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My week has been productive, but not blog-wise, because I’ve been on holiday, then working on a piece for my “Creative Nonfiction” class. Derek Sivers e-mailed me from New Zealand to ask about the class, but it was too hard for me to describe without oversimplifying and thereby misleading. So I sent him an e-mail link to a respected Creative Nonfiction Magazine. https://creativenonfiction.org/magazine/
My piece will be in list fashion about trying to declutter.
Since I have nothing to post this week, I offer you, as a placeholder, some FreeFall Friday poetry. It is not supposed to be polished or “real” because it is authentic free fall writing. Makes me think of writing poems in elementary school.
Prompt- New Places
Over the hills and far away
Bears and robins like to play
Every morning I awake and say,
I wonder what will I do today
My friend Piglet will hang out with me
Sometimes we sit and just let be
Sine waves and static roar like the sea
And I don’t care, no not me
I want to go where there’s sweets and books
And crazy capes on crazy hooks
And ally-ways narrow and filled with spooks
And twists and turns and little nooks
…
Prompt- Open House
Past the town of Dandelion, down in the green coulee is an open house. That’s what Sally calls it. We can play there, she says, because it is open. She meant open to everyone, because it is open to the wind and scents and dust. No doubt bats fly through and around, but we aren’t allowed there after dark. Ms. Mass would take away our hoverboard privileges in a flash if we ever broke curfew. It ain’t easy being twelve. And green.
We called the others earth kids, but inside we all secretly meant real kids. They were human coloured and we were green.
Ms Mass would often lead us in the song:
Green is for grass,
green is for trees,
green is for beautiful, beautiful leaves
Green is the vale where my love lies,
green is the love,
in my love’s eyes
…
Prompt- Picture
He never had adventures in the park. Don’t know why, I guess super villains don’t like nature. But I do, and so do teddy bears. So if you go to the Metropolis river park, keep a sharp eye out, and there will be Paddington and Teddy and Winnie, and me too, all having a picnic under the willows. Does it get any better?
Of course I love adventure, I do, but I get enough of that in my living room from my boob tube every day. Sometimes you just have to step over the latest fissures in the sidewalk, wave to your neighbour as he attaches a snorkel to his car, and walk on down to the park.
Of course I like car chases, especially the gas powered cars with big fiery explosions, but sometimes you would rather watch as silent electric cars wiz by—no explosions that way—and walk over to a horse drawn carriage, under the willows. Place your picnic basket under the seat,
your teddy friends on the seat,
and away you go.
No squealing tires, no peppy pistons,
just a clip clop
away from the shop,
feeling the breeze
at greatest ease,
smelling the trees
and hearing the breeze,
into the woods and far away,
the teddy bears are here to play,
and afterwards, I dearly hope,
we’ll find a passer who wants to skip rope. Does it get any better?
And all the cares of heavy days,
And all the sighing and guilty ways,
Will all be gone, like a tail sashays
Flic it away, we’re here today
As the teddy bears have their picnic.
When the grownup do accounting
Squinting over pens and books
They allot times and funds, to each little nook
Surely allot your guilts away,
For every day must have some play
As that’s what they call the accountant’s way.
…
…
Sean Crawford
Alberta,
October,
Thinking of the Miss Persona way,
and her grandpappy Fred Penner,
With nights still above freezing,
2021
Blog Notes: This new blog is still getting fewer hits than my old one. BUT one or more journals won’t take submissions that have been blogged, saying a blog is “previous publication.” Nuts! So maybe I won’t post here my creative nonfiction decluttering piece—and it’s a good piece too.
Writing Time Line:
On Monday morning I was finished and tested my piece. I got laughs, so yes, it was finished. That day I did some deleting of entire paragraphs. On Tuesday and Wednesday I found various times for more editing, and then, ha-ha, I did another edit (swapped two sentences) right before sending it out to my teacher and peers.
The trick (as in buying art) was to do sensitive gut checks: Anything that was nagging at me was something to be edited. At the finish, my intuition felt no more nagging, so I felt fine. You would think I would be humbled by how, whenever I made time to edit my “finished draft,” I ended up needing more changes! But no, each time I didn’t feel small; I felt productive because I was editing instead of passively watching Star Trek… And hey, maybe I am learning something by putting in all those man hours. I can only hope.
