Tag: Creative Writing’
Creative Writing – Week 4
- by cathcw
Objects with a story
This week in class, we were given a piece of paper and asked to write a household object on a piece of paper and put the paper in the middle of the table. Then take a different piece of paper out, and in 20 minutes, write the story of how that object came into existence. Super fun. Here’s my hastily scribbled story….
Business Partners.
One day, the Crate was sitting with the Barrel
and musing over a glass or two of wine.
It was a warm summer evening
And they were holding their business meeting outside.
Crate was raving to Barrel.
So whats the deal with the drop in bed sales?
Shit man, I don’t know.
Its terrible. They both took a large gulp of wine
Shook their heads and
And looked at the sun setting over the sky.
The industry as a whole was perplexed
Bed sales were dropping
and nothing could stop it.
Crate decided to roll out a market research survey
Barrel initially kicked up a fuss about the cost
They hired an agency who trolled the streets
and the conclusion soon became apparent:
‘We don’t like laying flat.’
‘My cat likes to sleep by my face and insists on cushioning.’
‘My neck hurts.’
The bed needed an addition.
As soon as he’d scanned the exec summary
of the market research report
Crate ran into Barrel’s office
Leaping and shouting
DUDE – I’ve GOT it.
And he waved and shouted and grabbed
a marker and began scribbling on the board.
What – what is the only thing you’ll put near your face?
He was still jumping.
Barrel thought he’d flipped.
But he humored him.
Uh – I don’t know…
Food in my mouth.
Kisses.
I don’t shave, so no razor.
Soap.
I don’t know – only NICE things.
DAMN right Crate exclaimed!
And people have spoken.
They only want nice things near their face.
You want to know WHY bed sales are dropping???
Because they need something NICE by their face when they sleep.
And we’re going to give it to them and you know what it is??!?
(He was madly sketching on the board by this stage)
A duck feather filled pouch.
What the HELL could ever, be nicer than that?!?!
Barrel looked at him, and then started to nod.
That’s the damn nicest thing I could ever think of.
And – this time we’re going to beat Ikea to it
with a cool Nordic sounding weird name.
By this stage – Barrel was jumping
they knew they’d hit on a real money maker
this time.
A huge selling gold mine.
Yeah – something real kooky,
like, like… both looked at the ceiling
and chewed their pens
Crate looked Barrel in the eye,
this is dumb but I think its it:
how about – Pillow.
Picture: http://www.vivavi.com
Creative Writing Week 3
- by cathcw
Re-drafting is the hardest thing to do…
Last week I posted a piece of work that made me grimace. It’s a poem based on a word and question list we’d been given in class. There was something in it though that I liked, despite the clunkiness, self-absorbedness, repetitiveness – I could go on. The class gave great feedback, as did my professor Nancy:
“Catherine– a lot good here. If you want to keep it as a poem, then you have to look to condense to increase the power. Try this, take out anything that’s explanation…just stay in the motion. then highlight your images/senses. see how you can replace some of your statements with images. I love the scarf as comfort, as home. Maybe the sunlight is NY..or what specifically didn’t feel like home when you were in London? this feeling of being in transition, not knowing where you are home, where you want to be, out of sorts a bit..also content..maybe the flexibility? maybe wondering what city will be your 40’s….this is all good fodder, rich. just don’t explain or tell me, just write your mood, that feeling. then it can be mine too. Now I learn something about you…people will read to learn something about themselves.”
Slightly heartened by this, I chopped the piece down, got rid of the “I” as much as I could, all with the aim of making it a poem that people could identify with, rather than me just musing over a bowl of chili. Here is the next version.
It’s not always dangerous to reflect
It’s the last outside lunch of the season
Sail boats jostle in the brisk breeze.
The sun reflects fiercely on the strong skyscrapers
Which in turn, protectively shield us from the wind.
Wrapped in a soft scarf from home,
A comfort blanket from a former time.
We too are bathed in that high-commodity sunlight
Softened as it travels through large windows.
Little things are permitted to surface.
Aging as a New Yorker:
The coat fits surprisingly well
Even if it might be an unconventional fit.
It’s impossible to be in two places at once
Still, the comparisons never stop.
Such a gamble being here and not there.
Here though is where the excitement
And the fear are found.
For the time being.
As the clouds swim past,
Wrapped in my scarf,
Quietly reflecting,
No need to move
Just yet.
There is calm here.
Creative Writing – Week 2
- by cathcw
Urgh – clunky, boring, needs help?
This week’s assignment is to write a poem or piece of prose, with the following:
• Use at least 6 of these words:
passive, truncated, masticate, delicious, foible, substitute, disingenuous, empathetic, sour, notorious, revelation, paper
• Use the phrase “I cherish”
• Use the phrase “if ….” three times
• Ask a question.
I went for lunch in my neighborhood today – Battery Park, and the bright blue skies made me unusually reflective and quiet…
Lunch in the neighborhood
I’m not satisfied with the ending of the poem, although to be honest, after all that rare reflection over lunch, there’s not a lot I have left to say. Am concerned the piece may sound a bit (hugely) self absorbed (perhaps not in a good way), and I can’t decide if the piece is just completely boring, or whether its just how an honest train of thought works – any comments would be really helpful. I forget the point of this blog is to also to post works in progress for feedback – this is defo one here. Thanks. xo
It’s not always dangerous to reflect.
It’s the last outside lunch of the season
Battery Park is beautiful today
A sunny, bright, windy
Late fall Sunday afternoon.
Unusually, I am completely relaxed and
My thoughts are turning over at a calm pace.
Outside people are running with determination
Others lazing, talking, cycling or just pausing.
The boats, ready for dry dock for the winter
Bob up and down in the brisk breeze.
The sun reflects fiercely on the strong skyscrapers
Which in turn, protectively shield us from the wind.
If it were a little warmer I too would be outside
But, inside my local restaurant by the river
Jazz is playing with a football game at the bar
As I sit, talking to the friendly bartenders
Looking out over the chilly Hudson,
We too are bathed in that high-commodity sunlight
Softened as it travels through large windows.
Wrapped in my soft Burberry scarf from home,
A comfort blanket from a former time.
I’ve a mind that scarcely allows for reflection
But today, little things are permitted to surface,
Such as if I had never come here, I would never
Hungrily gulp chili for lunch as I am now.
I would never write a paper at a bar,
Or know what a Pisco Sour is.
I would never know that $1 could buy me happiness
At 9 am in the morning as my local bodega guy
Calls me ‘Princess – Extra Sweet,’ and hands me
My small cup of god-awful filter coffee.
I am aging as a New Yorker:
And the coat fits surprisingly well.
I cherish this.
Even if it might be an unconventional fit.
A little too old perhaps,
I’m growing into it though.
My late 20’s are New York
My early 20’s are London.
It’s a sad revelation to me
That, despite the best efforts
Of a striving, stubborn mule
I can’t be in two places at once.
The last two years of London are blank pages,
And will always remain so.
In substitution however, the last two years here
Are crammed. Heaving and bulging at the seams.
Spilling into margins, uncontainable.
It’s a different London now to the place
I left. This realization jolts
Me sharply when I go back now.
And I wonder if I am ahead or behind?
The comparisons never stop.
The whole move is a huge gamble.
And continues to be so.
I’d have it no other way though,
For it’s in the thrill of the gamble
Where the excitement, fear
And my drive are always found.
If I confuse you,
Trust me,
I confuse myself
Much more.
But as I sit here in rare reflection,
On the last outside lunch of the season day
In windy beautiful, slightly anonymous
Battery Park, wrapped in my scarf
Full of chili and dizzy with jazz,
There is calm here.
Creative Writing – Week 1
- by cathcw
Myths and Fairy Tales
This is a not for credit seminar taught by Nancy Hechinger at ITP. The class began last week and is aimed at improving our creative writing using exercises and critiquing each other’s work in class.
Myths and fairy tales have inspired writers for generations. Having read some examples of this type of work such as Yeats’ Leda and the Swan and Jack Gilbert’s Failing and Flying we were asked to give a modern day twist on a myth or fairytale. Here is my attempt:
Manhattan Medusa
BlackBerry bleeps
She pulls the blankets
Close and sighs
Grabs and silences
Her 5th limb
Padding sleepily
To the bathroom
Bleary eyed
Looks at the brightly lit
Wall to wall mirror
And sees her wild
Colored and highlighted
Hair, wild and bent
Spreading in all directions
Needing taming
She stretches
And growls.
Softly.
Automated she walks
Through her quiet apartment
And begins her morning
Ritual.
Filter, place gently into holder
Fill jug with cold fresh water
Open the lid on the coffee tub
Inhaling deeply
Spooning carefully
Delicately and privately
In this most secure
And intimate of acts
The tough and strong
Gorgon is quiet.
Savoring the smell
Breathing slowly
Solitude in the
Kitchen, leaning
Against the counter top
It’s the only time
During the whole day
She is stripped bare
Vulnerable until
Her first sip
When her stony steel gaze
And armor
Move into place.