So I went to writing camp, and it was about imagery. We had homework every night, and I liked some of the results. They were written quickly, and are unrevised, but I hope you can find something in them to like.
Day 1: Use a 2D image.
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On the Nature of Windows
the chapel was broken in a million tiny ways.
the arms of the pews had been
worn down by nervous fingers,
the once-smooth stone was
porous and rough,
the floor was grimy and covered in dust.
but that window--
that beautiful stained-glass window--
it shone, still brilliant,
a flurry of color,
of color that cut through the grey decay--
it was fire,
and orange,
and deep sweet blue,
rich dark purple,
and white.
on the floor and the pews
where it laid itself down,
it fell like petals
and draped like silk--
the thirsty grey stone
drank the colors
down,
and they were warm,
and it was cold,
and they were so living,
and it so dead,
and it felt
beautiful
again.
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My thanks to e. e. cummings for pioneering the art of spacing your lines exactly where you want to. It felt pretty natural handwitten, but typing it up, I feel like I've committed wholly to a trick that isn't mine. But hey, steal from the best, right?
Day 2: The assignment was to evoke a person without using their face at all.
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Sometimes I think she was made of shoes.
Like one time, we went to the park in April because she wanted to play on the playground in the rain. She didn’t check the forecast, she just expected it to rain, right then, at 2:00, just because she wanted it to. And if it wouldn’t rain for her right on schedule, she at least wanted to jump in the puddles from yesterday’s rain, and this morning’s rain, and whatever rain was left over from last month that hadn’t managed to evaporate yet because it kept raining all the time. She was already there when I drove up. She was standing by this gigantic puddle in the parking lot, and there was this rubber ducky floating in the middle of this huge muddy parking-lot puddle, and she was standing at the very edge of the puddle with her toes just in the water in these bright yellow rain boots.
Or like that time she managed to break in through my window at four in the freaking morning—with two cups of hot Starbucks, no less—and she was like, “get up, sleepyhead! It’s beach time!” It was still, like, half an hour to sun-up when we got to the boardwalk. It was dark, still, but kind of dusky so you could still see, and everything was really, weirdly still. No birds, no people, not even sun—it was just the waves going up, and turning white, and down, and up, and down, and the weird thing is, she didn’t even want to do anything. She just sat there on the railing of the boardwalk in her blue jeans and these funny white ballet flats, kicking her feet back and forth.
Or like, our sophomore year, these two guys dared us to go to prom with them, and I was like, “no”, and she was like, “challenge accepted!” and then I was like, “okay fine.” So then she took me shopping, and picked out my dress and shoes and everything, and it was actually pretty fun. And then, prom night, she showed up at my house in this lacey little black dress, black fishnets, and bright pink Chuck Taylor high-tops carrying a box of what she termed, “schmancy dinner a la Dominoes.”
The last time I saw her she was barefoot, sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room. She showed me the bus ticked, and promised she’d be safe. And then she walked out of my room, and down the stairs, and to the door; and she put on her Nike running shoes, and I haven’t seen her since.
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I'll be honest, I wrote that for the last scene. And the second one. I like the second one. I don't know-- let me know what you think.
Day 3: [Telling you the prompt would give it away.]
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She tumbled out of bed
in her Disney princess pajamas,
her fluffy red hair unkempt,
and slipped on her Cookie Monster slippers.
She walked downstairs to the kitchen,
where she placed one scoop of orange sherbet
next to one scoop of raspberry sherbet
in a blue bowl.
And then she took her breakfast out to the deck,
and watched the sun rise over the lake.
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You have to visualize it or else it's boring.
Day 4: Use a list to create a sense of breadth.
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How do I hate thee?
Let me count the ways.
Thou art more oppressive than humidity in Iowa in July,
more cumbersome than having to explain your intentions to your mother,
your neediness is like having maple syrup on your fingers
and there's no water in sight;
I hate you freer than a worn-out couch on a curb,
purer than the faith of Mother Theresa;
I hate you stronger than your own unshakeable loneliness
and with all the passion of your aggressive hopelessness;
you smell like dirty gym socks,
and you speak with the grace of a rotting gazelle.
I hate you harder than a math test you stayed up all night studying for,
and after talking to you, I feel like I have to go shake like a dog.
In short,
I hate you to the moon, and straight on 'til morning.
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Disclaimed: that wasn't written at a person-- it's a joke. And anyway, Joella liked it.
Right. I went to Iowa City for a week and read lots and lots and lots of stuff, and listened to many very smart people talk, and wrote some stuff that wasn't as good as the stuff the genius people wrote, but I thought there were redeeming qualities to all of them, and on the whole I like them, so I shared them with you. I hope you enjoyed.
Thanks for reading, and definitely leave a comment and tell me what you thought.
Cheers!
