I felt the hard minds of my family charged with anger, fighting impractical hurried,
driving themselves through the backwater streets in flight looking for an easy out,
blue-collar babies rebelling against the paternal accusing clatter for the wild banshee in the disco of night…
This week’s writing prompt is an exploration of language submitted by @andilit (Andi Lit) who suggested taking passages from books and imitating the grammar while using something you’ve been working on or something off the cuff.
She says, “The purpose is to simply try imitating the language and see how it opens up your writing. Try it with a short passage first (and don’t stress if you don’t know the grammatical terms – just imitate). Then, you can play with longer passages.”
I couldn’t resist since I’m already so guilty of mutilating songs (Across the Twitterverse?). And I’ve been in a sort of writing snit and it’s time to loosen up. So I pushed up my sleeves and ransacked the shelves. I hope you give this exercise a try, it’s good therapy and fun if you get off on writing stuff.
Feel free to post your own excerpts in the comments below or on your own blog and link to this post. We could start a writing revolution! (A peaceful one, where we all get to keep our office appointments)
In case you didn’t recognize the piece from above it is a rip off “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg:
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night…”
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Gas smalls awful;
You might as well live.
Sewing bores you;
Knitting binds you;
Potting wheels whir;
Band mates fight;
You might as well write.
From “The Call of the Wild” by Jack London
“Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair from Puget Sound to San Diego.”
The Howl of the Womb by Me
V did not believe the psychic, or she would have known her belly was growing, not alone for herself, but for her sleep-deprived husband, hard of work and with great, generous patience for days on end.
From “Dead Poet’s Society”
“I close my eyes and this image floats beside me
The sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain
His hands reach out and choke me
And all the time he’s mumbling
Mumbling truth, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, it will never be enough
Kick at it, beat it, it will never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying,
It will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.”
Caffeinated Mom’s Impropriety
I close my door and my daughter sits beside it
A freaking-out babygirl with a scream that eats my brain
Her feet kick out to frustrate me
And all the time I’m mumbling
Mumbling quiet, like a librarian who never gets her way.
I shush her, hold her, she will always be testing
Look at her, love her, she will always want more of us.
From the moment we wake yawning, to the moment coffee is brewing
She will continue testing limits as I pour and drink and stretch.