Creative Kickstart
Introduction
Our internal editors and critics can launch their opinions far too early in
our creative processes. The trick is to
sneak out the back door to have fun without them knowing about it. We will
endeavor to do so through a series of timed exercises that encourage wild leaps
and discourage rational reasoning.
The purpose of this workshop is to try various
techniques to let loose, shut down our internal editor, and generate the seeds
of new work through writing prompts and creative play. Although led by a
poet, this workshop might be useful for any of us trying to get out of our own
way to let new ideas flow.
All will be encouraged to post some of their new (very!) rough drafts, but discussion
will focus not on line editing but on the places in the work where energy is
moving or where some fruitful directions may be revealed. Have fun, take risks,
follow the movement of your mind, no matter how surprising.
The process each week will be the same:
- Set up a timer for ten minutes,
- read the prompt, and
- write continuously without stopping for those ten
minutes.
No stopping, no thinking. If
you can’t think of anything to write, write the prompt out, rhyme the prompt,
free-associate, write what IS on your mind.
Just don’t stop.
If you can’t come up with a word, use a synonym or a
definition that will remind you later of what you were trying to say. Just keep
the hand moving. (I am assuming here the use of good old pen and paper, but I
suppose if typing is your natural movement, that should work as well. And,
again, although this is intended for writers, any medium will do. Just keep
drawing, painting, dancing, humming, strumming.)
Frustration has no place in
this process. Keep it light. Keep it playful. Eventually, you will find the
creative mind will break loose and let flow at least one interesting nugget of
something that you may be able to use later for another prompt or a longer
creative session. Again, the emphasis here is not to birth a fully formed and
brilliant piece of work, but to allow, to leap, to tumble, to reach down, to
toss outward, to flow.
Please try to post some work by the Saturdays of the week, so people have time to view and comment.
Please try to post some work by the Saturdays of the week, so people have time to view and comment.
If you have any technical difficulties, please email me directly. Otherwise, please post any general questions in the workshop space so we may all learn from them.
Under the Library tab, you'll find some links to some poetry examples.
Under the Library tab, you'll find some links to some poetry examples.
Week One: The Power of the Ordinary
Over the course of the week, you will pick one item from the list below,
set a timer for ten minutes, and write without stopping. Do a ten-minute
session at least five times over the course of the week, choosing a different
item from the list. Don’t peek ahead at
the topics listed below. For each session, pick one at random. Set the timer
and go. Again, if nothing occurs to you, write the prompt out, write it
backwards, talk to it, describe it, give it a voice, let it remind you of
something totally different. Etcetera!
Remember to invoke the senses when you write about something. Also, feel free to drift away off topic. Be illogical.
Remember to invoke the senses when you write about something. Also, feel free to drift away off topic. Be illogical.
Don’t look back on what you’ve written until the end of the week. Then
revisit your passages, find one that feels promising, clean it up a bit, if it
needs it, and post it. We’ll enjoy seeing where each other’s minds flew.
Please provide positive feedback to others in the form of notes on where in the new pieces energy seems to reside, or what interesting questions are posed that would bear further investigation. No one is expected to be producing masterpieces in ten minutes, and our comments will reflect the experimental nature and spirit of play and inquiry these prompts invite.
Please provide positive feedback to others in the form of notes on where in the new pieces energy seems to reside, or what interesting questions are posed that would bear further investigation. No one is expected to be producing masterpieces in ten minutes, and our comments will reflect the experimental nature and spirit of play and inquiry these prompts invite.
“It's
possible, in a poem or short story, to write about commonplace things and
objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things—a
chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman's earring—with immense, even
startling power.”
- Raymond
Carver
Write for ten minutes on:
ring
grandmother
birthplace
voting booth
yellow
gnarled roots
broken mirror
A funny thing happened on the way to…
tattoo
something backwards
fabric
rotten apples
Life Savers
lake
Batman
Here are a couple of my efforts from the week thus far.
ReplyDeleteBirth Place
How important is it, that certain taste of air
(fecund, heavy with marshes, a tint of sea,
the horizon line the flat of riverbottom, ancient sea bed,
a mumble of hills to the west)?
Or can one be reborn (air icy with deep streams,
horizon risen and varied, sky roiling
with old mountains)? Maugham said some men are born
to a place but others search their lives for home.
But there are those of us reincarnated midlife,
lost then found: a landscape that meets our own inner earth.
I like the descriptions and think I could do much more with bringing the brief glimpses of the different landscapes to life, invoking more sensory input. I'd like to introduce more of a tone of inquiry, and explore more deeply this sense of connection to a place that is not one's birthplace. It's an idea that interests me, but I haven't quite figured out yet what it is I want to say about it, I guess.
Poll
I long for the old
booth, the ancient
curtain, like some theater,
vaudeville, most years, it seems.
The loud shuck and you’re locked
in, face to face with all the little names
and what seems like
whatever Oz had behind his curtain,
and I am for the moment
the great and powerful one:
voter. One move of the trigger
and I’ve voted this one in,
that one out.
(It’s only in the aggregate,
the tiresome demos of the –cracy
that my vote so often gets drowned.)
The future of this Emerald City rests on me.
I eye the little D’s, R’s, C’s,
the Working Party,
Libertarian, Independent.
And sometimes, I confess,
there are names I do not recognize,
referenda I care nothing about.
Sometimes there are repercussions
I must consider, the arcane shuffling
of powers, the fact that a vote for
is also one against:
yes (no) yes (no) yes (no).
And I think I have not done enough,
to ready myself for this moment,
and the booth around me
is heavy, confining. I shuffle my feet,
visible under the curtain,
foolish, exposed. But I reach out.
It’s tactile, the plastic tabs, the metalworks,
the sharp click of the switch
tick tick tick and I have
reordered the world. With a flourish
and the chunk of decisionmaking
pull the final arm of this one-armed bandit,
the votes are swallowed into the machine,
the curtain peeled back,
and I reveal myself to the world
as its terrible maker, just a little drunk
with power, just a bit humbled.
I like the light tone of this and I like the subject of the gravity of exercising one's election rights. I like the tactile description of the old voting booths. I wonder if I need to contrast it with the humdrum new voting mode of filling in the little circles and the form to the computer. But I hate to detract from the total experience of the old voting booth that I'm trying to evoke here. Something to think about. In general, I really like poems that try to address a heavy topic with a light tone, so I'm going to keep that in mind as I fiddle with this poem further.
Nancy's response: If I had to choose one word to describe how the first write affected me, it would be "provocative." For me it has the makings of a poem, sort of ee cummings style. I'd like to be surprised by what would happen if every not essential word was stripped away - even the pattern on the page. Somehow it feels like in doing so great substance would emerge. There is a lot of interest in ancestry these days and your piece reminded me of personal comments of finally understanding an unknown affinity with another country, a city or a particular geographic location. Then there's the inner journey of finding one's home. All provocative.
DeleteNancy's response to my second piece:
DeleteThe second one makes me want to read it to stimulate a class discussion or send it to my friends before an election. I too, like the light touch on a serious subject. The image of the one-armed bandit is loaded, and I so identify with the agonies and confusions of casting a reasonably informed vote and acquainting myself with the candidates. And, of course, then there's Oz.:)
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteOkay, to keep things going while we figure out the technical difficulties, I'll paste in Nancy's offerings for the week:
ReplyDeleteNancy's #1 Post: Gnarled Roots
BINGO! BAAMM!! “gnarled roots” appear and before by brain can put together words in a sentence, I see the image in the photo Tara took many years ago.
Heaving a sigh, I happily recall the earthy smell of forrest floor, sunlight dancing upon the singing sound of the river, its dappled light transforming the landscape into magic miracles down to even the most mundane weed. River on the right, dirt road cut into the mountainside under my feet. To my left the woods, and there ahead about a half-mile in is that big ol’ boulder with the tree roots around it, the one in the photo.
Was it trying to run away, I wonder, and found itself halted mid-step by those strong, more powerful and unrelenting arms, those gnarled roots? Or perhaps it is being held, supported - the boulder a giant gem in a tree-size ring - cradled safely in its setting of those gnarled roots.
Remember the Banyon trees? or the movie, Snow White, where she runs frightfully through the forest that comes to life grabbing at her.
Then there are my own hands beginning to show their gnarliness. Age. What fun. What grace is there in all those twists and bumps? What knots beautify? What gnarls strangle? I must add a pinch of dignity to the looks of arthritic hands and feet and knees that creak.
Gnarl, snarl, strangle, glide.
Hold, cradle
Prisoner....becoming a prisoner ever so slowly and at the same time being a support for the very tree that gows around it.
Old age. Gnarly roots. Young age. No roots at all. What of roots and wings? Gnarly roots tie down and stabilize.
Nancy, I really like the way this moves from one topic to the next, letting the image bind them. Entrancing. I love the speculation about the possible contradictory nature of the image, or your imagining of it. The darkness and light of your ideas. I think in the next pass-through you can really focus on the immediacies: of your recollection of the photo, of your glimpse of your own hands in light of your thoughts about the photo. You can start to really infuse the images with your unique vision. E.g., many people have said that "sunlight dances," but truly in your unique experience of the photo and your recollection of it, what was that sunlight really doing? How can your happy sigh be embodied by that sunlight, in your own unique view? Good stuff.
Here's Nancy's 2nd post:
ReplyDelete#2 Post: A funny (or peculiar) thing happenend......
My “girls,” as we call ourselves - four women spanning about as many decades in age are due to get together. We’ve been convening regularly for dinner for over ten years. It is often a hassle to arrive at a mutually convenient date, but it is our custom - all or none. Tonight’s the night! Lisa and Suzanne are running late, as usual. The two Nancy’s arrive at tonight’s destination mostly on time (one of the Nancy’s is often early).
Finally we are seated, enjoying a delicious dinner, a beautiful view and stimulating conversation. “You wanna hear something funny that happened on our way to dinner tonight?” says Lisa. So, this isn’t really my story, but I did let Lisa know I was stealing it for a writing exercise.
Suzanne and Lisa are in one car. They are running late, as usual, and need fuel. Lisa pulls into a gas station and is filling the tank. Another car pulls up on the other side of the pump island - old, beat up looking and piled high with stuff. The driver lowers the passenger side window and calls out to Lisa. Lisa cannot hear, so she acknowledges the person in the other car and finishes pumping the gas. Lisa replaces the cap, flips the gas door shut, walks over toward the voice and bends down.
“Yes?” says Lisa. “Did you say something? I couldn’t hear”
“I’m disabled and don’t have any money,” states the woman.
“I’ll help you” replies Lisa. What do you need?”
Now my friend, Lisa, is a compassionate, generous person, fun loving person. Always willing to help, responsive to anyone in need. Jut tell her what you want. If she can she will, and if she can’t or won’t she’ll tell you straight up. She is also practical, no nonsense, assertive, very direct and specific. The person in the car does not know Lisa.
“What do you mean?” asked the woman.
Lisa repeats, “What do you need?”
“I need money for gas,” says the woman impatience at the edge of her voice.
Lisa replies assertively and directly, “ I will help you. I will pay for your gas, but I need to know how much you need.”
Insulted, “You’re putting me on the spot!” exclaims the woman.
Lisa responds in astonishment, “You called to me saying you are disabled and need money for gas. I’m telling you I will help you. I will go in and pay for your gas, but I need to know what you need and how much. And that’s putting you on the spot?!”
“Boy, you’re really putting me on the spot! “ the woman repeats emphatically. “I don’t believe this! “
Lisa takes a long deep breath. “Look, I gotta get going. If you want my help, tell me now.”
“Ten dollars,” the woman huffs, and Lisa pays the cashier.
Nancy, I thought you did the dialogue really well. The dialogue really took me into the situation. It rolled along at a nice clip. And I really like, for example, how you said "the woman huffs" rather than the more prosaic approach of, for example, "the woman said huffily." Now the tricky thing with stories is how to wrap them up. Do we let them hover in the air, or do we attempt to make some larger conclusion?
It seems like there's still energy left at the end of the story that wants something else. But I wonder if you provided on the front end some context in the form of considering something about humanity that this story then illustrates, if then the energy would balance out. Worth trying anyway.
DeleteSandra's offerings:
ReplyDeleteTattoo – #1
Tattoos! I never was a fan of tattoos. They always seemed to cheapen the person. I knew many of them were bought by men who were in the military, although some wanted them removed at a later date. Not only the pain when they were applied but the pain when they were removed was more than I could imagine.
One day my two daughters came home with tattoos and this made me very upset and repulsed. I was also disturbed that they would do this and spend their money for something foolish like this. I looked a little closer and noticed they were quite cute and small, one a smiley face and the other a butterfly. They also were out of sight except when wearing a tank top or a bathing suit. They later went back to the tattoo parlor and acquired toe ring tattoos which were quite attractive.
Another day I was at an event where they had tattoo pasties advertising the Olympic Games. I took one and adhered it to my arm using a wet wash cloth. I kind of liked it but I couldn’t wash it off for several days. It made me proud when anyone remarked about it. Recently I saw my older son and told him my daughter gave it to me for my birthday. He couldn’t believe it until he realized it was not the real thing!
Sandra offered this observation of her own work:
DeleteI would like to get away from so many “Is” although this exercise did bring back many experiences and memories. I know I am a better memoir writer and continue to try to finish my family recipe book with lots of memories and pictures.
I like the sense of discovery -- that narrator-you first thought one thing...then discovered something that changed your mind, such that you even embraced the thing! I wonder if you can explore this sense of discovery further. Maybe play with using dialogue. Maybe play up your own initial mindset against them. Make fun of yourself a little! There's fun here and I think you can play it up.
DeleteSandra's second offering:
ReplyDeleteFabric - #2
I enjoy making quilts, wall hangings, pillows and all things that take time to hand-sew. Whenever I finish a project, which is not too often, the piece is a joy to behold.
Picking out the fabrics is always a chore but fun too. I have all my piece work sorted into different colors, mostly cotton, way too many to ever finish.
Fabric of any kind is so interesting, how it is woven together and how it is dyed into different hues. Some is very thin and you can see each row of stitching, like lace. Others are very thick like felt when you cannot see any stitches. 100% cotton is the fabric most beginners start with.
Once I saw a quilt that represented a life lived. The fabrics were pieced together making a beautiful collage. It was very moving to experience this masterpiece and I wish I had a picture of it to help me remember the intricacies of it. I may try to find it again as it was displayed in a Boston museum.
The colors, fabrics, and designs you use in a quilt are always different and more inspiring.
Good rich energy in your description of fabric and the quilt you loved. When our passions infuse our descriptions, the details glow. I'd love to hear even more about the quilt. Why do you think you love fabric? Where does it take you? What does it mean for you? Can you deepen this with some thinking about your emotional connection to fabric and quilts? Just some ideas about how you might be able to move this little piece onward to something larger.
ReplyDelete