Action

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Action

November 20th, 2011

5-minute drill

By Michael

"Action!" "Onward!" "Forward!"
"Go west young man!" "California or Bust!"
How about "California AND Bust!"

Constant progress, as a mandate,
is the mantra of the bacteria in the petri dish.
"Fuel! Fuel! There is still more fuel!" Procreate!
Fill. This. Dish.

Then the raised and beveled glass sides rise.
Behind this advancing line of muck there is only ruin...
a frothy, oozing mass of overindulgence.

Pressed against the wall, the bacteria choke and gasp.
On the outside, the scientists observe without sadness.
Life, in its many other forms, goes on.

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By Rachael

Sometimes action challenges me. It competes with all of the ideas that take seed and start growing within me. I love ideas, concepts. But action. Action is hard. Action is full of responsibility, but so is the lack of action.

I often wonder what is the magic button to push to get action. Maybe it lies in the green, mucky vegan protein shake that I make myself drink. Or maybe the magic of action lies in the chia seeds that have suddenly become the object of my obsession. I guess, looking at it, action comes down to what you want.

What do I want? What on earth do I want? Often the answer to that lies beyond my grasp. I guess there is action necessary to discover that... When things get done, the answer will emerge.

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Substance

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Substance

November 20th, 2011
5-minute drill

By Sandy

Substance: Oddly, varied word. It can be an abstract word, as in "Your character can be "of substance", which is a good thing. Or a noun, as in "Some people partake in an illegal substance", which can be a bad thing. Or it can be tangible, as in all matter is made up of a substance(s), which is also a scientific thing. There are towns called "Substance". There is something in my refridgerator, which is an "unknown substance". It is also considered as the subject matter of thought, discourse, study, etc. Glad we have this word, "substance". It is, evidently, a substantial part of our language!

By Michael

Substance... is ephemeral. How to keep it from evaporating away into ether? What is substance, really? Physicists don't even know for sure. What we perceive as solid objects are explained as quivering waves of energy that can be both here and on the other side of the universe at the same time, or they could be something altogether different in some alternative-parallel reality. So says the God of logic, mathematics, and science.

I know what has substance in my daily life: a walk down a leaf-strewn lane, the water reflecting the grey clouds and orange trees, a glint of snow on the mountains. The skunk tracks painted in white cross the asphalt trail, where we stop to help the old dog who has decided his walk is over. He is not lost in his own mind, even though his owners are searching worriedly for him farther up the trail.

(5 minutes ended here)

We wait, beside him, until his owners arrive, informed by the passing cyclist of his location. He grumbles, and stands reluctantly. Reunited, they go on their way. We go ours. This is substance.


By Rachael

It's not even a question worth asking. Because if you don't already know the answer, you never will. What is this thing that we feed? What is this substance that we seek? It comes in few forms, but it is easily faked. Pretty boxed knick-knacks and sparkly gems, made by someone halfway across the world, make us feel (or maybe prevent us from feeling) all that we want, what we yearn for. If you can walk among the wildflowers and fee like you won something, or have a conversation and get your soul to open just a bit, you'll never ask the question because you already know the answer. 

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Clock

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 "Clock"

Finish The Story
3-Minute Drill

July 25th, 2010

In this exercise, we each started a story during the first drill. Then we had a second, timed drill to finish the story that the other had started. This is one of the completed short stories. Fun!

By Rachael:

Out of the window, she saw the people bustling in the cold air. Puffs of mist pushed their way in front of the faces of all the self-important men. Women with prams fussed with each other over the chill of the morning. With the table set for all her family, she turned wearily to the kettle that was now screaming. It reminded her of the demands of the day, shoving their way into her awareness. How was it that time moved so slowly when she was here? Cooking. Cleaning. Tending the babies. How could the hands of the clock move so slowly? She often checked to see if it were running.

By Michael:

The clock was running alright, but life seemed to be crawling. There was a knock at the front door. Who could it be? She heard a strange shuffling noise as she approached, as if somebody was trying to scuttle away quickly. She pushed aside her apprehension and opened the door. Bright lights! Cameras! People! She squinted into the glare. Ed McMahon appeared from behind the closest camera and said: "Aren't you glad you sent in your envelope?"

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Tragic Comedy

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Tragic Comedy

July 25th, 2010

By Rachael:

"Tragic comedy" is a perfect way to make sense of this. How many of you believe that your make-up must be just so, or your day will be ruined? How many of you must have polished, fancy cars to get it right? No, that's not comedy at all - that is tragedy. The tragedy of not seeing is far worse than empty moments. Can you not see that the comedy is actually in seeing? Actually partaking in the wonder of all human fallibility. Laughter saves us. You have tragedy in your bags full of purchases and goods. I have life, wonder, and love because I see.

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By Michael: 

"Tragic comedy" - sounds like a nonsense word to you I bet. But in the lives of so many, it is the phrase they might choose that most adequately conveys their reality. One tragedy after another... but somehow they find it within themselves to get up, dust themselves off, and laugh at the hilarity and the impossibility of their situation. Somehow they find within themselves the ability to become more than mere victims of circumstance, to be fully human.

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Undertones

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Undertones

January 1st, 2011

By Rachael:

She looked into the cup and swirled the dark, swampy liquid. She knew that her effort had its rewards in store. As the night drew in, she listened to the calls of the birds and the never ending drone of the cicadas. Potions usually put her at peace. Usually a good mood at that. 

Tonight she waited for her guest. The lone woman that needed her help. Her help alone would make the difference between life and death. Maybe. Probably...

As she swirled the liquid, undertones of black cohosh and lemon balm brought her back to a place she knew. She didn't have to taste this brew to be familiar with the loss it meant, the pain it meant, the loss it prevented.

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By Michael:

When I was young, Angie and I used to hunt for good places to play music and to sing harmony. We would sing under the 16th Street bridge as the cars thundered overhead and muddy water gurgled softly along, on its way to farms and to Mexico.

We would walk into the tunnel between the gym and the old-fashioned barber shop, with its metal stools and 2 barbers in white, to sing. Alto and baritone pitches melded with bass undertones that seemed to ooze from within cold, grey cement walls. Sweet harmonies reverberated throughout the hall for a few minutes; and have echoed through the years of my life. I can still hear them faint in the distance.

I would pull out my harmonica and play until somebody walked in. Then the music would stop, often before they had heard anything. We would walk out calmly, with smirks on our faces. We had just gotten away with something secret.

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Elbow

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"Elbow"

August 9th, 2010

By Rachael:

What a privilege to be able to debate the word of inspiration. "Elbow" or "anthropology." They had to make a quick decision. Don't they realize that where they stand there is so little in their way? Full bellies and a warm bed. Two people together.

How is it that the weight of the brokenness of everything doesn't crush the simple pleasure? And yet... they keep the warmth of prayer reserved for just those things. Wounds too deep to heal, sadness that has no outlet nor a lid to keep it contained. In the folly and laughter of free writing games, their rivers flow deep and slow.

They will read the privilege of the moment, the luxury of toying and playing with concepts and ideas. After all, no one is hungry. No one is brokenhearted. The pleasure, that simple, basic pleasure of human expression sustains the weary. This is their secret to satisfy the hunger in their souls.

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By Michael:

My elbows are trying to tell me something... Lightning storm perhaps? Tornado? Hurricane? "Don't do bunny hops on BMX's or roller-blade through tree branches if you're over 35?" Or are they telling me something about balance?

It used to be only one elbow that would complain. Like an old mother-in-law who felt robbed of her son, it has something to say. What do I hear? I hear a story of fun and adventure... a nursery rhyme from an old man in a rocking chair who is animatedly telling a tale to his young audience. These are the fruits of a lifetime of careful planting and harvesting.

They don't believe a word he says, and he doesn't care. Only he knows that every last word is true. The smiles and laughter on the delighted faces of unbelieving children are his reward.

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Intro

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Rachael and I have been playing writing games off and on since we met in the spring of 2010. I have a box full of the sheets we've written on and a binder that is beginning to fill up with more. We usually take a book off the shelf, and while one of us holds the book open, the other closes his or her eyes and points to a spot on the page. Usually we go with whatever word is pointed out. Sometimes neither of us likes the word and we'll choose again.

Depending on the mood we're in, we'll give ourselves anywhere between 2 and 5 minutes to write. Sometimes we feel like our writing is inspired, and other times we feel like we're just trudging along. No matter how we feel, we discover new and interesting things about ourselves and each other.

I've chosen this  first writing from August of 2010, because I think it gives a peek at what is to come in the writings that we'll continue to share. It's always exciting for us to see what will appear when that timer goes off. The results vary (as you will see) but that is part of the adventure.We hope that you will enjoy the discovery as much as we have.

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