Wednesday, September 7, 2022 – Saturday, September 17, 2022
Chapter Three: Leading a Creative Life
“The voyage of discovery lies not in finding new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” -Marcel Proust
In other words, perspective. It’s all about perspective. Chapter three talks about where and when you write. Do you like to write at home, on your sofa, in the morning? Or are you a mid-afternoon at the park writer? When and where are you at your most creative?
Writing Prompt:
As a way to help you notice your surroundings and work space (and, perhaps, improve them), write a detailed description of your work space. Pan your eyes all around you. Look out the window and describe the view. Again: details, details. To this writing, add a few paragraphs describing your feelings about the space. Is it a haven? Does it offer enough privacy? Do family and friends respect the boundaries of this space? If you write in more than one place, do this exercise for each one.
My bedroom – I have a bookshelf in the corner by my side of the bed. It is filled with photo albums, paintings I created, and my TBR (to be read) pile of books. To one side of the shelf is my desk, a second-hand ugly thing, in front of a window. The shade is always down, but if it were up, I would see my back yard, my neighbor’s back yard and their house. And my neighbors could see me, which is why the shade is always down. My chair is also second hand, and not too comfortable. Most of the time, I usually end up writing in my bed, as I am doing now. There are organized piles of laundry in front of me, waiting to be put away. The nightstand to my right is filled with bottles of waters and my headphones and the books I’m currently reading. My son’s homework that he’s refusing to do is to my left.
Despite the mess, despite the laundry, despite the fact that my privacy is never guaranteed, I love my bedroom. I’m comfortable here. I’m relaxed here. Most of the time when I write in my bedroom, it’s night after the kids go to bed, and the house is quiet. I never have hours on end to write here, but I enjoy my space.
The library – There is a stillness, a hush about the library that I love. I sit in a small round cubby, a seat and desk surrounded on three sides by mesh to block out distractions. The seat is teal, one of my favorite colors. The shelves of adult fiction books to my right are the only things I can see besides the bland ceiling. Occasionally a library patron walks by or searches the books to my right.
I lose myself in my writing often in the quiet of the library. I only get distracted by the ache in my back from sitting on the hard seat for too long. I have to get up, walk to the restroom and back, then I get back to work. Hours go by and I don’t realize.
Writing Prompt:
In one week, write for at least a half hour in three different places. After the week is over, if not before, reread what you wrote. Look for variances in tone and voice. Are these differences the result of your moods at those times, or do they stem from the nature of what you were writing? Was one place more productive, more free than the others? If so, revisit that place, especially when you’re feeling blocked or stale.
- In my bedroom –
Atasha swam up to the shore, hesitating only slightly when she reached the water’s edge. Looking around, she pushed herself onto the dry sand. Almost as soon as her lower body touched the air, it began to transform. Atasha’s eyes lit up as her fin tingled and itched and separated into two legs. She laughed and raised one up, swirled the ankle around and wiggled her new toes.
“You’ll start to hate them soon,” Jaka remarked as he lifted himself out of the water next to his friend.
“How could I ever hate these?” Atasha kicked her legs and giggled.
“Try using them.”
Atasha put her feet down and slowly lifted herself up. Balancing was difficult, but she was too excited to stay still. She took a step and suddenly, she was flat on the sand. Jaka roared with laughter, but at a glance from Atasha, he helped her up and taught her how to walk on two legs.
Jake had been coming to land for months, being older than Atasha. He had told her that once the year was over, he’d most likely stay underwater full time. Very few merpeople chose to live on land. Atasha knew that she would be one of the rare ones. She had been fascinated with humans and bored with the sea since she could remember. Atasha’s dream was to live as a human, fall in love with a human, maybe raise a human family. Jaka had warned her these past months that she may be disappointed, but she didn’t believe him.
Once Atasha mastered walking, Jaka led her to a shed up the beach. Inside, it had human clothes and other things they might need. Atasha picked out a pink skirt and a white button up shirt and began to walk toward civilization.
“You’ll need these too,” Jaka said, holding up a pair of underwear and a pair of sandals.
Atasha crinkled her brown in confusion, and her friend awkwardly showed her how to wear the strange items.
“Why do humans cover their feet?”
“To protect them,” Jaka responded.
She was still confused, until moments later, she bumped her toe on a rock.
- In my car in the church parking lot –
They navigated their way up the beach and Atasha giggled again upon seeing her first house. It was long and short, painted white with blue shutters. There was a lawn full of stone gnomes and plastic flamingos. It all delighted her.
Jaka rolled his eyes.
“It’s perfect,” Atasha said. “Just how I imagined, but better.”
“Doesn’t seem that much different than Marna’s place back home,” he said.
Atasha laughed, thinking about Marna’s cave with shells, seaweed and starfish decorating every square inch of the stone walls. Marna was an eccentric mermaid, always warning you about the water temperature rising and prophesying the end of the world.
The sky began to lighten and the town started to wake. The two friends kept inconspicuously to the shadows as people started to emerge from their dwellings. An older lady in sweatpants walked her dog. A man in overalls hopped into his pickup truck and drove off. A small group of young adults jogged by Atasha and Jaka, not giving them any notice. It was all Atasha could do to stay put and not follow them or reach out and touch one as they ran past.
A delicious scent filled the air, and the two made their way to the bakery in the middle of the town square. When they walked through the door, a little bell sounded. A middle-aged woman with a plaid apron walked out from the back room and smiled directly at Atasha. She was frozen, suddenly scared. The human continued to smile as if nothing was wrong.
Jaka nodded at Atasha. She cleared her throat and timidly spoke.
“G-good m-morning.”
“Good morning to you!” the woman said. “What can I get for you?”
Atasha looked down then, only just noticing the display case full of breads and pastries. Her mouth watered. She pointed to a Danish filled with red jam.
“I’ll have that one, p-please.”
“Make that two,” Jaka said. “And coffee for us both, please.”
Jaka handled the money. “I can teach you that later,” he whispered. Atasha grabbed her Danish and cup of coffee and found a seat outside on the patio.
“That was amazing!” she said. “I was almost too frightened to speak, but I did it, and she smiled at me! How wonderful was that?!?”
Atasha raved for another minute. Finally, Jaka reminded her of her breakfast, and she took a bite of the Danish.
“Holy Triton! This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” Atasha devoured the Danish and sipped the coffee, immediately choking on the bitter flavor.
Jaka laughed. “Sorry, I forgot to warn you. Most people put sugar and cream in their coffee.”
“You didn’t,” Atasha said.
“Yes, well, I like my coffee as black as my soul.”
Atasha laughed at his joke and tucked her concern for him in the back of her mind. She would have to come back to it eventually, but now was not the time.
“I want to go snopping,” she said.
“I think you mean shopping,” Jaka chuckled. “Let’s go.”
They threw their empty cups and napkins in the trash can by the door and walked down the street.
- In a semi-private workspace at the library –
They had to wait for a couple of hours before the shops opened, but Atasha doesn’t mind. She enjoys walking through the park, watching the birds, the squirrels and of course, the people. The human children fascinate her. They are so young, but they use their legs so well. One child was skipping, and another was running. She sees a small child, an infant most likely, being carried by its mother in a pouch of some kind. When Atasha asked if human mothers grew pouches when they had babies, Jaka laughed at her.
The morning went by without drawing much attention to the pair, but when they enter the first clothing shop, Atasha squeals and runs through the store touching everything. She is reprimanded by the clerk, but she can’t contain her excitement as she tried on blue jeans, skirts, slacks, and shorts.
“There are so many options!” she says.
Mermaids rarely wore clothes. If they did, it was a top or a belt, but nothing so elaborate as the dresses and suits and shirts and pants she found at that tiny human shop.
When Atasha finally goes to the counter with her purchases, Jaka gives her a wad of bills and explains to her what each was worth. Then he helps her count out what she needed. The clerk eyes them both suspiciously but doesn’t say anything.
Jaka buys Atasha a smoothie from a street vendor, and they continue to explore the town.
“Tell me about your first time on land,” she asks him between sips.
“You’ve heard that story before.”
“But I didn’t really understand it before. Tell it again.”
Jaka sighs and begins to tell her again about his first time on land. It had been another city, a bigger one. He tells her about the people he saw and the buildings and animals. He hesitates, not wanting to tell her more, but now that she was sixteen and able to visit the human world, she needs to know of the dangers too.
“A boy punched me in the gut when I said hello,” Jaka says.
Atasha’s eyes widen.
“Just for saying hello?”
“Well, saying hello to his girlfriend. She was pretty, and I didn’t see him next to her. I may have flirted a little bit.” He gives a sideways smile to his friend.
“So, he beat you up for flirting with his girl?”
Jaka nods. The punch had knocked the air out of him, and he lay on the ground for several minutes thinking he was going to die. He had only just learned to breath air that morning and having it taken away was the worst he’d ever felt.
“You can’t be too friendly,” he says. “You worry me when you get so excited.”
Atasha nods, taken aback. She glances at the humans over Jaka’s shoulder. A couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. She feels a sadness that she didn’t expect.
“I want to walk with them, live as one of them, maybe love…” She looks at Jaka, pleading for him not to ruin her fantasy.
“Just be careful,” he concedes. “Not all humans are good.”
Writing Prompt:
Begin a piece of writing in the evening. If you need an idea, flip to the prompts in the next section. Write at least one page. Put away the page. Then, in a few days, write on the same subject, as if starting it from scratch, during a morning session. Put away the page. After a few more days, pull out both pages and compare them. Which do you like better? Try this exercise a few times to help you gauge your best time for being creative.
Night –
The room is silent and black. I can’t see anything for several moments. As my eyes adjust, I see a red door. I think it’s red. It actually looks dark brown… but I’m assuming in the light it will look red. No light comes. The silence continues on the outside, but inwardly I hear my breaths coming faster, my pulse whooshing through my head, my feet shuffling softly. I make my way to the door and turn the knob. I almost don’t try and pull it open.
I pull.
Hot, white light rushes at me, blinding me. I hear the tooting of a pipe organ. Up and down, the melody goes in a silly tune. I blink my eyes rapidly until I can make out movement, a spinning cylinder. Pieces are moving inside the cylinder too. Then it hits me. A carousel!
What is a carousel doing here? Where even am I?
I walk down the hill cautiously. I turn to look back at the dark room and I see my father standing in the beam of light. He nods at me and gestures to the carousel. I smile at him, then I turn and run.
My bare feet slip slightly in the damp grass. I laugh as I stumble into the ride and hop on. Slowly I walk through the intricately detailed horses, running my hands over their realistic coats and through their long manes. I hear a ninny and startle, swearing the horse at the corner of my vision shook its head.
I shake my own head and climb on top of a grey horse with a purple saddle. I grip the pole and the horse takes me up and down as we spin around and around in time with the music. I lean back and let me hair float in the breeze. I am young and carefree again. Nothing worries me. Nothing bothers me. I am at peace.
I look over at the room from where I came. I see my father grab the knob to the red door. He looks at me with a sad expression and pushes the door shut.
Morning –
He lives in the house with the red door. I walk past it everyday on my way home. He never comes out, but sometimes he can be seen looking out the upstairs window. I think about him each day when I pass his house. Who is he? Why does he stay inside? Sometimes I make up stories.
Maybe he’s from another planet, like Superman, but instead of the yellow sun giving him powers, it weakens him. Maybe he only leaves his house at night, when he can be free and wild without tiring.
Maybe he was born in that house and has lived there every day not knowing he could leave. All of his windows and doors are mirrors on the inside and he can’t even see out into the world. From his perspective, his house is the whole world.
Maybe he doesn’t like people. He’s a hermit who reads all day, not caring that there’s a whole world outside that red door. He is content visiting the world through books, where he doesn’t have to interact with real people.
But one day as I pass the house with the red door, he is watching me from his upstairs window. I stop and look up at him. I smile at him. He smiles back.
Maybe he just needs someone to show him kindness.
Writing Prompt:
Write a scene that is set at night. It should posses an element of intrigue or mystery. Write the scene at night. Push yourself to take risks with the language or the images or simply with the events in the scene. Allow the scene to end without resolution so that at least one more scene will be needed to provide any sort of closure. Write that scene in the morning. Put the scenes away for a few days, then take them out and reread them. Do they connect? Do the actions and the tone match?
Night –
In the middle of the ocean, with no nearby cities, the night sky is brightly speckled with stars and galaxies. Meteors race across in a white line that instantly disappears. Atasha barely notices the beauty of it all. She’s racing to land.
As graceful as a dolphin, Atasha leaps and dives in and out of the water as fast as her fins can take her. She has never been to land before. The excitement comes out of her in whoops and giggles.
Jaka follows her, occasionally giving her directions. He has been to the human world already.
Atasha slows as she sees a dark mass on the horizon. It is dotted with faint lights. As she gets closer, she sees trees and buildings and tall poles with globes of light atop them.
“Head to a dark piece of land,” Jaka warns. “We don’t want any humans to see us.”
They arrive in a dark cove and Atasha lifts herself onto the beach, only partially aware that no one is around. When her full body is on dry land, an itching, tingling sensation spreads across her fins. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it changes and separates into two human legs.
Atasha giggles. Jaka hushes her as he to is now on land and transforming. Atasha smiles at her friend and he gives her a smirk.
Something clatters behind them and Atasha jumps.
“Someone is here,” Jaka says.
Morning –
Atasha huddles close to her friend, suddenly not so excited to visit the human world. Another clatter. Then a strange, high-pitched moan.
From behind a trash bin, a shadow moves. A small furry animal walks out. It mews at Atasha.
“What is that?”
“That, my friend,” Jaka says, “is a kitten.”
- What did I learn from these exercises?
I don’t like mornings. And mornings are definitely not a time for me to be creative. Not only does it take a while for me to wake up, but the house is waking up around me, wanting me, needing me. I cannot be creative when I have a pressing need waiting for me, feeding the kids, etc. I think that is also why I usually am more productive when I write at the library. When I’m at home, I see the other things I need to be doing, cleaning, laundry, making a shopping list, and it distracts me from being in the creative mindset.
So, how did you like these exercises? What type of setting is best for you and your writing?