10:29 am, Wednesday, 17 November, 2010 – Atlanta
And, where the heck are the days going? I’m only wrapping up mid-week so that my brain doesn’t keep holding onto the several loose threads I need to tie up. I go to bed each night reciting the things I need to address in the blog. It does not make for easy sleeping. So, let me address them here rather than in the Friday freeforall, because I would like a clear mind tonight. I am going to look back a little, and ahead a bit.
Recap: If you are a newcomer to the blog, I have, so far, introduced some basics about writing, talked about the importance of collecting words, images, phrases, lines, given exercises based on lists, set words, paintings, and on a passage from something you read. From here I plan to move into a series of exercises based on imagery and talk a little about some maxims of writing.
If you have not yet tried out One Word as an exercise, I suggest trying it. It’s a rush and as long as you don’t put a fullstop, you can write a little beyond the time limit.
Those of you have wandered through my blog, or been with me a while, know that I occasionally write about my tree: My desk butts up against the wall fitting just under the window sill. And I, I look into the treetops seven floors up. I am part of the tree on my own branch. If I were to raise the blinds and open the window, which I shall do some cooler day, I will be that much more part of the tree for I shall hear and smell it. If I were to crawl out my window and fly, a little, I could perch on another branch, a thinner less substantial branch than the one I perch on now.
Last week my tree began to lose its leaves. While its neighbour manages to hang on to more of its leaves, mine has a canopy of thin branches and twigs sticking up into the air. I discovered as it thinned that two more trees, different species of maples, stand behind mine, on the street side. They are holding onto all their leaves. Before it lost them, the leaves of my tree were a butterscotch, exactly like the candy, a bright warm yellow, in the morning light. In the afternoon, with the sun setting off to the right, behind the building, the leaves are a rich caramel. When it rained on Monday the wet branches, uncovered now, looked like the lines of black ink in a Chinese painting. When dry the bark is grey. While tall, the trunk is slim and the branches thin. If you are wondering why the digression into the trees outside my window, the blog has become a place to collect images and words about my tree that I will work into a poem.
Tomorrow I will share with you my response to a prompt I stumbled across that you may wish to try. You will have to come back to find out where and what. I know, sneaky.