Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Writing Exercise Wednesday #4 + Thursday Result and Happy Birthday to Me!

WEW #4
Prompt: Metaphor as a thing. Where would your heart be, what would you see?
As an example, I did three exercises with this and was a coffee table book, a table of contents, and a painting. I’ll post my painting result tomorrow. Have fun!!!

Result: I am happy to post on my birthday and look forward to a bday lunch and dinner!

I am a painting. My frame is my bone structure. My heart was given to me by my artist. The many splashes of color, royal blue, deep red, bright yellow and orange, are my many moods. Thankfully, there isn’t too much black on me – you don’t want to be around me then.
I see you looking at me, studying, smiling. I like it when people smile at me. With the lighting just right, I look better and so do you. My lines are like an English country road – such a beautiful journey to take – you never know what you’ll find and see for the first time. Or trail along a familiar brush stroke. Some things are worth looking at again and again.
Don’t stay away too long. I like to see your smile.


  1. Not sure what I'm supposed to do, but had fun with this:

    Where is everybody? Why is it still dark even though I'm awake? It looks like a canyon here, high walls close together with light above, like the others decribed from where they were in the desert.

    Oh, eyes! They had eyes in the desert too, eyes of coyotes and eyes of birds. I've seen the eyes of Pedro the gardener. But who is this?

    My feet are cold and I'm thirsty. Aah! The eyes and hands are lifting me. Now I sit in a bowl and my feet get covered, I get sips of water. It's a girl and she sings. She walks away.

    I ask the big white thing next to me, "Are you a rock?" "No," replies a thin voice. "I'm a toaster." "Oh."

    I say to the green thing on my left, "Hi. Are you a plant?" "No. I'm a bottle of dish soap." "Oh."

    I turn to the yellow thing. "Hi! Are you a flower?" "No. I'm a brush."

    The girl comes back, carries me away. Then she sets me at her feet, steps back, looks, walks away.

    I ask the bumpy beige thing next to me, "Are you a tree?" "No. I'm a basket." "Oh."

    And the great white thing behind me, "Are you a plant?" "No. I'm the staircase wall."

    Then I look up and see nothing but green. Green sprays splashing the air all around. Green hearts with yellow. A green tower of gently curved blades. Green like me, but not exactly.

    "Hi everybody! Are you guys plants?"

    "Why, yes! We're house plants and so are you. You look like a succulent. First one around here."

    Then I'm happy--warm feet, watered, with all the other plants in the bright happy staircase.

    And the girl talks to us when she goes by.

    1. That's exactly it! And even if it wasn't, there's no wrong way to do a writing exercise. I love it - your results are so much fun.

    2. I love reading your results too! The plant in my writing must be the child of immigrants, moving from the countryside to the city, and hoping for new friends. Hmm... how suspiciously similar to my childhood. Is this what they mean when they say there's no new story?

  2. Happy Birthday, Angela! I wish you many felicitous words, writings, and ideas.

    1. Thanks, Caroline! In answer to your question - it may not be a new story, but it's your story. And what's nice for your plant is she is welcomed in and happy to be there.