Couple of weeks ago, a friend and I talked about what it would take to get our juices flowing on writing. Write Around Portland, a workshop, seemed a fine toe dip into the water. Each of us had been to one of these "prompt" sessions in the past. Mine was five years ago when we first moved to Portland. Since then, been doing onlyl short form writing like this blog.
This morning we joined others at a table at the back room of Hot Lips Pizza--a facilitator plus five others. Two hours to jump start from the wish to the action. Very disciplined, various lengths of time to do the prompts--10 minutes, one minute.
We arrive too late for the first prompt, "stayed up too late." Think my favorite was near the end. Bunch of kitchen tools and hardware were spilled onto a table. We could take one-- or not. The nut pick made me think of jewelry-making, couple of ideas I've had but... Chose the prompt, "on their second attempt." In eight minutes--
A device that will move me on? Oh, I do look for the "it," the object, the key. Creativity is a bitch.
Once upon a time what was it? But back then I was too busy trying to get out. Out of the box. It sides were my time, my place, my gender. Only three sides--what were the others. Maybe a drawing will clarity. [drew two vertical lines, Time and Place, joined at bottom by horizontal unamed line, curved roof at top]
But gender seems to be a curve over the top of my uncompleted box. Needs work. More than a second attempt. Myself as the device needed.
Delightful experience, intense, the plain room filled up with word imagery. Took pleasure in listening to my friend's take, where the same prompt would lead her. Loved differences in the work by the women and men in the room --some funny, funny plus dark, sweetly relfective, poetic.
Do I have too good a life to write more--another play? So many pleasures (which I definitely believe I deserve on my less political days).
Only aging might prompt me, perhaps.