behindtheax

writing exercises

In the quarry yesterday, as Monica and I walked the dogs I really tried to take in all the little things – the toughen thorny burdocks looking a bit like medieval warriors, the leather like grass, the icy under coat of the field, the one lone hawk in the sky, circling, circling, how my dogs placed their feet at a run, the open pit at the edge, near the railroad tracks where kids and vagrants must spend some time drinking. It almost looks like a modern day Stonehenge with a circle of shopping carts and car tires instead of stone. Regardless it did look a bit like a place where spirits might gather. I wanted, as an exercise, to come back to the house and write about the field. But after twenty minutes and completely exhausting every word for brown – and there are many words for brown according to my new word finding friend – like chestnut, bronze, copper, rust, auburn, ginger, tan tawny, chocolate, coffee, hazel, walnut, bay, henna, umber - I gave up on my exercise.

“We stay at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves”. –Sylvia Plath

Well, the problem with me is I’m not so overly stretched – Not much here to consolidate. It is a difficult thing finding the right word, holding onto that thought, trying to attach meaning, saying it right. I don’t think there is anything harder.

When I was sitting watching the woman the other night buying her cigarettes before the shop closed I was in our car, waiting for Greg as he stopped in at the fish and chip place to pick up our order. I was listening to Stevie Nicks singing Landslide which seemed suitable and I immediately attached it to this small snippet of life that I was witnessing. Giving the scene a lyrical and emotional sway even too the pigeons..

Landslide makes me think of my sister, Sandy. She was big into Fleetwood Mac and Harry Chapin way back when. The day that Harry Chapin died I remember clearly her calling me down from upstairs and as she told me he died, she started crying and I remember feeling bad for her but at the same time wondering why she was taking it so hard. Wasn’t like she knew him. She had many of his albums and I can’t remember the name of her favourite song of his but it had words in it like, “I wish that I was beautiful or that you were half way blind and I wish I wasn’t so GD fat and I wish that you were mine.” Something like that – she played that all the time, I remember. But I digress - As I watched this stranger walk the width of her small corner of this universe – I wanted to follow her up those narrow steps into her apartment, sit with her, ask her about her life, how she got where she got – not that I’m weird or anything (well perhaps) it was just Stevie pulling at a string on me that is a little loose at the moment –
So, I wanted to write what I saw – but it was hard to attach any realness to it. I wish I could make my words real. It’s fine to have a thesaurus beside you chalked full of words but how do you put those words together into something real?

posted by mary j. @ 3:46 PM