Prompts come in many different forms. Sometimes, a single word is all you need to get your mind’s wheels turning. Here are six words:
TREASURE, REGRET, HOME, LOVE, UNCERTAINTY, SECRET
Select one word in this list that speaks to you in some way. Have you always wanted to write about that wrong decision you made? Are you a long-term traveler looking for the right city to settle? Do you want to write a poem about your relationship?
The beauty of the one-word prompt is that it’s open to interpretation. What do you think of when you hear this word? What do you see? This word is simply the seed for your post: feel free to shape your idea as you see fit.
Jack Sparrow: Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.
Treasure. To mean it connotes something to desire. to obsess about to search after and sacrifice for. Something to covet. Something to strive for. Is it a coincidence that in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” films Jack’s notable McGuffin is a compass that points the way to the heart’s desire of who ever holds it?
But what is treasure? Not the dictionary definition – what does the word make you feel? Treasure negates reason. Maddens. Intoxicates. It drives you to extremes. As in Aguirre, the Wrath of God leading you to your doom, treasure takes you before you take it.
Time for a little bit more soul searching. What do I yearn for that I haven’t got or what is it that I have that I value above else.
Soul searching my ass. The answer is the forefront of my mind. It’s like scar on my face I have to ignore when I look in the mirror. It’s like a motorcyclists knee whose twinge will never let him forget the time he went a little too fast in the wet.
Real romantic true love with a soulmate who loves you as you love them. (In that respect I’m no different from Will Turner. ) For me money won’t shake me from my path, nor power, nor privilege, not even survival. I would rather die Smiley than live a lie. Been there done that.
Its a trope, a cliche , a trueism . Every other Howard Hawks film had an otherwise indestructible hero laid low because “a woman done him wrong”
One day I will hear “Treasure” calling and will throw everything into the air and say:
“Bring me that horizon”
Love is the only thing, worth the effort associated with treasure. It lifts the lover and the loved. Good love strengthens, Mad love destroys. It’s transformative, life-changing, mind altering, soul-clarifying, world changing.
If I’m honest with myself I want it like a hungry man wants steak. Discipline and life lessons bitterly learnt control my desire but like the alcoholic with the smell of beer the desire will never go away.
Bring me that horizon.
Today, write your own list on one of these topics:
- Things I Like
- Things I’ve Learned
- Things I Wish
There are no rules, though it might help to decide in advance how many items you’d like to include, or set a timer, so you have boundaries within which to work. For example, a list of 10 or 25 or 50 (or more!) items, or intervals of 15, 30, or 60 minutes are appropriate.
Could not go too long without referencing a movie (which is something i do quite often). So with all love and respect to the movie “10 things I hate about you”
10 Things About Me
I like my natural poker face
And really deep brown eyes
I like being tall, well built and muscly
But wish I could find clothes I like in my size
I like the way I can look at the world
And see the shadows of hidden truths
“If you hear hoof-beats think of a Zebra”
But those aren’t the only animals with hooves
I like my taste in all kinds of movies
I like the way I like squeals
I like the view from the moral high ground
Ironically because I consider all people equal
I like the way I want to be more
An Author, Scholar, Lover of Truth, Know it All
But mostly I like the way that people can’t tell
Most days I don’t like myself at all.
My name is Smiley Yearwood and I am a writer.
This is my second Writing 101 and I’m for the sense of community, the daily prompts and the motivation to keep writing. For the longest time I have been suffering from depression and it’s only recently I have been officially diagnosed and started to leave denial behind and start moving up, moving on, moving forward.
I’m working on my first novel but it’s so easy to get caught up and weighed down by life and the novel gets nudged a little further into the future while you deal with the here and now.
Writing makes me happy.
You know when you have a draw packed full of stuff and it jams the desk? Till eventually you yank it open and empty EVERYTHING on the floor? Then you work out what was jamming up the works and then put back in everything you need and throw away the stuff you don’t?
That’s me and writing. That’s why I write
Don’t be afraid of the dark
Not trolls or jinns or the rare cupboard shark
You have a light in your chest that blazes away
And it lights up dark places to show you the way
No matter where you are you’ll always be you
And your light goes with whatever you do
Should you ever find yourself in a dark place
Remember that which dwells in the dark flees from you and the light you embrace
The first thing that shocks tourists and visiting family more than anything about Great Britain is the greyness.
When it’s overcast, (and it is more often not), the air is sucked out of the nations lungs. Later they get bummed out by the bleakness of our cities, our surly shop staff and the fact that most of what they’ve seen about London on TV is a lie and really most of our capital city is a concrete and brick slave plantation with paper chains and fields of Sainsburys and Tescos and chain shops.
But it’s the greyness. The enveloping colourless miasma that we breath and swim in. We are born in colour and live in grey and die in the dark.
The muscles atrophy when they are not used and pumped. So it is for the spirit and the sense of the self. It’s so easy to disappear within oneself like a deep sea creature in a rocky crevice.
How to exercise the spirit? With muscles it’s what ever makes them sore. With the spirit – what ever makes your heart soar, amen.
Sunday afternoon -The dark tea time of the soul (h/t Douglas Adams) Let the random ruminations begin!
Hugo stared at the wall daring it to be anything but what it was. Unyielding, unchanging, uninteresting. It did not alter or shift. Neither did the Djinn rune written in an ink no pure human could read.
There was no option but to do this the Djinn way. He felt his body undulate and lose weight. It felt like falling asleep but not nearly as comforting. Anyone lucky or unlucky enough to have been watching him at that moment would have seen him appear to fade into near nothingness, a ghost image. That ghost then appeared to walk through the wall.
The manner of why this can be is quite tedious to explain.
I’m blessed. I know because my mates tells me so whenever I talk about what I’m feeling and what I’m dealing with at the moment.
They ask me what’s wrong. I tell them how I feel and they insist on trying to make me feel better by reminding me how many people are suffering or worse off. I don’t know about them but knowing other people are suffering doesn’t make me feel better.
I get it though they’re just going at it the wrong way. Count your blessings.
Thing is when you’re depressed your blessings aren’t there anymore. You have a flat? Could lose the flat, could end up homeless, could have vermin. You have a job? Could get passed over for a promotion, could have another re-organisation, might not even like this f@#*ing job anyway. Depression is a death spiral you can’t pull out of your own. That’s the difference. It’s like someome’s thrown a spanner in your difference engine.
As mentioned before I’m a wannabe sufi. A sufi en pretence. I’m fasting at the moment for the month of Ramadhan and will do so for the next twenty days or so. 19 hours a day without food or drink. The mood swings I’m going through are Shakespearean. I’m rather dramatic company at the moment and if you were an audience and my life was a film you’d be applauding my dramatic shifts back and forwards.
With a spanner in my engine and dearth of coffee and fuel in my system I’m in trouble.
Familiarity breeds contempt. Something to think on the next time you recognise your own reflection
No-one who is used to having friends they understand and can understand them knows what it’s like to not be able to speak your mind with the people around you.
Nor can they understand the sense of relief when you lose your last solitary f*ck and you start speaking from the heart. It’s as if you’ve suddenly transmogrified into a evil universe version of yourself.
Like your non-identical twin has suddenly switched places with you. The same but not the same. The stranger in your skin. I’ve had that experience and I was as shocked and entertained at the words that came unbidden from mouth as everyone else in the room as I stopped speaking from the social script and said what I meant and what I felt. Truly felt.
We all wears masks. We’re not superheroes or supervillains but we all have a secret identity. The real us. There are very few of us who WYSIWYG. What you see is what you get.
We all lie. We all lie all the time.
Civilisation is held together by little white lies, half truths and fudged facts.
Have you seen the news? That was a trick question – you haven’t. Chances are unless you are a journalist none of us have really seen the news. What we get is the processed meat product of TV not the raw dripping fresh meat fresh from the scene. We are as packaged and prepared and edited as the evening news. Within and without.
TANGENT: I loved Sir Terry Pratchett and I miss him as if I knew him personally. One of the scenes that sticks in my mind comes from the Witches novel Witches Abroad
Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered silvery world
‘Where am I?’
INSIDE THE MIRROR
‘Am I dead?’
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES
Esme turned and a billion figures turned with her
‘Where can I get out?’
WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL
‘Is this a trick question?’
Granny looked down at herself
‘This one’ she said
Stable and comfortable, Staid and Constricting. Leafy and well situated. Ludicrous and wealthy. I moved from Leytonstone in (then, unregenerated) grim East London when I was 7. Which isn’t strictly true of course because I didn’t move my mum moved. At the time I was growing up there Woodford Green was a mostly peaceful small well to do suburb just outside of London.
I’m going about this all wrong.
Woodford Green was and still is safe. Continue reading