Some parents want their kids to STOP talking STOP leaving their toys on the floor STOP fighting STOP waking up so early on weekends STOP chewing with their mouth open STOP talking back STOP poking their brother in the car STOP asking are we there yet STOP forgetting to brush their teeth or do their homework or take the trash out STOP growing up so fast STOP STOP STOP forgetting that this is our sign to STOP wishing away their childhoods and START pleading that you will someday take your last breath knowing that their lungs are still taking in air and that their heart continues beating long after yours has STOPPED
Oh yes. STOP in all caps in this short piece feels like a shout each time the reader encounters it. It's hugely effective. You're basically giving the reader the experience the kids get, over and over again, throughout the day. The brevity suits this piece too. I love the places where you slightly alter the pattern, like "STOP STOP STOP" "START" and ending on 'STOPPED." I wish I'd mentioned it in my craft piece because that's a HUGE part of making experimental pieces work. Changing the pattern briefly, then returning to it, is a great way to show emphasis or a shift or allude to something else going on. It also gives the reader's brain a break in a longer experimental piece where any repetition may become tiresome. You nailed it, Jane!
Kathy, thank for your careful reading of my piece and the generous comments! You have created a space here that is brimming with creativity and positivity. It is a delight to participate in this extravaganza!
Mine is more a poem than a story, I think, but it’s what it wanted to be. And it was fun. I love your 2 stories, Kathy. Not to be negative but I have to say stories without any punctuation or some kind of visual pause (like in “Cracks”) is really hard on my eyes & a challenge to read. Anyway…..here’s my whatever-it-is which I cobbled together with words & phrases from a file I keep.
Identity
There’s no other way to say this except >>>she was a tatterdemalion >>>over-caffeinated and full of spit>>>a wet melon in a tornado>>>a swelling purple bruise>>>the tart scent of a striking match>>>a glorious larval white monster>>>
{but also}
>>>a sea-colored sky>>>the exhilaration of flying horses>>>cool twilight in a mountain pass>>>a blown kiss landing on a cheek>>>the secret pleasure of a good deed untold>>>a juicy fruit pie>>>
{because experience has taught her}
>>>Our hearts are so much bigger than our broken parts>>>Our souls are so much stronger than our shredded parts<<<
Yeah, I get you about how hard an unpunctuated story is on the eyes. My eyes get tired enough as it is! I don't think this particular platform, for whatever reason, is easy on the eyes. But yeah, that's certainly the challenge and the reason we have punctuation in the first place! Having said all this, I LOVE the approach you took here, Charlotte. The "creative" punctuation just adds to the already delightful piece. I'm not good at articulating things like this other than to say it gives me a certain feeling...like I'm not just reading, I'm engaging with a piece of art almost. The carats make me pause in a way just commas or em dashes wouldn't. I also loved {but also} set off by itself and {because experience as taught her}. Im glad you had fun with this! I love how delightfully fresh the writing is all through it. And then it ends so profoundly and movingly. Terrific.
I liked the juxtapositions of the first para - full of spit , a wet melon, purple bruise with the second with sea colored sky and the secret pleasure. Really creative piece!
Yes, the chevrons work really well,and in the UK anyhow, are used on road signs to indicate that a harsh turn is coming, but this happens in your piece in a gentle way as you lead us into the bend (the volta if this wre a sonnet) where she isn't the purple bruise but the cool of a mountain and then top and tailing the point of this poem/flash i.e. our souls are so much stronger. I wish I were so creative, but I'm learning from you and others on here...
Lindy, I don’t think of myself as very creative, maybe just a little. Kathy’s workshops have helped me think more than any others I’ve attended. She’s a natural teacher. My one bit of advice is don’t compare your writing to others. Yours is unique - lean into that. 😊
I too looked up tatterdemalion & absolutely love that word. The punctuation really worked in this piece as does the organization: 1 paragraph of negative phrases (not sure a larval white monster can be glorious); {}; 1 paragraph of positive images {} fabulous insight expressed in beautiful comparisons. Loved it
Charlotte, What a great way to break up so that it's easy on the eyes. The standard / to break things up is harder to read, so I love this. I learned a new word: tatterdemalion! Wow! Very cool. I really enjoyed reading this.
So not in a stalkerish sort of way - well maybe i guess stalking a bit - if you call facebook stalking stalking - i mean I hadn’t thought about you in half a century but then I saw that movie and he ended up with his first and I thought I wondered what you looked like now - is googling stalking?
First I did your whole name but then your nickname and it was still that and you came up top of the list only fifty years older and your long black hair was short and grey but your eyes, those kind sad eyes, I knew that was you. And your mangled hands from kung fu - was it kung fu or taekwondo that you did? - and drumming - remember when I won that Doobie Brothers record off the radio and I never won anything but they were your favourite band and I won it for you.
I wonder if you still do the martial arts. And drum. I guess you have a car in your garage now.
You looked casual for a general manager - same business your whole life - WOW!
I can’t even remember all the things I’ve done but I’ve always been restless, you knew that - even when I told you I was going, you said you always knew I would and the sadness in your eyes when I went - that’s never left me - not in all these years - and I want you to know - I’m sorry.
I like how you used the dashes. I feel like the narrator is pulling me aside and telling me something privately, which makes me feel closer to the narrator. It feels very intimate.
This is a great stream. I love how you've used tiny details to give a sense of both of them, and the ending feels real, like a real sorry. Can't get better than making a reader feel it's real.
I read this piece again and I liked the way the dashes are always ( mostly, anyway) followed by self questioning . You build it up nicely for the reader and then the last line punctuated by all the dashes showing so much emotion for the narrator.
Sarah, I think the space-space thing works well. It seems as if it's in place of -- (dash) which (and I am not a grammar nerd) is usually without spaces and can look a little crunched. This adds air to breath in here as if the speaker is taking a breath and musing on all this instead of being breathless. Oh those bittersweet memories!
Thanks Luanne, I basically know nothing about grammar, I didn’t know there were two different types of dashes til a few years ago 😂. So I like writing where the grammar rules are ignored, because I don’t know them anyway 😂.
Your first line "So not in a stalkerish sort of way" immediately pulls me into the piece. Then it states things people learn in FB that could apply to all of us looking up an ex, providing a nice universal appeal. But that last paragraph, and the use of - turns to the very specific and regrets, not for being who she is, but that it hurt him - is so poignant.
I haven’t seen my grandmother’s ghost lately and you’d think that would be a good thing you know wanting her to rest in peace but I wonder when she got so far away she couldn’t reappear in the yellow bedroom the dusty corner by the old full length mirror the way she did when I was 19 and woke to see her late at night a monolith of dark rags turning faintly like she was hung by a string in the corner and I screamed I remember the darkness around her was like dead leaves like the rags from her form shooting out into the space and even though it was terrifying it meant I could see through this life into death it meant after death there is not just nothingness and maybe the rest of the rags could have peeled free of her ghost revealing her underneath still her her love her face her alive again or at least happy.
Liked the whole story unfolding without punctuation , like a prose poem! There is so much you show here , the love for the grandmother , and the larger meaning of life and death. Enjoyed reading it.
Grandma’s soft afghan and Holly Hobbie & Whiffs of bacon and Sanka floated to our bedrooms & WMTR 538 AM announced county-wide school closures & Bell-bottoms and layers of jagged woolen clothes & The first deep breath in felt like crushed glass in your chest & Maple trees stood frozen at attention & Powdered snow beckoned for our winged designs & Red Radio Flyers careened downhill battling for victory & Mom poured creamy hot cocoa from a saucepan into mugs & Hickory wafted from the wood burning red brick fireplace & Dad slyly passed out Jiffy Pop Popcorn with a wink.
Light from the setting sun envelops the flight Turns scales gold and copper and vermilion as we wheel and dip and flare slipping in and out of thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky At the green flash we roar gouts of flame then slide through the flickering circle and plummet Bodies streamlined we fall a flash of light until muscles scream to pull up and barrel roll then lightly touch down responsibilities waiting The end of another girls day out.
Oh! That title ROCKS. And this flows beautifully from it. I love "slipping in abd out of thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky. Your capital letters do the works of punctuating without full stops, as if you want the reader to just keep flowing from image to image and keep the movement going. I love how this piece sounds. I read it out loud a few times. This is another piece that lands on a full stop and that's a solid choice here because it really is the end of this day. Love it, Debi.
this is gorgeous and mysterious, Who is flying? Falcons, people in jet planes, bodies of humans with wings. It doesn’t matter, it’s abouth flight and having no punctuation wirks beautifully, lets me fly with them. “ slipping in and out of the thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky” such clean prose with just the right amount if words to describe flying.
Gorgeous & mysterious -- such high praise -- thank you. I was dreaming of dragons when writing this piece, but left it open for readers to make their own connections.
ah, I love dragons and also have written of them as images in an imaging piece of me and my cat flying. And one of a dying girl that’s in Raw Lit, issue five. You might like it.
Vati, your Raw Lit piece is incredibly moving. The grace with which you watch and dream for a young girl is a model of how we can approach a loved one's final departure. Thank you for sharing
Love, love, love this, Debi! I agree with Kathy the title is inspired and joy suffuses the story. I liked blurring the lines between girls in the air and planes. Lightly touching down because responsibilities were waiting is so good.
I love the idea of trying this exercise (both ways) so much! Since it's another bad day for many ways I thought I would take a story that I've written and try the exercise of taking out the punctuation. Note that I left the H in Happy because it's something that the narrator is looking at. If there is other punctuation it's because I missed it or it's an apostrophe or hyphen in a word. I think there's a real problem with differentiating dialogue though. There are 4 places of tiny dialogue by other people.
missing his birthday
all squishy noses and mouths they present a pink cake titled Happy 89 can you smell the cherries but i smell nothing i reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys you like mandms so that’s what they are but what are mandms i hate to ask because then they give me the look maybe no cake for now because they are pulling out the plastic blowers look at those old ladies grabbing the bubbles like goofy ballet dancers i ask the nose who sits next to me what’s for dinner just don’t feed me that dried-up salmon i want to know if she has a limp but they say i ask too many questions she hands me a cup with a straw like a scimitar sorry for being crude urges me to slurp some watered-down juice before i recall not to ask another question i point to the flower pattern on the chairs what do you call those again periwinkle remember i scratch my whiskers when is the last time i’ve shaved how celia love-hates it when i rub her cheek with mine just before i shave she’s always so happy-go-lucky which is why i can keep up my spirits where is celia i’d hate for her to miss cake just there at the door there’s my celia of course she wouldn’t miss the cake or the bubbles celia i fumble for her hand dad it’s me Shannon i better not ask any questions or i’ll get the look
As per Jane's request here is the original version:
Missing His Birthday
All squishy noses and mouths, they present a pink cake titled Happy 89. "Can you smell the cherries?" But I smell nothing. I reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys. "You like M&Ms?" So that’s what they are. But what are M&Ms? I hate to ask because then they give me the look. Maybe no cake for now because they are pulling out the plastic blowers. Look at those old ladies grabbing the bubbles like goofy ballet dancers.
I ask the nose who sits next to me what’s for dinner. Just don’t feed me that dried-up salmon. I want to know if she has a limp, but they say I ask too many questions. She hands me a cup with a straw like a scimitar, sorry for being crude, urges me to slurp some watered-down juice. Before I recall not to ask another question, I point to the flower pattern on the chairs. What do you call those again? "Periwinkle, remember?"
I scratch my whiskers. When is the last time I’ve shaved? How Celia love-hates it when I rub her cheek with mine just before I shave. She’s always so happy-go-lucky, which is why I can keep up my spirits. Where is Celia? I’d hate for her to miss cake. Just there! At the door, there’s my Celia. Of course, she wouldn’t miss the cake or the bubbles. Celia! I fumble for her hand. "Dad, it’s me. Shannon." I better not ask any questions, or I’ll get the look.
I laughed, in both versions, at "I ask the nose who sits next to me..." I think what you've demonstrated here is the importance of punctuation for clarity in a story. M & Ms without the ampersand is just...confusing, right? I think you still could revise the story with minimal punctuation, but you'd have to make other revisions as well, find those places where the lack of punctuation is confusing, and find a way to smooth it out. All that said, I love your original as is! You got right inside the head of this 89 year old in a way that feels very authentic and sad at the same time. The last paragraph, particularly, is so moving and devastating. I wonder what you'd come up with if you began a new story with "creative punctuation." I wonder if that would drive a different kind of story altogther? That said, I think any kind of unusual mental state is served well with an experimental approach.
Thanks for much for letting me know how it reads for you! I will definitely try the lack of punctuation (and the one with weird punctuation) from scratch. I had the grandbaby (17 months) 4 out of 8 days, and I have severe fatigue from the surgery (which the surgeon said will last six months!!!), so I am not in my best mind ;). I can't wait to try many of these prompts again this fall, if not before. This one intrigues me an awful lot! (BTW, 3 of my immersion stories have been picked up by 2 journals yay and thank you).
Wow, first of all, congratulations on the acceptances! That's thrilling to hear! But I'm sorry you're still struggling with taking care of the little one and feeling so much lingering fatigue. I hope you get a break soon! xoxo
This is great, I think the original is nearly a stream of consciousness, so when you removed the punctuation it danced happily into the water. I especially loved "i ask the nose".
I really liked the second version, I just ' got it' than the first but yes combination would work great! You have showed so well the MC's thought process at his own birthday party, the increasing forgetfulness yet knowing what others don't like of him ( asking too many questions).
Meghana, thank you for letting me know. I'll try taking the original and just tweaking it a bit to make the form fit his mind a bit better. If it doesn't work, I'll stick with the original.
Just me, but I prefer the one without punctuation. The man has lost a lot of his memory and mind, and the missing punctuation seems to empahsise that. It does make him seem childish as somebody else has said, but then, in some ways he is, and I liked the fact that we only knew for sure that he was 89 when we got to the beard and finally to the daughter he thinks is his late wife. The fact we have to wait to read the clues as they fall gives the story motion and the lack of punctuation does that too. Thank you!
It's fascinating how we read stories so differently. Since you are strong in your belief about this and Kathy and Sarah are in theirs, I might try what View suggests, trying to combine both. And just see what happens. maybe something like this:
all squishy noses and mouths they present me a pink cake titled Happy 89
"Can you smell the cherries?"
but i smell nothing i reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys you like M&Ms"
I really loved comparing the two versions! Thanks for sharing. I like the idea of combining the two. You could also use less punctuation progressively in the piece.
The punctuation makes a difference for me I think. When I read the beginning of the first one, i thought it was a kid at first, until I got to the scratchy whiskers 😂. I had an easier time understanding the second punctuated version. And then I thought about how he was maybe thinking like a kid too. Oh, and the M &Ms I couldn’t fathom at all - was wondering what madams where doing on a cake 😂😂😂
thanks for sharing both versions. I liked both for different reasons. And imagine that may be somehow the perfect version is somewhere between the two. In places where it seems appropriate have no punctuation and then in places where it feels appropriate put some in. I like the story.
Thank you so much! I read your "bio" on your substack. I'm so sorry to hear about the way disability has encroached on your other life pleasures. Thank goodness for writing, I think, for many of us.
yes, without writing, I think I would go insane. I was an incredibly active person before this and being stuck most of the time in a room is incredibly challenging, but reading and writing help more than almost anything else. And I love writing flash. And particularly love Kathy‘s weekend classes and extravaganza. I never wrote flash before two years ago so that’s the one good thing that’s come out of this.
Luanne, I really like this. I want to read your punctuated version as well to compare. I suspect the lack of punctuation actually boosts the feeling of disorientation in the piece.
I love playing with punctuation. With this piece I went farther than usual. Creating long sentences that before I might’ve made into two or three. Allowing the reader to take their time going through them. Then closer to the end making staccato short sentences. And even trying a spot in the middle where I separated three almost like stanza. It was so much fun.
Where You Are Not…So Where Are You?
I look for you in the objects you wore like the silver wedding ring your brother made with tiny diagonals of diamonds and sapphires that I took off your finger after you died and put on mine, and though no rings seemed to fit me anymore, this one fit perfectly, snug on my ring finger, I touch it a hundred times a day—but you are not there.
I wear the head scarf, swirls of dark purple and teal that I bought you during Covid and that you wore almost every day, I tie it over my head and try to feel your warmth in it perhaps some oils from your head but nothing now—it’s just a piece of cloth.
And the flannel shirt you wore every winter, your old bones always cold, I put my face in it and smell but someone washed it just before you died and it doesn’t smell of you anymore, it hangs in my closet, inanimate—just another shirt.
The week you died, I picked out my favorite photos, set them by my sitting buddha statue, I look at them every day, trying to remember those moments, trying to remember what it felt like to have my baby body on your lap and in your arms, your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face. I want so much to remember what it felt to be your child. Your little girl. Your teenage daughter. Your adult best friend.
I have a piece of your Christmas cactus, from the big old plant that you tended for over thirty years, transplanted into a blue and white ceramic planter, placed in a window directly in my view, the plant that sat in the window by your bed that you looked at 1 million times, during its dormant season and when it bloomed hot pink flowers that we admired. I try to remember you watering that plant, try to feel you inside its prickly leaves, but you are not there. Nor are you in the little Japanese tea cups I took off your bay window, their gold rims glinting in the morning sunlight.
I want to feel you in something.
I want to smell you somewhere.
I want to hear your voice.
And then I realize that your voice is in my voice and when I speak I hear undertones of you, that your eyes are in my eyes, those stars of golden brown surrounded by sea green. People tell me that I have your smile. That I have your small hands and small feet. That I have your bowed legs. That in some pictures, we look alike.
I talk to you scanning my room, staring at the ceiling, imagining you in the sky. Imagining that pyou can hear me. That you answer my cries. That in the silence of the night, you surround me with your warm arms.
I want to thank everybody for their feedback, on this piece, and just in general. It’s so encouraging, so helpful to feel like there’s something worthwhile in what I write. What we write. That we can be there for each other. And that includes all the wonderful feedback from Kathy. It also helps with revision, as I notice what stands out, what someone likes, what perhaps was not quite as strong in a piece. Having this group and Kathy, during this long stretch of writing, really helps me want to keep writing. Not able to go to writing groups or workshops in person, I am grateful that we are able to do this online. thank you again for your thoughtful replies.
Vati, wow, this piece is composed like a piece of music. I love your long sentences. You achieved exactly what you wanted to with that. You made me slow down and sink into the flow, your descriptions, etc. I found this especially effective:
"The week you died, I picked out my favorite photos, set them by my sitting buddha statue, I look at them every day, trying to remember those moments, trying to remember what it felt like to have my baby body on your lap and in your arms, your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face."
There are six? clauses to this sentence, each piece shows an action, a response and the sentence itself begins with the death and ends on "your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face." I mean, look at all that movement!
I do love the three short sentences set off by themselves. That's musical too. I'm actually teaching a workshop on "musical prose" for the Flash Fiction Festival in England and this could be a great example. The style you have going here in this piece really suits the beauty of your prose. The last paragraph is so beautiful and there you throw in the shorter sentence. It's really effective. This piece is full of "ing" sounds, adding to the flow and music as well. Great response to the exercise.
Wow, wow!! Love, love this piece so much. You begin with the objects and show us where exactly you are trying to find her - in the silver ring, the scarf , the flannel shirt and the photos, oh the description of them and you imagining and remembering , trying to find bits and pieces of her everywhere! And then the three sentences tell us ' I want to feel, smell, hear' , here I like the way you are direct and tell us what you want . So much emotion and feeling and loss! Brilliant!
"And the flannel shirt you wore every winter, your old bones always cold, I put my face in it and smell but someone washed it just before you died and it doesn’t smell of you anymore, it hangs in my closet, inanimate—just another shirt."
Love this heartbreaking and lyrical piece! It really captures searching for someone despite being surrounded by little pieces of them. “Where you are not” is so perfect in the title.
This is beautiful. Beautiful writing and a beautiful tribute.
And I love that insight at the end - that flow in the scond last paragraph - reminds me of the poem “Heredity” by Thomas Hardy. The line “I am the family face” often pops into my head when I look in the mirror, at my kids, at my grandkids, and I think you have written that feeling so beautifully here, and with that last line, the longing, of the recent loss of your mother. 🤗
Oh, this is heartbreaking. Great details. I love the structure. All those objects where usually the grieving find solace, the narrator does not. And then where she finds her mother. Beautiful.
This piece shines with the very specific items you describe with so much detail -- Japanese tea cups, gold rims glinting.... The repetition of items creates a search of its own, first this then that, searching. I liked not knowing until the end of paragraph 4 that the missing person, most likely a woman, is the mom. The third single line: I want to hear your voice provides a great segue into the next paragraph. The thoughtful organization of this piece contributes to its rhythm & power
I love experimental pieces, I wish I'd got to see the different fonts and sizes, but even without I think this works well. Especially the JFK assassination squeezed into one - a sense of how it's part of all our consciousness now.
the very short lines are effective here because they call out the significance of each step. I don't think it would have the same "bam" effect if it had traditional paragraphing. I'm not clear on the last line, if there was no camera footage how would that change?
Steve, this is really cool. So much experimentation! I love how I’m invested in the characters from the start. Form and narrative are coming together in such a fascinating way here.
Why did you love me? I never believed it, even when you told me, did I? Loving me made no sense—who would do that? What trustworthy person would find me lovable? Suspicion had to grow, didn’t it? That you were toying with me? Because every man before tricked me, I expected you to, right?
But did they ever tuck a blanket around me for a nap on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon? Did their eyes soften when they looked my way? Did they cheer me on with words—you can do it—of encouragement?
Did they invite me for the tiniest of errands? And did I stupidly refuse? Thinking it was a chore? While what you wanted was togetherness? And I didn’t know anything about that?
Didn’t I expect stupendous evenings? And extravagant gestures? Seeking—not finding—what I thought were signs of love?
Ah, yes, the interrogative mood! I've given that as a prompt a few times. Love it. Love it for how it makes both writer and reader think. And this really works well once the questions get very specific: But did they ever tuck a blanket around me for a nap on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon? What's really cool about this is, we come to realize, this person is really interrogating themself. Awesome experiment here, Regina. It totally works.
The narrator’s self doubt vibe is strong here. I feel like we all get this way in our heads sometimes. It’s so relatable. Instead of ruminating, I want to use this technique to examine my own thoughts!
Ah, so well done, this! The self doubt yet the realization that the narrator missed the signs of love and now in retrospect , she does. And the self realization ' too broken' in the end says everything.
and that is the reason why i did what i did and that you cannot understand it tells me all i need to know and now that i have that knowledge i can move on and leave you behind and you will be in my past where i rarely look or maybe that's not at all true because look at me now looking back back back again and again and again even when i'm looking forward i alway see you in my rear view mirror either laughing or crying or just giving me that look but what i want to say is that your look pushes me forward into the future so go ahead and smirk, i see you, i raise you, i'm going home with all the winnings.
Oh Mary, this goes right to my writerly heart. I do love a series of "and"s AND I do this a fair bit in my own writing. ;-) It's a great way to achieve breathlessness and now I see there's no punctuation at all besides that period at the end. All of this works so beautifully for the piece. Beginning in media res with "and" implying there's already been a story in progress preceding this...or a conversation anyway. And we're just being shown the tail end of it. One of my prompts is to write the last page of a ten page break up letter. There's the feeling of the speaker/writer almost making themselves come to a conclusion, but the unwritten does so much work here. Where you repeat words...that also has an impact. All of this evokes strong emotion at work for the narrator. Fabulous finish: "I see you, I raise you, I'm going home with the winnings." LOVE that. Have you thought of a title? I feel like playing with the idea of "winnings" would be effective. Great piece and response to the prompt!
Kathy! You are so kind to spend the time reading and commenting! Thank you so much for the supportive comments. I think you're onto something there with "winnings" both as a title and also to play with that notion of win/lose somewhere else in the piece. This one needs work, but I had such fun writing it. Thank you for such a great opportunity to share here on your page.
The continuous, breathless nature of this piece fits so well with the message of internal mutterings -- digressions & arguing with herself. "Your look pushes me forward" is a great redirect to memories as a goad not just a conundrum. in a piece with no punctuation except, the three commas in the last sentence shout like an exclamation mark and convey her determination and power.
Love how you start in the middle of the thought chain. You've achieved a wonderful internal rhythm without the aid of punctuation but with the "and and and" and other repeats. And the way you tie it together with punctuation at the end, a sense of decision, of finality.
Love the way you raise the conflict for the narrator in trying to forget yet being pulled in the past and then the strength in the end when she says , I'm going home with all the winnings. Enjoyed it!
Love the title, Susan. And this is stunning. Truly. Gorgeous language, laid out as a poem, but those last two lines: whoosh! They elevate the piece even further, layering it with meaning and emotional resonance. It's gorgeous. I love "gelid light-consuming world-interpreting eyes"...Okay, now as stated, you like punctuation! If you were to go back to this piece and punctuate it, create sentences with clauses and so forth, would it begin to change, become more of a story? It would be interesting to see. Sometimes when I pour writing into a new container, I see it in a different light, and I revise it further. It's a sort of metamorphosis. Whatever you do, you have a beautiful piece now, that you might put into a more traditional container. A really haunting piece.
Thank you, Kathy (I don't know how you're keeping up with all the reading and your generous, insightful comments, but I am grateful!). I drafted it first as an essay because that just let me get it down, and then I used the no punctuation prompt as a kind of erasure structure to revise, and it actually did some good things, the first being that I took myself completely out of it until the last two lines. I also had to tighten the language to make sure the contexts are in the piece (and the title), and I like that. I'm not a poet though I love compression, so I didn't think of the piece as a poem, though I guess it is, but more as prose using lines to create rhythm and suspension as well as to break it into single beats per line as a way of organizing a reader's experience. So, I'm not quite sure what I'd do (except experiment) because in many ways I like the tautness of it much more than the original prose draft.
All of this is so interesting. We always talk about "taking risks" and "being brave" when it comes to drafting, but writers need to do this also with revision! I love hearing your process for this. Love the boldness of taking a piece and pouring it into a new container. You truly have "re-visioned" this piece. SO many fresh ideas come to us when we have the guts to do it. I mean, always keep the original draft, but then especially if you're not feeling it, PLAY with the thing.
And, can I steal this?
"I didn't think of the piece as a poem...more as prose using lines to create rhythm and suspension as well as to break it into single beats per line as a way of organizing a reader's experience."
That's such a great articulation of how to use the tools of poetry in writing prose. Yes!
You are welcome to use that description. I like talking/thinking about process both as a writer and a teacher. I'm teaching a course on Flash to advanced undergraduates in the fall. It's usually a very good class, and writing now this month with such a talented group of writers with such wonderful prompts sets me up to think about how I'll engage my group in September.
I wasn't sure where this piece was going, but the beauty of your prose pulled on me to keep reading. Those last two lines are fabulous: they explain the earrings (your title was a great key to those tiny fighter pilots) and her rejection of a beautiful corpse
This is a rework of something I wrote with normal punctuation- this time as one looooooong sentence (I think I omitted all the periods, but there are still commas) A fun experiment.
You Don’t Want To Live Here
It’s a dot between two big cities, this small whatchamacallit town of about 50,000, and its main asset is that it’s between those two big cities and not much further from other desirable places, the beaches, the resort towns, the Indian casinos and you thought, how bad can life be here, that is when you’re not wondering why your parents lived here in the first place, your mother always said how she hated the town and you thought you’d never live here, but, surprise, the slumlords signed your fate when they doubled your rent, take it or leave it or leave, and you did, and here you are, back where you grew up and things are sometimes okay except when they’re not, which is more than sometimes, there’s construction and then there’s more construction when the work wasn’t done right the first time, heavy equipment rumbling by and dumping torn up pavement with a thunderous crash, the house shakes, bits of plaster flake off the walls and ceiling, your dog cries in terror and you comfort him, then you go out to dump your trash and your neighbor in the house that’s way too close to yours is standing at his window with his junk hanging out, leering at you, saying, Nice day, could be nicer if you weren’t here and that goes for the others who have nothing better to do than ask nosy questions and give unsolicited advice, like everything that you do- or don’t do -is their business, shut up already, you want to scream, you escape for a few hours to the lone café in town to write or to a café in a neighboring town or the library or better yet, the city where you used to live, where you still have roots that weren’t completely hacked by the landlords’ new lease, you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges, isn’t it illegal to write on other people’s mail, and you feel yourself loosen up like an untied shoelace and you think that finally finally you can let yourself go and be properly creative and the words just flow sitting in the gothic stacks, sirens, distant voices don’t bother you here, nothing does, but eventually you have to go home, you always have to go home, and when you do, it’s quiet again and the dog is happy and relaxed again, you don’t look next door or down the street and you slam the door on all that- for now -and finish what you started in the stacks and feel good about life again and then you’re woken up by loud crashes again, you’ve finally done work that you feel good about but when another creative asks you about your town, the people, the opportunities, you shake your head and cut her off and utter the words you’ve said many times before.
Susan, this absolutely works for me as a breathless single sentence flash. I don't think it would work so well if you took out the commas, but something about this container, this structure that lends urgency and emotion to the piece. This reads like a rant or a monologue and it can't wait, it all needs to be said right now. It creates a felt experience in the reader.
I mean this right here, at the heart of it:
"...then you go out to dump your trash and your neighbor in the house that’s way too close to yours is standing at his window with his junk hanging out, leering at you, saying, Nice day, could be nicer if you weren’t here and that goes for the others who have nothing better to do than ask nosy questions and give unsolicited advice, like everything that you do- or don’t do -is their business, shut up already, you want to scream, you escape for a few hours to the lone café in town to write or to a café in a neighboring town or the library or better yet, the city where you used to live, where you still have roots that weren’t completely hacked by the landlords’ new lease, you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges, isn’t it illegal to write on other people’s mail, and you feel yourself loosen up like an untied shoelace..."
SUPER cool how you got that title. Which version do you like better?
I’m not sure which I like better- I guess both work and maybe this does add urgency, which I wanted to express! Maybe I should try to submit this version.
I like that it goes full circle and ends with the title. Neighbours write on people's mail!?? How bizarre is that? But a great detail in the litany of awfulness.
Ah, the angst of not living where you want to live! I like the run-on quality for this piece.
"you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges," . . . this was a cool detail!
I liked that your title finished the piece so it loops around in a continuous refrain like her thoughts about where she lives: "words you've said many times before. You Don't Want to Live Here. It's a dot between" Having lived in several places, some I loved & some I hated, that "how bad can life be here" is the forlorn cry of naivete before "here" happened. The inclusion of another creative alludes to all of those making art -- and expands this experience from one person to a large population
This is a quick response, but I wanted to give the impression of somebody telling their friends about a dream, and rushing to get in all the details quickly before they tell her that other people's dreams are boring...
All Glitter and Promises in my Imaginary Nuclear Bunker
Grandma is there making sure the meals are cooked clothes washed and put away and Anne still airily adolescent with her chat and her belief that human beings are at bottom good she’s telling Hannah that banality must at all cost be avoided the object is to be extraordinary in every way while in the corner burning candles at both ends Bill talks to Dylan of those feet in ancient times green leaves and chains and pleasant fields and in my dream Anne claps her hands and says that poets are brilliant and extraordinary while Simon Peter sits bemused but wanting to be good and not betray her trust we will not call him mad for we’re all mad here in this labyrinth under the mountain from which we send out urgent calls for help although we fear the world we want to reach has ceased to be and that is terrifying until Ann makes us laugh it’s hard to worry when you laugh and grandma keeps us fed with her famous fruit cake which Anne thinks funny we’re all fruitcakes now she says and grandma sips her homemade ginger wine and smiles as if she’s still a Tiller Girl and dancing, dancing, all glitter and promises.
Love this, Lindy! Do you know what song I was hearing as I was reading this? Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues!
"Johnny’s in the basement Mixing up the medicine I’m on the pavement Thinking about the government The man in the trench coat Badge out, laid off Says he’s got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off Look out kid It’s somethin’ you did God knows when But you’re doin’ it again"
It's in the rhythms you've created with this unpunctuated prose. I find this delightful.
Alligators Active Shooters zig and zag duck and weave Black Bears Muggers go big and go loud School Shooters Grizzlies play silent play dead Riptides Avalanches float ski paddle swim horizontal Mammogram Teenagers hold tight inhale Flash Flood in Texas with all your might climb, little girls, climb.
Oh Angela. What kills me about this piece is the playfulness of approach as you take on some really, really sad, awful, painful material. Man oh man. It's the sort of thing that paradoxically heightens the terrible parts that are slyly referred to here. I'd love to hear more about your process for this!
Thanks so much for your comments, Kathy. I did worry that the piece twisted very dark at the end. Too dark maybe. I guess the tragedy must be on everyone’s mind. I kept wanting to put commas, to clarify, to add breaths to the piece. But I said , No, Angela! Do as Kathy Fish says! She is the master!! ♥️
Aw no really, you have the draft now and if it feels like it needs commas put them in! Prompts like this serve to get you past the internal editor. Keep playing with it for sure.
The rhythm and alliteration in this really works. There’s a lot of play with sounds which almost reminds me of a children’s book barring the serious content. I love this!
Thanks so much for reading, Jane! I didn’t realize initially but I think you’re right about the rhythm because when I read it in my head it does sound kind of like my daughter’s favorite picture book! I appreciate you pointing that out!
Monday early shift Hal 👮♀️ is drinking☕️ finishing off the half burnt 🍪he'd brought that no one wanted. Typing 📠 with👇 reports sergeant asked for last week. The boss was ex- 🪖🎖️ with a face like a battlefield. 👮♀️ overheard Sarge 😭 in the mens 🚽once when he recognized his 🥾🥾in the last stall, and 👮♀️ held it till 🥪🕛 out of respect.
👮♀️ reported the facts about the suicide and no more 🫥 Date, name, age 14, 💊overdose. But the image of the 👼 with her cheek against her 🙏hands in a 🛌 with 🌼🌸sheets was seared in 👮♀️'s memory 😪
🗣️Hal hey you dreaming on a beach somewhere 🌊 🌴 Nico🕶️ from vice snapped his fingers. 👮♀️was🥱or he'd smelled the aftershave 🕶️ wore🤢 instead of a clean uniform🦨 Nico🕶️ grinned at 👮♀️ and scratched his groin 🦍 without taking his hands out of his pockets👖💩. 🗣️Tonight's the ♦️♣️ game 100 💵 buy-in and the stakes are 💰 You don't mind a little rough trade joining us, right? A couple of 👿 👿 with 💵 to 🔥 own a 🎲 🎰 that I wanna get in on 🕶️ 🤑
Oh, Jill, I LOVE this! What a fun response to the prompt. It's so inventive and sharp. "face like a battlefield" ha! Your writing is always so electric, Jill. That's a perfect title of course. I know this was time consuming and challenging, but...I kind of want you to keep playing with this? Are there places where the emoji gives the reader a different "story" than the words on the page? I wonder what this would look like if the words and pictures contradicted each other? At any rate, I'm not at all surprised you came up with such a clever response to the prompt!
Jill, this is a fun read! Excellent use of emojis. It’s crazy how they have embedded themselves into the vernacular when communicating via smart phone.
STOP
Some parents want their kids to STOP talking STOP leaving their toys on the floor STOP fighting STOP waking up so early on weekends STOP chewing with their mouth open STOP talking back STOP poking their brother in the car STOP asking are we there yet STOP forgetting to brush their teeth or do their homework or take the trash out STOP growing up so fast STOP STOP STOP forgetting that this is our sign to STOP wishing away their childhoods and START pleading that you will someday take your last breath knowing that their lungs are still taking in air and that their heart continues beating long after yours has STOPPED
Oh yes. STOP in all caps in this short piece feels like a shout each time the reader encounters it. It's hugely effective. You're basically giving the reader the experience the kids get, over and over again, throughout the day. The brevity suits this piece too. I love the places where you slightly alter the pattern, like "STOP STOP STOP" "START" and ending on 'STOPPED." I wish I'd mentioned it in my craft piece because that's a HUGE part of making experimental pieces work. Changing the pattern briefly, then returning to it, is a great way to show emphasis or a shift or allude to something else going on. It also gives the reader's brain a break in a longer experimental piece where any repetition may become tiresome. You nailed it, Jane!
Kathy, thank for your careful reading of my piece and the generous comments! You have created a space here that is brimming with creativity and positivity. It is a delight to participate in this extravaganza!
I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, Jane!
Wow! This reminded me of a telegram at first (anyone remember them?), then went on like a train as I heard my own voice. I will think twice now. ☺️
Sarah, thanks for reading! Now I want to write a flash telegram!
Jane, this is so poignant and powerful. If only. We weren't. human. :/ Love your idea of repeating STOP.
Luanne, I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment!
That pivot at STOP STOP STOP worked seamlessly to change the direction of the piece. Impressive story!
Karen, thank you for your kind words! I appreciate you taking the time to read the piece. I was hoping the middle transition would flow okay.
Karen, thank you for your kind words! I appreciate you taking the time to read the piece. I was hoping the middle transition would flow okay.
Wow! such a great use of repetition yet conveying childhood ( or it's lack) and the ending in adulthood. Nice work!
Meghana, thanks for reading the piece and sharing your thoughts!
Excellent !!
Thanks for reading it Regina!
Such a creative use of STOP. Great job.
Thanks Steve, I appreciate your kind words!
Whoa! Absolutely wonderful piece!!
Angela, thanks so much for reading my work!
BRILLIANT!!! don't stop
Charlotte, thank you for your kind comment!
So great, so true. Love how you've used caps.
Mine is more a poem than a story, I think, but it’s what it wanted to be. And it was fun. I love your 2 stories, Kathy. Not to be negative but I have to say stories without any punctuation or some kind of visual pause (like in “Cracks”) is really hard on my eyes & a challenge to read. Anyway…..here’s my whatever-it-is which I cobbled together with words & phrases from a file I keep.
Identity
There’s no other way to say this except >>>she was a tatterdemalion >>>over-caffeinated and full of spit>>>a wet melon in a tornado>>>a swelling purple bruise>>>the tart scent of a striking match>>>a glorious larval white monster>>>
{but also}
>>>a sea-colored sky>>>the exhilaration of flying horses>>>cool twilight in a mountain pass>>>a blown kiss landing on a cheek>>>the secret pleasure of a good deed untold>>>a juicy fruit pie>>>
{because experience has taught her}
>>>Our hearts are so much bigger than our broken parts>>>Our souls are so much stronger than our shredded parts<<<
Yeah, I get you about how hard an unpunctuated story is on the eyes. My eyes get tired enough as it is! I don't think this particular platform, for whatever reason, is easy on the eyes. But yeah, that's certainly the challenge and the reason we have punctuation in the first place! Having said all this, I LOVE the approach you took here, Charlotte. The "creative" punctuation just adds to the already delightful piece. I'm not good at articulating things like this other than to say it gives me a certain feeling...like I'm not just reading, I'm engaging with a piece of art almost. The carats make me pause in a way just commas or em dashes wouldn't. I also loved {but also} set off by itself and {because experience as taught her}. Im glad you had fun with this! I love how delightfully fresh the writing is all through it. And then it ends so profoundly and movingly. Terrific.
Thank you, Kathy. Your inspiring prompts are encouraging and send me in directions I’d never thought of. 🙏💛
I’m so happy to hear it, Charlotte! xx
I like how you break up the "sections" of the piece with these connectors:
{but also}
{because experience has taught her}
Thanks! 💛
This is gorgeous, and your use of language really adds to the sense of the complexity of people. Powerful ending.
Thanks, Julia💛
Beautiful words, Charlotte, no matter what punctuation you use!
Thank you, Jill! 💛
I liked the juxtapositions of the first para - full of spit , a wet melon, purple bruise with the second with sea colored sky and the secret pleasure. Really creative piece!
Thank you! 💛
Yes, the chevrons work really well,and in the UK anyhow, are used on road signs to indicate that a harsh turn is coming, but this happens in your piece in a gentle way as you lead us into the bend (the volta if this wre a sonnet) where she isn't the purple bruise but the cool of a mountain and then top and tailing the point of this poem/flash i.e. our souls are so much stronger. I wish I were so creative, but I'm learning from you and others on here...
Lindy, I don’t think of myself as very creative, maybe just a little. Kathy’s workshops have helped me think more than any others I’ve attended. She’s a natural teacher. My one bit of advice is don’t compare your writing to others. Yours is unique - lean into that. 😊
Ah! I love this! And I have learned my new favourite word ☺️. Thanks!
I love how the very last line is enclosed >>>> and <<<<
Kinda like the point of it all.
Nice! ❤️
Thanks! 💛
Charlotte, I’m such a big fan of how poetic this piece is! Loved looking up “tatterdemalion.”
It’s a great word! 💛
I too looked up tatterdemalion & absolutely love that word. The punctuation really worked in this piece as does the organization: 1 paragraph of negative phrases (not sure a larval white monster can be glorious); {}; 1 paragraph of positive images {} fabulous insight expressed in beautiful comparisons. Loved it
Thank you! 💛
Charlotte, What a great way to break up so that it's easy on the eyes. The standard / to break things up is harder to read, so I love this. I learned a new word: tatterdemalion! Wow! Very cool. I really enjoyed reading this.
So glad you like it, Luanne! 💛
SORRY
So not in a stalkerish sort of way - well maybe i guess stalking a bit - if you call facebook stalking stalking - i mean I hadn’t thought about you in half a century but then I saw that movie and he ended up with his first and I thought I wondered what you looked like now - is googling stalking?
First I did your whole name but then your nickname and it was still that and you came up top of the list only fifty years older and your long black hair was short and grey but your eyes, those kind sad eyes, I knew that was you. And your mangled hands from kung fu - was it kung fu or taekwondo that you did? - and drumming - remember when I won that Doobie Brothers record off the radio and I never won anything but they were your favourite band and I won it for you.
I wonder if you still do the martial arts. And drum. I guess you have a car in your garage now.
You looked casual for a general manager - same business your whole life - WOW!
I can’t even remember all the things I’ve done but I’ve always been restless, you knew that - even when I told you I was going, you said you always knew I would and the sadness in your eyes when I went - that’s never left me - not in all these years - and I want you to know - I’m sorry.
I like how you used the dashes. I feel like the narrator is pulling me aside and telling me something privately, which makes me feel closer to the narrator. It feels very intimate.
yes. I agree!
Thankyou ☺️
Sarah, love your approach to the prompt! “Is googling stalking?” made me smile. (We might all be stalkers)
Thankyou! ☺️
This is a great stream. I love how you've used tiny details to give a sense of both of them, and the ending feels real, like a real sorry. Can't get better than making a reader feel it's real.
🙏🏻☺️
I read this piece again and I liked the way the dashes are always ( mostly, anyway) followed by self questioning . You build it up nicely for the reader and then the last line punctuated by all the dashes showing so much emotion for the narrator.
Thankyou Meghana ☺️
Sarah, I think the space-space thing works well. It seems as if it's in place of -- (dash) which (and I am not a grammar nerd) is usually without spaces and can look a little crunched. This adds air to breath in here as if the speaker is taking a breath and musing on all this instead of being breathless. Oh those bittersweet memories!
Thanks Luanne, I basically know nothing about grammar, I didn’t know there were two different types of dashes til a few years ago 😂. So I like writing where the grammar rules are ignored, because I don’t know them anyway 😂.
Ha, grammar is so annoying!
Your first line "So not in a stalkerish sort of way" immediately pulls me into the piece. Then it states things people learn in FB that could apply to all of us looking up an ex, providing a nice universal appeal. But that last paragraph, and the use of - turns to the very specific and regrets, not for being who she is, but that it hurt him - is so poignant.
Thankyou Debi ☺️
I haven’t seen my grandmothers ghost lately
I haven’t seen my grandmother’s ghost lately and you’d think that would be a good thing you know wanting her to rest in peace but I wonder when she got so far away she couldn’t reappear in the yellow bedroom the dusty corner by the old full length mirror the way she did when I was 19 and woke to see her late at night a monolith of dark rags turning faintly like she was hung by a string in the corner and I screamed I remember the darkness around her was like dead leaves like the rags from her form shooting out into the space and even though it was terrifying it meant I could see through this life into death it meant after death there is not just nothingness and maybe the rest of the rags could have peeled free of her ghost revealing her underneath still her her love her face her alive again or at least happy.
This goes from chilling to bittersweet. Great hook and description, I was feeling terrified too. :)
Thanks, Julia! I definitely felt that mix of emotion when I was writing it, I’m so glad to hear it came through
Liked the whole story unfolding without punctuation , like a prose poem! There is so much you show here , the love for the grandmother , and the larger meaning of life and death. Enjoyed reading it.
Thank you, Meghana ❤️
Nice work, fantastic opening that hooks the reader.
Thank you so much!!
&Making Memories
Grandma’s soft afghan and Holly Hobbie & Whiffs of bacon and Sanka floated to our bedrooms & WMTR 538 AM announced county-wide school closures & Bell-bottoms and layers of jagged woolen clothes & The first deep breath in felt like crushed glass in your chest & Maple trees stood frozen at attention & Powdered snow beckoned for our winged designs & Red Radio Flyers careened downhill battling for victory & Mom poured creamy hot cocoa from a saucepan into mugs & Hickory wafted from the wood burning red brick fireplace & Dad slyly passed out Jiffy Pop Popcorn with a wink.
I love how this tumbles out just like a lovely memory should. Vivid, full of detail, engages so many senses.
Thanks Julia. It was a fun walk down memory lane
Linda, lots of beautiful images packed into your micro. I especially like Maple trees at frozen attention, creamy hot cocoa from a saucepan.
Thanks for your wonderful feedback. Glad you enjoyed it.
I love this & your great images
Thank you Regina!
Bodies of Power & Joy
Light from the setting sun envelops the flight Turns scales gold and copper and vermilion as we wheel and dip and flare slipping in and out of thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky At the green flash we roar gouts of flame then slide through the flickering circle and plummet Bodies streamlined we fall a flash of light until muscles scream to pull up and barrel roll then lightly touch down responsibilities waiting The end of another girls day out.
Oh! That title ROCKS. And this flows beautifully from it. I love "slipping in abd out of thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky. Your capital letters do the works of punctuating without full stops, as if you want the reader to just keep flowing from image to image and keep the movement going. I love how this piece sounds. I read it out loud a few times. This is another piece that lands on a full stop and that's a solid choice here because it really is the end of this day. Love it, Debi.
Thank you Kathy. It seems that stories of flying are always my lyrical sweet spot (I was a helicopter pilot).
Ah, makes sense!
this is gorgeous and mysterious, Who is flying? Falcons, people in jet planes, bodies of humans with wings. It doesn’t matter, it’s abouth flight and having no punctuation wirks beautifully, lets me fly with them. “ slipping in and out of the thermals like an improv jazz tune carving patterns in the sky” such clean prose with just the right amount if words to describe flying.
Gorgeous & mysterious -- such high praise -- thank you. I was dreaming of dragons when writing this piece, but left it open for readers to make their own connections.
ah, I love dragons and also have written of them as images in an imaging piece of me and my cat flying. And one of a dying girl that’s in Raw Lit, issue five. You might like it.
Vati, your Raw Lit piece is incredibly moving. The grace with which you watch and dream for a young girl is a model of how we can approach a loved one's final departure. Thank you for sharing
Love, love, love this, Debi! I agree with Kathy the title is inspired and joy suffuses the story. I liked blurring the lines between girls in the air and planes. Lightly touching down because responsibilities were waiting is so good.
Jill, I was not sure I liked the ending so it's interesting that that's the part you appealed to you. Thanks for sharing your reaction to my piece
Thanks for the ride! I think the stream works really well here as you capture details like flash images, and the exhilaration of the flight.
I love the idea of trying this exercise (both ways) so much! Since it's another bad day for many ways I thought I would take a story that I've written and try the exercise of taking out the punctuation. Note that I left the H in Happy because it's something that the narrator is looking at. If there is other punctuation it's because I missed it or it's an apostrophe or hyphen in a word. I think there's a real problem with differentiating dialogue though. There are 4 places of tiny dialogue by other people.
missing his birthday
all squishy noses and mouths they present a pink cake titled Happy 89 can you smell the cherries but i smell nothing i reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys you like mandms so that’s what they are but what are mandms i hate to ask because then they give me the look maybe no cake for now because they are pulling out the plastic blowers look at those old ladies grabbing the bubbles like goofy ballet dancers i ask the nose who sits next to me what’s for dinner just don’t feed me that dried-up salmon i want to know if she has a limp but they say i ask too many questions she hands me a cup with a straw like a scimitar sorry for being crude urges me to slurp some watered-down juice before i recall not to ask another question i point to the flower pattern on the chairs what do you call those again periwinkle remember i scratch my whiskers when is the last time i’ve shaved how celia love-hates it when i rub her cheek with mine just before i shave she’s always so happy-go-lucky which is why i can keep up my spirits where is celia i’d hate for her to miss cake just there at the door there’s my celia of course she wouldn’t miss the cake or the bubbles celia i fumble for her hand dad it’s me Shannon i better not ask any questions or i’ll get the look
As per Jane's request here is the original version:
Missing His Birthday
All squishy noses and mouths, they present a pink cake titled Happy 89. "Can you smell the cherries?" But I smell nothing. I reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys. "You like M&Ms?" So that’s what they are. But what are M&Ms? I hate to ask because then they give me the look. Maybe no cake for now because they are pulling out the plastic blowers. Look at those old ladies grabbing the bubbles like goofy ballet dancers.
I ask the nose who sits next to me what’s for dinner. Just don’t feed me that dried-up salmon. I want to know if she has a limp, but they say I ask too many questions. She hands me a cup with a straw like a scimitar, sorry for being crude, urges me to slurp some watered-down juice. Before I recall not to ask another question, I point to the flower pattern on the chairs. What do you call those again? "Periwinkle, remember?"
I scratch my whiskers. When is the last time I’ve shaved? How Celia love-hates it when I rub her cheek with mine just before I shave. She’s always so happy-go-lucky, which is why I can keep up my spirits. Where is Celia? I’d hate for her to miss cake. Just there! At the door, there’s my Celia. Of course, she wouldn’t miss the cake or the bubbles. Celia! I fumble for her hand. "Dad, it’s me. Shannon." I better not ask any questions, or I’ll get the look.
I laughed, in both versions, at "I ask the nose who sits next to me..." I think what you've demonstrated here is the importance of punctuation for clarity in a story. M & Ms without the ampersand is just...confusing, right? I think you still could revise the story with minimal punctuation, but you'd have to make other revisions as well, find those places where the lack of punctuation is confusing, and find a way to smooth it out. All that said, I love your original as is! You got right inside the head of this 89 year old in a way that feels very authentic and sad at the same time. The last paragraph, particularly, is so moving and devastating. I wonder what you'd come up with if you began a new story with "creative punctuation." I wonder if that would drive a different kind of story altogther? That said, I think any kind of unusual mental state is served well with an experimental approach.
Thanks for much for letting me know how it reads for you! I will definitely try the lack of punctuation (and the one with weird punctuation) from scratch. I had the grandbaby (17 months) 4 out of 8 days, and I have severe fatigue from the surgery (which the surgeon said will last six months!!!), so I am not in my best mind ;). I can't wait to try many of these prompts again this fall, if not before. This one intrigues me an awful lot! (BTW, 3 of my immersion stories have been picked up by 2 journals yay and thank you).
Wow, first of all, congratulations on the acceptances! That's thrilling to hear! But I'm sorry you're still struggling with taking care of the little one and feeling so much lingering fatigue. I hope you get a break soon! xoxo
Thank you and thank you!!! :)
This is great, I think the original is nearly a stream of consciousness, so when you removed the punctuation it danced happily into the water. I especially loved "i ask the nose".
Thank you so much, Julia!
I really liked the second version, I just ' got it' than the first but yes combination would work great! You have showed so well the MC's thought process at his own birthday party, the increasing forgetfulness yet knowing what others don't like of him ( asking too many questions).
Meghana, thank you for letting me know. I'll try taking the original and just tweaking it a bit to make the form fit his mind a bit better. If it doesn't work, I'll stick with the original.
Just me, but I prefer the one without punctuation. The man has lost a lot of his memory and mind, and the missing punctuation seems to empahsise that. It does make him seem childish as somebody else has said, but then, in some ways he is, and I liked the fact that we only knew for sure that he was 89 when we got to the beard and finally to the daughter he thinks is his late wife. The fact we have to wait to read the clues as they fall gives the story motion and the lack of punctuation does that too. Thank you!
It's fascinating how we read stories so differently. Since you are strong in your belief about this and Kathy and Sarah are in theirs, I might try what View suggests, trying to combine both. And just see what happens. maybe something like this:
all squishy noses and mouths they present me a pink cake titled Happy 89
"Can you smell the cherries?"
but i smell nothing i reach for one of the cake’s colorful toys you like M&Ms"
I don't know if that would work or not.
Thank you, Lindy!
I really loved comparing the two versions! Thanks for sharing. I like the idea of combining the two. You could also use less punctuation progressively in the piece.
Thank you, Jane! That's an idea . . . .
I enjoyed this Luanne.
The punctuation makes a difference for me I think. When I read the beginning of the first one, i thought it was a kid at first, until I got to the scratchy whiskers 😂. I had an easier time understanding the second punctuated version. And then I thought about how he was maybe thinking like a kid too. Oh, and the M &Ms I couldn’t fathom at all - was wondering what madams where doing on a cake 😂😂😂
But that’s my concrete brain again 🤯
Thanks, Sarah. What if "they present a pink cake titled Happy 89" read "they present me a pink cake titled Happy 89"?
Maybe, but I think I like Kathy’s suggestion of a hybrid version ☺️
thanks for sharing both versions. I liked both for different reasons. And imagine that may be somehow the perfect version is somewhere between the two. In places where it seems appropriate have no punctuation and then in places where it feels appropriate put some in. I like the story.
Thank you so much! I read your "bio" on your substack. I'm so sorry to hear about the way disability has encroached on your other life pleasures. Thank goodness for writing, I think, for many of us.
yes, without writing, I think I would go insane. I was an incredibly active person before this and being stuck most of the time in a room is incredibly challenging, but reading and writing help more than almost anything else. And I love writing flash. And particularly love Kathy‘s weekend classes and extravaganza. I never wrote flash before two years ago so that’s the one good thing that’s come out of this.
Two years! And you're doing amazing work. I'm so impressed!
Luanne, I really like this. I want to read your punctuated version as well to compare. I suspect the lack of punctuation actually boosts the feeling of disorientation in the piece.
OK, thanks! I added the original.
I love playing with punctuation. With this piece I went farther than usual. Creating long sentences that before I might’ve made into two or three. Allowing the reader to take their time going through them. Then closer to the end making staccato short sentences. And even trying a spot in the middle where I separated three almost like stanza. It was so much fun.
Where You Are Not…So Where Are You?
I look for you in the objects you wore like the silver wedding ring your brother made with tiny diagonals of diamonds and sapphires that I took off your finger after you died and put on mine, and though no rings seemed to fit me anymore, this one fit perfectly, snug on my ring finger, I touch it a hundred times a day—but you are not there.
I wear the head scarf, swirls of dark purple and teal that I bought you during Covid and that you wore almost every day, I tie it over my head and try to feel your warmth in it perhaps some oils from your head but nothing now—it’s just a piece of cloth.
And the flannel shirt you wore every winter, your old bones always cold, I put my face in it and smell but someone washed it just before you died and it doesn’t smell of you anymore, it hangs in my closet, inanimate—just another shirt.
The week you died, I picked out my favorite photos, set them by my sitting buddha statue, I look at them every day, trying to remember those moments, trying to remember what it felt like to have my baby body on your lap and in your arms, your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face. I want so much to remember what it felt to be your child. Your little girl. Your teenage daughter. Your adult best friend.
I have a piece of your Christmas cactus, from the big old plant that you tended for over thirty years, transplanted into a blue and white ceramic planter, placed in a window directly in my view, the plant that sat in the window by your bed that you looked at 1 million times, during its dormant season and when it bloomed hot pink flowers that we admired. I try to remember you watering that plant, try to feel you inside its prickly leaves, but you are not there. Nor are you in the little Japanese tea cups I took off your bay window, their gold rims glinting in the morning sunlight.
I want to feel you in something.
I want to smell you somewhere.
I want to hear your voice.
And then I realize that your voice is in my voice and when I speak I hear undertones of you, that your eyes are in my eyes, those stars of golden brown surrounded by sea green. People tell me that I have your smile. That I have your small hands and small feet. That I have your bowed legs. That in some pictures, we look alike.
I talk to you scanning my room, staring at the ceiling, imagining you in the sky. Imagining that pyou can hear me. That you answer my cries. That in the silence of the night, you surround me with your warm arms.
I want to thank everybody for their feedback, on this piece, and just in general. It’s so encouraging, so helpful to feel like there’s something worthwhile in what I write. What we write. That we can be there for each other. And that includes all the wonderful feedback from Kathy. It also helps with revision, as I notice what stands out, what someone likes, what perhaps was not quite as strong in a piece. Having this group and Kathy, during this long stretch of writing, really helps me want to keep writing. Not able to go to writing groups or workshops in person, I am grateful that we are able to do this online. thank you again for your thoughtful replies.
Vati, wow, this piece is composed like a piece of music. I love your long sentences. You achieved exactly what you wanted to with that. You made me slow down and sink into the flow, your descriptions, etc. I found this especially effective:
"The week you died, I picked out my favorite photos, set them by my sitting buddha statue, I look at them every day, trying to remember those moments, trying to remember what it felt like to have my baby body on your lap and in your arms, your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face."
There are six? clauses to this sentence, each piece shows an action, a response and the sentence itself begins with the death and ends on "your beautiful smile leaning down and brightening my face." I mean, look at all that movement!
I do love the three short sentences set off by themselves. That's musical too. I'm actually teaching a workshop on "musical prose" for the Flash Fiction Festival in England and this could be a great example. The style you have going here in this piece really suits the beauty of your prose. The last paragraph is so beautiful and there you throw in the shorter sentence. It's really effective. This piece is full of "ing" sounds, adding to the flow and music as well. Great response to the exercise.
Thank you so much for this feedback and I would be honored if you ever wanted to use anything I have written in a class of yours, esp at Bath.
Wow, wow!! Love, love this piece so much. You begin with the objects and show us where exactly you are trying to find her - in the silver ring, the scarf , the flannel shirt and the photos, oh the description of them and you imagining and remembering , trying to find bits and pieces of her everywhere! And then the three sentences tell us ' I want to feel, smell, hear' , here I like the way you are direct and tell us what you want . So much emotion and feeling and loss! Brilliant!
thank you for your feedback.
So sadly sweet and nostalgic. Love it.
"And the flannel shirt you wore every winter, your old bones always cold, I put my face in it and smell but someone washed it just before you died and it doesn’t smell of you anymore, it hangs in my closet, inanimate—just another shirt."
This, in particular, hits me.
thank you
Love this heartbreaking and lyrical piece! It really captures searching for someone despite being surrounded by little pieces of them. “Where you are not” is so perfect in the title.
This is beautiful. Beautiful writing and a beautiful tribute.
And I love that insight at the end - that flow in the scond last paragraph - reminds me of the poem “Heredity” by Thomas Hardy. The line “I am the family face” often pops into my head when I look in the mirror, at my kids, at my grandkids, and I think you have written that feeling so beautifully here, and with that last line, the longing, of the recent loss of your mother. 🤗
Oh, this is heartbreaking. Great details. I love the structure. All those objects where usually the grieving find solace, the narrator does not. And then where she finds her mother. Beautiful.
thanks
This piece shines with the very specific items you describe with so much detail -- Japanese tea cups, gold rims glinting.... The repetition of items creates a search of its own, first this then that, searching. I liked not knowing until the end of paragraph 4 that the missing person, most likely a woman, is the mom. The third single line: I want to hear your voice provides a great segue into the next paragraph. The thoughtful organization of this piece contributes to its rhythm & power
thank you for your response. I really appreciate how we help each other as readers as well as writers.
So poignant, so relatable. After my mum died, I rationed smelling her clothes. All the feels for this one.
(I wrote this in different fonts and sizes, which didn't translate here. Not a punctuation thing, but it gave an interesting appearance)
Reactions
Everything is shrunk into the screen on Kristen’s phone
But the video is clear
2 !
swim !
instructors !
are not paying attention !
“I had to fire Grace and Chris,” Kristen said saying Chrisssss with a sigh because she liked Chris and didn’t want to fire him
But it’s clear she has to:
1 a kid jumps
2 another kid jumps
3 the mother watches from the pool deck
4 Grace and Chris are bobbing smiling looking at each other
5 the second kid who jumped is flailing just below the surface
6 the mother jumps in to help the kid - O!
All on camera clearer than the Zapruder film!
ThefirstshotthenpassingthesignforStemmonsFreewayKennedyselbowsupsomekindofinvoluntaryreactiontheGovernorturnshismouthO!thefatalheadshotLancerdownJackieupontherearasHillmountsthebumper
Early summer Grace and Chris are already done
Got the axe
Blacklisted
History
Kristen closed the screen on her phone
Off to set up interviews
The mother has filed complaints O! O! O!
O! it’s going to be a long summer
All of us shrunk into this microcosm sink swim fire hire jump for the camera
I love experimental pieces, I wish I'd got to see the different fonts and sizes, but even without I think this works well. Especially the JFK assassination squeezed into one - a sense of how it's part of all our consciousness now.
the very short lines are effective here because they call out the significance of each step. I don't think it would have the same "bam" effect if it had traditional paragraphing. I'm not clear on the last line, if there was no camera footage how would that change?
Like the use of exclamation marks and especially after the O!
Steve, this is really cool. So much experimentation! I love how I’m invested in the characters from the start. Form and narrative are coming together in such a fascinating way here.
Thank you. A quick stream of consciousness sort of thing. Needs a lot of work! Not 100% sure what I was trying to convey . . .
No Answers?
Why did you love me? I never believed it, even when you told me, did I? Loving me made no sense—who would do that? What trustworthy person would find me lovable? Suspicion had to grow, didn’t it? That you were toying with me? Because every man before tricked me, I expected you to, right?
But did they ever tuck a blanket around me for a nap on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon? Did their eyes soften when they looked my way? Did they cheer me on with words—you can do it—of encouragement?
Did they invite me for the tiniest of errands? And did I stupidly refuse? Thinking it was a chore? While what you wanted was togetherness? And I didn’t know anything about that?
Didn’t I expect stupendous evenings? And extravagant gestures? Seeking—not finding—what I thought were signs of love?
They were there, weren’t they?
But wasn’t I too broken to know?
Ah, yes, the interrogative mood! I've given that as a prompt a few times. Love it. Love it for how it makes both writer and reader think. And this really works well once the questions get very specific: But did they ever tuck a blanket around me for a nap on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon? What's really cool about this is, we come to realize, this person is really interrogating themself. Awesome experiment here, Regina. It totally works.
The narrator’s self doubt vibe is strong here. I feel like we all get this way in our heads sometimes. It’s so relatable. Instead of ruminating, I want to use this technique to examine my own thoughts!
Wow! I love that you wrote a piece entirely of questions.it really brings the self doubt and regrets to the foreground! Well done!
Ah, so well done, this! The self doubt yet the realization that the narrator missed the signs of love and now in retrospect , she does. And the self realization ' too broken' in the end says everything.
and that is the reason why i did what i did and that you cannot understand it tells me all i need to know and now that i have that knowledge i can move on and leave you behind and you will be in my past where i rarely look or maybe that's not at all true because look at me now looking back back back again and again and again even when i'm looking forward i alway see you in my rear view mirror either laughing or crying or just giving me that look but what i want to say is that your look pushes me forward into the future so go ahead and smirk, i see you, i raise you, i'm going home with all the winnings.
Oh Mary, this goes right to my writerly heart. I do love a series of "and"s AND I do this a fair bit in my own writing. ;-) It's a great way to achieve breathlessness and now I see there's no punctuation at all besides that period at the end. All of this works so beautifully for the piece. Beginning in media res with "and" implying there's already been a story in progress preceding this...or a conversation anyway. And we're just being shown the tail end of it. One of my prompts is to write the last page of a ten page break up letter. There's the feeling of the speaker/writer almost making themselves come to a conclusion, but the unwritten does so much work here. Where you repeat words...that also has an impact. All of this evokes strong emotion at work for the narrator. Fabulous finish: "I see you, I raise you, I'm going home with the winnings." LOVE that. Have you thought of a title? I feel like playing with the idea of "winnings" would be effective. Great piece and response to the prompt!
Kathy! You are so kind to spend the time reading and commenting! Thank you so much for the supportive comments. I think you're onto something there with "winnings" both as a title and also to play with that notion of win/lose somewhere else in the piece. This one needs work, but I had such fun writing it. Thank you for such a great opportunity to share here on your page.
Absolutely, Mary!
The continuous, breathless nature of this piece fits so well with the message of internal mutterings -- digressions & arguing with herself. "Your look pushes me forward" is a great redirect to memories as a goad not just a conundrum. in a piece with no punctuation except, the three commas in the last sentence shout like an exclamation mark and convey her determination and power.
So kind of you to read my piece this closely. Thanks so much!
Love how you start in the middle of the thought chain. You've achieved a wonderful internal rhythm without the aid of punctuation but with the "and and and" and other repeats. And the way you tie it together with punctuation at the end, a sense of decision, of finality.
Thanks so much, Julia!
Love the way you raise the conflict for the narrator in trying to forget yet being pulled in the past and then the strength in the end when she says , I'm going home with all the winnings. Enjoyed it!
Thank you, Meghana!
👍🏻❤️
This was tough (turns out I like punctuation), but I tried.
Hummingbird Earrings, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
tiny fighter pilots of the Victorian era
mediators between the living and the dead
hover hanged from delicate golden wires in velvety darkness
their gelid light-consuming world-interpreting eyes replaced with rubies over a century ago
glow like the still iridescent flightless wings in the curator’s light
and I have mourned and I have wished for death and still I would not wear
grief as a beautiful corpse
Love the title, Susan. And this is stunning. Truly. Gorgeous language, laid out as a poem, but those last two lines: whoosh! They elevate the piece even further, layering it with meaning and emotional resonance. It's gorgeous. I love "gelid light-consuming world-interpreting eyes"...Okay, now as stated, you like punctuation! If you were to go back to this piece and punctuate it, create sentences with clauses and so forth, would it begin to change, become more of a story? It would be interesting to see. Sometimes when I pour writing into a new container, I see it in a different light, and I revise it further. It's a sort of metamorphosis. Whatever you do, you have a beautiful piece now, that you might put into a more traditional container. A really haunting piece.
Thank you, Kathy (I don't know how you're keeping up with all the reading and your generous, insightful comments, but I am grateful!). I drafted it first as an essay because that just let me get it down, and then I used the no punctuation prompt as a kind of erasure structure to revise, and it actually did some good things, the first being that I took myself completely out of it until the last two lines. I also had to tighten the language to make sure the contexts are in the piece (and the title), and I like that. I'm not a poet though I love compression, so I didn't think of the piece as a poem, though I guess it is, but more as prose using lines to create rhythm and suspension as well as to break it into single beats per line as a way of organizing a reader's experience. So, I'm not quite sure what I'd do (except experiment) because in many ways I like the tautness of it much more than the original prose draft.
All of this is so interesting. We always talk about "taking risks" and "being brave" when it comes to drafting, but writers need to do this also with revision! I love hearing your process for this. Love the boldness of taking a piece and pouring it into a new container. You truly have "re-visioned" this piece. SO many fresh ideas come to us when we have the guts to do it. I mean, always keep the original draft, but then especially if you're not feeling it, PLAY with the thing.
And, can I steal this?
"I didn't think of the piece as a poem...more as prose using lines to create rhythm and suspension as well as to break it into single beats per line as a way of organizing a reader's experience."
That's such a great articulation of how to use the tools of poetry in writing prose. Yes!
You are welcome to use that description. I like talking/thinking about process both as a writer and a teacher. I'm teaching a course on Flash to advanced undergraduates in the fall. It's usually a very good class, and writing now this month with such a talented group of writers with such wonderful prompts sets me up to think about how I'll engage my group in September.
I wasn't sure where this piece was going, but the beauty of your prose pulled on me to keep reading. Those last two lines are fabulous: they explain the earrings (your title was a great key to those tiny fighter pilots) and her rejection of a beautiful corpse
Thank you, Debi. I do love the way a title can establish context that I just can't fit into flash, especially a micro.
This reads as a beautiful poem, with excellent use of line-breaks. And "grief as a beautiful corpse" is such a killer last line. Fabulous.
This is a rework of something I wrote with normal punctuation- this time as one looooooong sentence (I think I omitted all the periods, but there are still commas) A fun experiment.
You Don’t Want To Live Here
It’s a dot between two big cities, this small whatchamacallit town of about 50,000, and its main asset is that it’s between those two big cities and not much further from other desirable places, the beaches, the resort towns, the Indian casinos and you thought, how bad can life be here, that is when you’re not wondering why your parents lived here in the first place, your mother always said how she hated the town and you thought you’d never live here, but, surprise, the slumlords signed your fate when they doubled your rent, take it or leave it or leave, and you did, and here you are, back where you grew up and things are sometimes okay except when they’re not, which is more than sometimes, there’s construction and then there’s more construction when the work wasn’t done right the first time, heavy equipment rumbling by and dumping torn up pavement with a thunderous crash, the house shakes, bits of plaster flake off the walls and ceiling, your dog cries in terror and you comfort him, then you go out to dump your trash and your neighbor in the house that’s way too close to yours is standing at his window with his junk hanging out, leering at you, saying, Nice day, could be nicer if you weren’t here and that goes for the others who have nothing better to do than ask nosy questions and give unsolicited advice, like everything that you do- or don’t do -is their business, shut up already, you want to scream, you escape for a few hours to the lone café in town to write or to a café in a neighboring town or the library or better yet, the city where you used to live, where you still have roots that weren’t completely hacked by the landlords’ new lease, you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges, isn’t it illegal to write on other people’s mail, and you feel yourself loosen up like an untied shoelace and you think that finally finally you can let yourself go and be properly creative and the words just flow sitting in the gothic stacks, sirens, distant voices don’t bother you here, nothing does, but eventually you have to go home, you always have to go home, and when you do, it’s quiet again and the dog is happy and relaxed again, you don’t look next door or down the street and you slam the door on all that- for now -and finish what you started in the stacks and feel good about life again and then you’re woken up by loud crashes again, you’ve finally done work that you feel good about but when another creative asks you about your town, the people, the opportunities, you shake your head and cut her off and utter the words you’ve said many times before.
Susan, this absolutely works for me as a breathless single sentence flash. I don't think it would work so well if you took out the commas, but something about this container, this structure that lends urgency and emotion to the piece. This reads like a rant or a monologue and it can't wait, it all needs to be said right now. It creates a felt experience in the reader.
I mean this right here, at the heart of it:
"...then you go out to dump your trash and your neighbor in the house that’s way too close to yours is standing at his window with his junk hanging out, leering at you, saying, Nice day, could be nicer if you weren’t here and that goes for the others who have nothing better to do than ask nosy questions and give unsolicited advice, like everything that you do- or don’t do -is their business, shut up already, you want to scream, you escape for a few hours to the lone café in town to write or to a café in a neighboring town or the library or better yet, the city where you used to live, where you still have roots that weren’t completely hacked by the landlords’ new lease, you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges, isn’t it illegal to write on other people’s mail, and you feel yourself loosen up like an untied shoelace..."
SUPER cool how you got that title. Which version do you like better?
I’m not sure which I like better- I guess both work and maybe this does add urgency, which I wanted to express! Maybe I should try to submit this version.
It’s a great piece either way!
Thanks!!!
I like that it goes full circle and ends with the title. Neighbours write on people's mail!?? How bizarre is that? But a great detail in the litany of awfulness.
Ah, the angst of not living where you want to live! I like the run-on quality for this piece.
"you have a post office box where you don’t have to read the scribbled rants on the back of junk mail imploring you please sweep your stairs, shovel your walk, trim your hedges," . . . this was a cool detail!
I liked that your title finished the piece so it loops around in a continuous refrain like her thoughts about where she lives: "words you've said many times before. You Don't Want to Live Here. It's a dot between" Having lived in several places, some I loved & some I hated, that "how bad can life be here" is the forlorn cry of naivete before "here" happened. The inclusion of another creative alludes to all of those making art -- and expands this experience from one person to a large population
This is a quick response, but I wanted to give the impression of somebody telling their friends about a dream, and rushing to get in all the details quickly before they tell her that other people's dreams are boring...
All Glitter and Promises in my Imaginary Nuclear Bunker
Grandma is there making sure the meals are cooked clothes washed and put away and Anne still airily adolescent with her chat and her belief that human beings are at bottom good she’s telling Hannah that banality must at all cost be avoided the object is to be extraordinary in every way while in the corner burning candles at both ends Bill talks to Dylan of those feet in ancient times green leaves and chains and pleasant fields and in my dream Anne claps her hands and says that poets are brilliant and extraordinary while Simon Peter sits bemused but wanting to be good and not betray her trust we will not call him mad for we’re all mad here in this labyrinth under the mountain from which we send out urgent calls for help although we fear the world we want to reach has ceased to be and that is terrifying until Ann makes us laugh it’s hard to worry when you laugh and grandma keeps us fed with her famous fruit cake which Anne thinks funny we’re all fruitcakes now she says and grandma sips her homemade ginger wine and smiles as if she’s still a Tiller Girl and dancing, dancing, all glitter and promises.
Love this, Lindy! Do you know what song I was hearing as I was reading this? Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues!
"Johnny’s in the basement Mixing up the medicine I’m on the pavement Thinking about the government The man in the trench coat Badge out, laid off Says he’s got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off Look out kid It’s somethin’ you did God knows when But you’re doin’ it again"
It's in the rhythms you've created with this unpunctuated prose. I find this delightful.
SURVIVING
Alligators Active Shooters zig and zag duck and weave Black Bears Muggers go big and go loud School Shooters Grizzlies play silent play dead Riptides Avalanches float ski paddle swim horizontal Mammogram Teenagers hold tight inhale Flash Flood in Texas with all your might climb, little girls, climb.
Whew! This one was tricky!
Oh Angela. What kills me about this piece is the playfulness of approach as you take on some really, really sad, awful, painful material. Man oh man. It's the sort of thing that paradoxically heightens the terrible parts that are slyly referred to here. I'd love to hear more about your process for this!
Thanks so much for your comments, Kathy. I did worry that the piece twisted very dark at the end. Too dark maybe. I guess the tragedy must be on everyone’s mind. I kept wanting to put commas, to clarify, to add breaths to the piece. But I said , No, Angela! Do as Kathy Fish says! She is the master!! ♥️
Aw no really, you have the draft now and if it feels like it needs commas put them in! Prompts like this serve to get you past the internal editor. Keep playing with it for sure.
The rhythm and alliteration in this really works. There’s a lot of play with sounds which almost reminds me of a children’s book barring the serious content. I love this!
Thanks so much for reading, Jane! I didn’t realize initially but I think you’re right about the rhythm because when I read it in my head it does sound kind of like my daughter’s favorite picture book! I appreciate you pointing that out!
Good Cop👮♀️/ Bad Cop🕶️
Monday early shift Hal 👮♀️ is drinking☕️ finishing off the half burnt 🍪he'd brought that no one wanted. Typing 📠 with👇 reports sergeant asked for last week. The boss was ex- 🪖🎖️ with a face like a battlefield. 👮♀️ overheard Sarge 😭 in the mens 🚽once when he recognized his 🥾🥾in the last stall, and 👮♀️ held it till 🥪🕛 out of respect.
👮♀️ reported the facts about the suicide and no more 🫥 Date, name, age 14, 💊overdose. But the image of the 👼 with her cheek against her 🙏hands in a 🛌 with 🌼🌸sheets was seared in 👮♀️'s memory 😪
🗣️Hal hey you dreaming on a beach somewhere 🌊 🌴 Nico🕶️ from vice snapped his fingers. 👮♀️was🥱or he'd smelled the aftershave 🕶️ wore🤢 instead of a clean uniform🦨 Nico🕶️ grinned at 👮♀️ and scratched his groin 🦍 without taking his hands out of his pockets👖💩. 🗣️Tonight's the ♦️♣️ game 100 💵 buy-in and the stakes are 💰 You don't mind a little rough trade joining us, right? A couple of 👿 👿 with 💵 to 🔥 own a 🎲 🎰 that I wanna get in on 🕶️ 🤑
Oh, Jill, I LOVE this! What a fun response to the prompt. It's so inventive and sharp. "face like a battlefield" ha! Your writing is always so electric, Jill. That's a perfect title of course. I know this was time consuming and challenging, but...I kind of want you to keep playing with this? Are there places where the emoji gives the reader a different "story" than the words on the page? I wonder what this would look like if the words and pictures contradicted each other? At any rate, I'm not at all surprised you came up with such a clever response to the prompt!
Thanks, Kathy. I like your suggestion to play with this using emojis in surprising ways. I'm having fun writing in this Extravaganza!
Yes! She’s an unreliable narrator and the emojis are telling us the real story maybe. Thrilled you’re enjoying it, Jill!
Jill, this is a fun read! Excellent use of emojis. It’s crazy how they have embedded themselves into the vernacular when communicating via smart phone.
Thanks, Jane. It was fun creating it but time consuming. I couldn’t find a typewriter emoji.
Haha, Jill ! ❤️ this. Emojis are frequently the only language I can manage, so this one is 🗣️ my language - 🤩!
But the way the 👼 dying is tucked in amongst it all is so so sad. And clever - all in a day’s work 😞.
👍🏻 👌🏼 🙏🏻
Thanks, Sarah. I use emojis a lot in texts to family. Corny and fun!
👍🏼 and brief 😂