When there is nothing to do at work, I've tried to get myself in the habit of going to an online writing prompt generator and just free-flow writing. So I did just that, and the prompt I "generated" was:
Write a ____enter adjective here_____ story about socks.
So my adjective is, "coming-of-age."
The socks wanted to go on hands. Everyone gets to see hands! They never have to be stifled by shoes! Ugh, shoes. Boy, did socks have quite the relationship with shoes. They were just so fickle. How come they kept socks company sometimes but not others?...
And 3...2...1.... it's 4:59! Time turn the phone on voicemail, turn off the lamp and fan, lock the door, and BLOW this popsicle stand*!
*structural engineering firm
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
"Ask"
My second prompt at my write-in at Gotham was "Ask." For some reason, this is immediately where my mind went with it. And so the story goes...
"I want it to be one word. All the powerful female broads with a large gay following went about it that way."
"If you mean Cher, I'll have you know that was because of a legal dispute between her and Sonny. He wouldn't let her use his last name unless he got 20% on all sales."
"Well, what about Madonna?" she challenged.
"Madonna is a whore," he countered.
"Touche." Alecia Beth Moore let out a long, raspy sigh.
"Listen." She rolled back her shoulders and penetrated her superior's distant eyeballs. "I want my name to be one word. Life is short, I gotta lotta work to do, and shit can't get done if people are stumbling over a fact as superficial as words in a name."
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
She took in his bloodshot eyes and replied, "Pink."
"Well, 'Pink,'" he said. "The name's yours. However, if we don't want people 'stumbling over words,' then why don't we cut out the middle man altogether and REALLY make it easy for your audience."
"Meaning?" Alecia Beth Moore inquired.
"We take out letters," the manager said proudly.
"But how do I..." The girl's eyes lit up. "I got it. I'm P!nk. No eye. Only exclamation point."
And that is the tale of how Alecia Beth Moore became the artist with one name, three letters, and one huge symbol.
"I want it to be one word. All the powerful female broads with a large gay following went about it that way."
"If you mean Cher, I'll have you know that was because of a legal dispute between her and Sonny. He wouldn't let her use his last name unless he got 20% on all sales."
"Well, what about Madonna?" she challenged.
"Madonna is a whore," he countered.
"Touche." Alecia Beth Moore let out a long, raspy sigh.
"Listen." She rolled back her shoulders and penetrated her superior's distant eyeballs. "I want my name to be one word. Life is short, I gotta lotta work to do, and shit can't get done if people are stumbling over a fact as superficial as words in a name."
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
She took in his bloodshot eyes and replied, "Pink."
"Well, 'Pink,'" he said. "The name's yours. However, if we don't want people 'stumbling over words,' then why don't we cut out the middle man altogether and REALLY make it easy for your audience."
"Meaning?" Alecia Beth Moore inquired.
"We take out letters," the manager said proudly.
"But how do I..." The girl's eyes lit up. "I got it. I'm P!nk. No eye. Only exclamation point."
And that is the tale of how Alecia Beth Moore became the artist with one name, three letters, and one huge symbol.
Musem Lock-In
But not really. Instead my friend Meredith and I went to a Gotham Write-In, where you go to a building in Hell's Kitchen, sit at a big table with a bunch of different types of people, wait for the teacher to write a prompt on a board, and then write for twenty minutes about the prompt. Afterward you read out-loud if you want to and get some positive critiques. Then you have snacks and wine, write ANOTHER prompt but this time based on one word that the teacher again writes on the dry-erase board, and then read it out-loud if you want.
So Meredith and I went to Olive Garden in Times Square beforehand (after my job working the front desk at a structural engineering firm), stocked up on wine and breadsticks, and trotted on over to Gotham Writing Offices. The first prompt our teacher gave us was:
"Goes Without Saying"
So, here's my first prompt, buoyed by the finest Riesling Olive Garden had to offer.
Everything is assumed. There's always a Shrugging Emoji implied when people are dishing out the scoop. The real, nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty, cold hard "scoop." The resurrection of a time when "Duh" was a wondrous empowering revelation; a jukebox crooning incredibly heavy edicts atop a root beer nursed with some laughter on the side. "Life isn't fair." "You can't always get what you want." "Subways are for sleeping." Insert Shrugging Emoji girl here. Maybe a hair toss. And another shrug, if you're Jewish. There's always room for a shrug when Judaism is involved. A shrug, and some guilt. A phrase when, experienced, never fully comes into fruition until ten minutes later, when your'e experiencing the aftermath of your reality completely out of sync with your expectation.
However, I really see no difference between the two. Between your expectation and your reality. Or vice versa. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, or is it the other way around? When really, there is no other way around.
A priest, a rabbi, and a monk walk into a bar. And then they die. And all dogs goes to heaven: It goes without saying. So why do we say it! The knowledge means nothing!
The knowledge means everything!
The knowledge is the knowing is the knowing is the basics.
So now what?
*And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my first writing prompt at Gotham. I must say, I had a really great time, and my second one was even more fun to write! **And at that point my wine buzz had calmed down...
So Meredith and I went to Olive Garden in Times Square beforehand (after my job working the front desk at a structural engineering firm), stocked up on wine and breadsticks, and trotted on over to Gotham Writing Offices. The first prompt our teacher gave us was:
"Goes Without Saying"
So, here's my first prompt, buoyed by the finest Riesling Olive Garden had to offer.
Everything is assumed. There's always a Shrugging Emoji implied when people are dishing out the scoop. The real, nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty, cold hard "scoop." The resurrection of a time when "Duh" was a wondrous empowering revelation; a jukebox crooning incredibly heavy edicts atop a root beer nursed with some laughter on the side. "Life isn't fair." "You can't always get what you want." "Subways are for sleeping." Insert Shrugging Emoji girl here. Maybe a hair toss. And another shrug, if you're Jewish. There's always room for a shrug when Judaism is involved. A shrug, and some guilt. A phrase when, experienced, never fully comes into fruition until ten minutes later, when your'e experiencing the aftermath of your reality completely out of sync with your expectation.
However, I really see no difference between the two. Between your expectation and your reality. Or vice versa. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, or is it the other way around? When really, there is no other way around.
A priest, a rabbi, and a monk walk into a bar. And then they die. And all dogs goes to heaven: It goes without saying. So why do we say it! The knowledge means nothing!
The knowledge means everything!
The knowledge is the knowing is the knowing is the basics.
So now what?
*And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my first writing prompt at Gotham. I must say, I had a really great time, and my second one was even more fun to write! **And at that point my wine buzz had calmed down...
Friday, September 19, 2014
The Battle of Homonymy
Some glanced across at Sum before grabbing his crossbow. Sum was five steps ahead of him, retrieving her nunchucks before anyone could stop her. Witch had her eyes shut and headphones on, trying to meditate and therefore consciously remove herself from the situation, but Which snuck up behind her and yoinked the headphones off her ears. Buy and By were engrossed in a somewhat WWE-like cagematch in play, but couldn't help but chuckle when Bye strolled onto the arena and dramatically smashed himself onto the foamy-hard floor, completely on his own whim.
Yes, we were in the midst of a clash of identities. Since the dawn of time, brave words have fought valiantly to achieve victory for their land. Unfortunately for them, they will always have to coexist with other lands, and one day, they will make Peace with this fact. But until then, Piece is causing havoc and just wants everyone to get really high and really drunk and listen to Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Yes, we were in the midst of a clash of identities. Since the dawn of time, brave words have fought valiantly to achieve victory for their land. Unfortunately for them, they will always have to coexist with other lands, and one day, they will make Peace with this fact. But until then, Piece is causing havoc and just wants everyone to get really high and really drunk and listen to Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Write About When...
If you haven't realized it by now, the Internet has a site for everything imaginable. So, when you're counting down the last ten minutes of your temp job and want to write for a little bit but have no idea what to write about, just google "random writing prompt generator," and you'll be good to go!
I happened to like the looks of "Imagination Prompt Generator," and I've just been given my prompt: "Describe your cooking skills and your favorite thing to cook."
K, must admit, could have started with a more clever or funny prompt, but let's roll with this one. And, scene:
Considering my kitchen is not a kitchen so much as a corner connecting my living room (ok, let's be honest: living room/bedroom/study/playroom) to my bathroom, I'm not one to don an apron and chef's hat and gallivant around like Meryl Streep. I mean Julia Child. However, when I DO cook, my guests always tell me I should open up a food truck immediately and stop worrying about the corporate world of high-dollar restaurants. Oh wait no that's not me, that's Jon Favreau in one of my favorite movies of the summer, Chef.
My favorite thing to cook is tacos! I love ground beef, and I love watching the beef turn from raw to eatable as I whirl it around in the skillet. Adding my special mix of spices (see: Taco Bell Seasoning Kit) with the precisely measured amount of water, I can appreciate how cooking activates all five senses, and there's something to be said for the fact that I'm actually aware of what I'm seeing, touching, smelling, hearing, and, the best part: tasting!
Ladies and gentlemen, we are at 5:00, I am done for the day receptionist-ing at the structural engineering firm, and I've gotten in a nice little yoga workout for my mind in that writing prompt. Now, it's time to go home and cook!*
*Swing by Chipotle.
I happened to like the looks of "Imagination Prompt Generator," and I've just been given my prompt: "Describe your cooking skills and your favorite thing to cook."
K, must admit, could have started with a more clever or funny prompt, but let's roll with this one. And, scene:
Considering my kitchen is not a kitchen so much as a corner connecting my living room (ok, let's be honest: living room/bedroom/study/playroom) to my bathroom, I'm not one to don an apron and chef's hat and gallivant around like Meryl Streep. I mean Julia Child. However, when I DO cook, my guests always tell me I should open up a food truck immediately and stop worrying about the corporate world of high-dollar restaurants. Oh wait no that's not me, that's Jon Favreau in one of my favorite movies of the summer, Chef.
My favorite thing to cook is tacos! I love ground beef, and I love watching the beef turn from raw to eatable as I whirl it around in the skillet. Adding my special mix of spices (see: Taco Bell Seasoning Kit) with the precisely measured amount of water, I can appreciate how cooking activates all five senses, and there's something to be said for the fact that I'm actually aware of what I'm seeing, touching, smelling, hearing, and, the best part: tasting!
Ladies and gentlemen, we are at 5:00, I am done for the day receptionist-ing at the structural engineering firm, and I've gotten in a nice little yoga workout for my mind in that writing prompt. Now, it's time to go home and cook!*
*Swing by Chipotle.
Friday, September 5, 2014
The Frog is Staying!
Joan Rivers died yesterday. Aside from the fact that I felt like she was some distant great-aunt of mine, I always admired her bold spirit- the fact that she knew who she was, and had no shame. More times than not, shame is the name of my game, and who, I proclaim, is to blame for this claim... but myself. It's insane! Insame.
No, but really, if we wanted to psychologize, I'm sure I could find someone or something to blame. The media? They're always a good target. My parents? Didn't Freud say something about blaming parents? I forget. Psych 101 was my worst grade in college. Plus my parents are the bomb-dot-com. Bottom-line is, I hit a point and realized I am incredibly hard on myself: constantly doubting, judging, and comparing my choices and actions. There was a time when my efforts were free, but unfortunately, for whatever reasons, I started to feel threatened by everything around me, so in turn, I stopped making the effort at all.
Yesterday I went to get a flower arrangement for a friend. I carried them around with me all night, from Manhattan to Brooklyn and back. Maybe it was my emotional vulnerability from the passing of dear Joan- I mean come on, she was my favorite guest star on two childhood movie staples of mine: The Muppets Take Manhattan and Peewee's Playhouse Christmas Special- or the fact the flowers were for my friend's deceased (a word that comes as close to onomatopoeia as a word can get without actually being onomatopoeic) grandma, but I felt I had company in those beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers. I was literally carrying a bundle of life. I'm in my 20s, and a lot of gals are having babies, their own "bundles of life." The old me would be intimidated by the fact that I'm probably some years away from this point. But the new me, the me freely writing on a blog to juice up some creativity, was very grateful of the fact that I can proudly carry around life right now. And not just life in those flowers, but my own life.
I hit a low point where I would have rather napped than walked outside. Now I'm awake, and I want to see what there is "just beyond the riverbend." Or, just beyond Riverside Park. Now where do you, reader, come in? Well, I want this to be a forum. I want you to take my thoughts and translate them somehow into the activity of your own life. In my period of depression, I slowly and carefully tried different tricks and techniques to calm my mind, so I'd have the courage to get out of that bed. Flower essences, exercise, foam rollers, meditation, psychiatric therapy, drugs, writer's workshops: different ingredients that came together that have now led me to a point of acknowledging where I was and where I'm going. Being a person is hard. Living in NYC is hard. As William Goldman in The Princess Bride wrote: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." So let's figure out how to make it a little less painful.
Going back to The Muppets Take Manhattan (maybe I should retitle this post "References to Great Movies of the Mid-1980s?), there's a big point in the film where Kermit, one of the greatest protagonists of our time, has lost it all- his career, his friends, his lady-pig. But, being the optimist that we all know and love him for, he climbs to the top of the Empire State building and proclaims to the city that he isn't going anywhere. He's going to get his life back, and damn he believes it.
And I believe it, too. Let's live large for Kermit. Let's do it for Joan. But most of all, let's do it for ourselves, because we know who are, and we're staying.
No, but really, if we wanted to psychologize, I'm sure I could find someone or something to blame. The media? They're always a good target. My parents? Didn't Freud say something about blaming parents? I forget. Psych 101 was my worst grade in college. Plus my parents are the bomb-dot-com. Bottom-line is, I hit a point and realized I am incredibly hard on myself: constantly doubting, judging, and comparing my choices and actions. There was a time when my efforts were free, but unfortunately, for whatever reasons, I started to feel threatened by everything around me, so in turn, I stopped making the effort at all.
Yesterday I went to get a flower arrangement for a friend. I carried them around with me all night, from Manhattan to Brooklyn and back. Maybe it was my emotional vulnerability from the passing of dear Joan- I mean come on, she was my favorite guest star on two childhood movie staples of mine: The Muppets Take Manhattan and Peewee's Playhouse Christmas Special- or the fact the flowers were for my friend's deceased (a word that comes as close to onomatopoeia as a word can get without actually being onomatopoeic) grandma, but I felt I had company in those beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers. I was literally carrying a bundle of life. I'm in my 20s, and a lot of gals are having babies, their own "bundles of life." The old me would be intimidated by the fact that I'm probably some years away from this point. But the new me, the me freely writing on a blog to juice up some creativity, was very grateful of the fact that I can proudly carry around life right now. And not just life in those flowers, but my own life.
I hit a low point where I would have rather napped than walked outside. Now I'm awake, and I want to see what there is "just beyond the riverbend." Or, just beyond Riverside Park. Now where do you, reader, come in? Well, I want this to be a forum. I want you to take my thoughts and translate them somehow into the activity of your own life. In my period of depression, I slowly and carefully tried different tricks and techniques to calm my mind, so I'd have the courage to get out of that bed. Flower essences, exercise, foam rollers, meditation, psychiatric therapy, drugs, writer's workshops: different ingredients that came together that have now led me to a point of acknowledging where I was and where I'm going. Being a person is hard. Living in NYC is hard. As William Goldman in The Princess Bride wrote: "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." So let's figure out how to make it a little less painful.
Going back to The Muppets Take Manhattan (maybe I should retitle this post "References to Great Movies of the Mid-1980s?), there's a big point in the film where Kermit, one of the greatest protagonists of our time, has lost it all- his career, his friends, his lady-pig. But, being the optimist that we all know and love him for, he climbs to the top of the Empire State building and proclaims to the city that he isn't going anywhere. He's going to get his life back, and damn he believes it.
And I believe it, too. Let's live large for Kermit. Let's do it for Joan. But most of all, let's do it for ourselves, because we know who are, and we're staying.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)