So, upon my grandmother-in-law’s request, I have joined a writing group with her. I was somewhat concerned that it would be filled with members which were more of her demographic than my own, but I was pleasantly surprised by the diversity in the crowd. Nearly 20 people were there, which is pretty good for a local group.
Anyways, to the point, the group does timed prompts to get some ideas flowing and get words on paper (or on screen, in my case). So, I’m going to throw my responses to these prompts here for people to browse at their leisure. This will likely be a weekly thing (the group meets on Tuesdays, so look for these Wednesdays).
Fair warning: they will not be in my typical milieu (sci-fi), though some may be. They will also generally be incomplete as the timer dictates when we stop.
Prompt 1: Handle with care, write about a very delicate or fragile object.
There’s an amazing amount of pressure when it comes to raising a child. The point here is fragility and delicacy, but those aren’t necessarily physical traits. Lliam, my son, is two and he is far from delicate or fragile. He regularly rebounds off walls at full speed without slowing a bit. He crashes to the floor and only says “I fall down” before leaping straight back to his feet and scurrying off. He fears nothing, except the vacuum cleaner (a fear he shares with the cats, so he at least has cowering company).
No, it’s not Lliam who is delicate. It is his future. As a parent, I am constantly aware of the mistakes I have made in life. I can remember the difficulty I made for myself in grade school. I remember the lack of studiousness in college. I remember the resulting unemployment. I remember these things daily not because they have a daily effect on my life, but because I worry that he’ll make those same mistakes.
It’s an interesting conflict inside my mind. On one side, I know that I have to let him him make mistakes so that he can learn. I know he should fall, and hurt, and struggle in order to learn to get up, to soothe, and to overcome. On the other side, why should I let him make mistakes that will adversely affect him for life if I can prevent them? Why learn from my own mistakes?
Prompt 2: Write about your muse
My muse is big, and it’s ugly. It’s a daunting shadow which overhangs my life, darkening my past and clouding my future. It’s always there, daring me not to seek what I want. Constantly discouraging as it consumes everyone around me into its endless quagmire.
Yes, my muse is corporate America. That promise of prosperity which is worn as a thin veil over an expansive bog of helplessness and dismay. I escaped that bog. I escaped it three months ago. New Year’s resolution, believe it or not. Now, I write.
Writing for the sake of writing is never enough for me. I write because of the looming threat of going back to that life, succumbing to its dire temptation and once again feeling it leach my drive and will. And yes, it is tempting. Daily companionship. Financial security. A nice office plant. These are are alluring sirens.
But I have tied myself to this mast of writing, and I will not give in. It’ll work, and it’ll be okay. I now have plants at home.