Tag Archives: Writing Prompts

Begin Again

1 Reply

In my meditation today, I was reminded that when my mind wanders, I can begin again. Focus on the breath. Begin again.

We can always begin again. 

Today is a good day to think about that.

What could we do?

It starts with story. We must know our own story.

We must tell the truth about what happened to us.

We could understand that we are all in this together, that the success of one is the success of all, and not just for humans.

We could devote ourselves to an ethics of care and compassion, to kindness to self and others, knowing that others are connected to us, and we to them, in profound ways. 

We could be humble and acknowledge what we have broken and our own brokenness. We could grieve for what we have lost, because we know that we have lost so much. We are not even sure what it is. But we know. We feel it. It exists as a hollowness in our soul that no amount of food or alcohol or consumer goods or anything else can fill.

We could help each other through the grief.

We could repair what is broken. We could make it our work.

We are ALL in this together: the humans, the trees, the plants, the insects, the air, the animals, the soil, the water, and even the rocks. Even the rocks.

We could build an economy that knows that the earth is not merely a resource for humans to use (up), but a part of us as we are a part of it. The earth’s health is our health. It gives and gives and we, the humans, must stop taking so much.

We could remove the barriers to sharing what we do take.  

We  could build an economy that acknowledges limits. 

It could be beautiful.

Think of what you would begin again, if you could, and know that you can. 

This writing prompt is for the birds

Leave a Reply

The last few weeks of winter have been hard. The snow piles that became ice piles finally begin to melt. A relief. But with the melt comes the revelation of how much garbage is on the ground. So many coffee lids, cigarette butts, fast food wrappers, bits of blue plastic twine, (why is there so much blue plastic twine and where does it come from?) a rubber glove, a ruined pink toque now dark with grime.

The birds are back, and that is something. They fly in and out of the Bulk Barn sign, nesting in the curve of the “u” and the “a”. Then I see a sparrow flit to the sidewalk, pick up some blue plastic twine and take it to the nest.

This bird is making its nest with garbage.

Is this awful or not? I can’t decide, but the image sticks. It is a metaphor for everything. I can make it optimistic or pessimistic or both simultaneously.

Use it. Write.

 

 

 

Snow Day!

1 Reply

Is there anything better than a snow day? Is there any better story prompt than SNOW DAY! I don’t think so.

Go outside. Stand in the cold. Kick your feet through the snow. Is it powdery? Sticky? Does it squeak underfoot? Let the cold get to you. Let your nose turn red and start to run. Remember sledding, that time you just missed that tree, or that time you fell off and the sled went into the river and you stopped just short, scrabbling at the snow going by with frozen hands inside of gloves so big they might as well have been oven mitts. How does it feel? Remember the feel of snow in the gap between your pants, socks and boots, how snow could build up in there and give you a rash on the back of your legs. What is happening to your fingertips? Is snow getting inside your collar? Shovel a bit. How heavy is the snow?

What are the animals doing? Where do the squirrels go when it snows? Where are the birds? How does it sound out there? Is snow falling from tree branches? Has it piled up high on the fences? Is it blowing from roofs? Is it drifting? Are there other people around? Describe how they are bundled up. Can you see their eyes? Are they squinting against the snow and wind? What are they thinking?

When you get inside again, read that Jack London classic, “To Build a Fire.” Not many people will ever experience something like that. But plenty among us are homeless, struggling to survive in the city, sheltering wherever possible, trying to stay alive. What’s the conflict in a story like that? Human against nature, certainly. But isn’t it also human against capitalism? Neoliberalism? Pull-yrself-up-by-yr-bootstrapism? Recently in Toronto, a woman died because she was trapped in a clothing donation bin. She was looking for dry clothes.

Or, stay sheltered with pen and paper in hand. What do you see from your vantage point? How does the warmth feel? Do you feel gratitude to have your shelter? Are you annoyed that your are stuck and that the roads are too bad to drive on and the buses are trapped on icy hills? If you stay home from work, do you lose a day of pay? Is there somewhere else you need to be? Are you anxious? Is it terrible to feel the loss of control?

Or does it fill you with joy and wonder? Snow. Snow day!

Think about all of it. Think about whatever this makes you think about. And write.