Monday, March 27, 2006
Amherst Writers
Pat Corrigan is leading an Amherst writing group on Wednesday evenings. She once wrote for the Post Dispatch. On one occassion she featured a rye bread tasting and wrote about the best rye bread in St. Louis. B. and I were among the tasters--five all totaled.
The Amherst workshops are for writers who want to losen up and be creative. My group of six, plus Pat, is a congenial mix of people. Here's the result of a five min. exercise:
[The exercise suggestion is to include in the story a scenario, an action, and the whining of a mosiquito]
The water was still. So still that I imagined if I turned myself upside down I would not be able to tell the difference between the reflected moon and the moon in the sky. Had I been alone on the dock, I probably would have tested my theory straight away. Not the best impression to make bending over to look between my legs at what others would think was nothing.
The only one whose opinion mattered at the time was standing beside me. Maybe, maybe if I just explained first what I wanted to see. I played the conversation in my head first. “Would you mind?” No no, bad way to start. How about, “Have you noticed the reflection in the still water? Doesn’t the moon look like…” What? I asked myself.
Just then I noticed he wasn’t looking at the moon or the water. He was looking at me.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked. His hand brushed the hair back from my face.
“I was thinking. . . if I bend over and look at the moon—to get a different perspective, you know—so up is down and down is up.” I hesitated. He looked confused.
“Here, I offered, “like this. . . .” I turned around with my back to the pond. I faced him and held onto his waist for support as I slowly bent myself in half.
The silence across the water was torn by the whining of a jet plane. When the mosquito landed, it bit before I had a chance to swat it away. I swung my arm anyway, hurling myself into his knees and as my head came up into his crotch, I knew he wasn’t going to be interested in the moon or its reflection.
On our second date . . .
Pat Corrigan is leading an Amherst writing group on Wednesday evenings. She once wrote for the Post Dispatch. On one occassion she featured a rye bread tasting and wrote about the best rye bread in St. Louis. B. and I were among the tasters--five all totaled.
The Amherst workshops are for writers who want to losen up and be creative. My group of six, plus Pat, is a congenial mix of people. Here's the result of a five min. exercise:
[The exercise suggestion is to include in the story a scenario, an action, and the whining of a mosiquito]
The water was still. So still that I imagined if I turned myself upside down I would not be able to tell the difference between the reflected moon and the moon in the sky. Had I been alone on the dock, I probably would have tested my theory straight away. Not the best impression to make bending over to look between my legs at what others would think was nothing.
The only one whose opinion mattered at the time was standing beside me. Maybe, maybe if I just explained first what I wanted to see. I played the conversation in my head first. “Would you mind?” No no, bad way to start. How about, “Have you noticed the reflection in the still water? Doesn’t the moon look like…” What? I asked myself.
Just then I noticed he wasn’t looking at the moon or the water. He was looking at me.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked. His hand brushed the hair back from my face.
“I was thinking. . . if I bend over and look at the moon—to get a different perspective, you know—so up is down and down is up.” I hesitated. He looked confused.
“Here, I offered, “like this. . . .” I turned around with my back to the pond. I faced him and held onto his waist for support as I slowly bent myself in half.
The silence across the water was torn by the whining of a jet plane. When the mosquito landed, it bit before I had a chance to swat it away. I swung my arm anyway, hurling myself into his knees and as my head came up into his crotch, I knew he wasn’t going to be interested in the moon or its reflection.
On our second date . . .
