Long Time Coming

Has it really been that long since I posted? Yipes...

It is Hamline time again. I am so blessed to be a part of this group. Today, we workshopped a piece by Chris Campbell, dystopian-er extraordinaire. Yes, I made up a word. In fact, I will probably make quite a few over the next few days. That tends to happen when your brain turns to creative-happy-mush.

We heard Gene Yang talk about the story behind the story in his award winning American Born Chinese.

Jane Resh Thomas told us to 'go to the hot stove. You don't have to sit on it, just stand there and cook.' She was talking about the emotional hot spot in your writing, but it makes sense in all kinds of ways.

She also had us do a writing exercise where we crossed characters, events, and dialogues from our memories that wouldn't have normally come together and gave us ten minutes. Afterward, she called for volunteers to read, and the writing gods overcame my good senses. I raised my hand. Here is what came out. It was a cross of my sister and I in our cardboard box watching Mr. Roger's Neighborhood and my dad traveling for work.




The father watched his girls. So small, like kangaroos in a strange pouch.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood..."

His travel bag cut into his shoulder.

"A beautiful day for a neighbor..."

The man on T.V. took off his shoes, one at a time, and replaced them with house shoes.

His father used to wear house shoes. Such fuss over what belonged inside, what belonged out. A lot of things were left out, kept on the other side of the door.

He looked down at his leather soles, his pressed suit pants. The shoulder bag pinched him again.

"Won't you be mine? Won't you be mine?"

He pulled off his shoes, his bag hitting the floor with a thud.

He crawled inside the box and breathed brown curls that smelled of Johnson's baby shampoo.

Tiny hands found his and his tie pulled as the one with the curls pressed against his chest and into his lap.

"Won't you be mine?"