Writing from the Heart Day 3

29 May

No pictures today. Only tons of fun exploring the right brain and non verbal communication through games. Many hilarious and best tickling moments!

We kicked off with a sea of fairy tales.  We wrote down our favourite ones and talked about archetypes in them. Jungian theory based.  Tony explained that we inherit stories, patterns… and that archetypes are universal and present inside us and outside the world around us.  We instinctively use them.  Characters embody these archetypes.

Tony talks a lot about letting feelings guide your writing. I find it a very cathartic way of creating. But often I wonder if pure emotions,  unbridled,  can bring about a structured piece of work. One that would make sense.  Do you create sense first or make sense of it later? I’ll ask.

And then we spoke of stimuli.

“There’s no such thing as writer’s block. Anything can be a stimuli to your writing,” said Tony.

To prove his point,  he picked a random scratch on the ground and challenged us to write a story.

Some of us wrote about the life of the scratch,  pleased to be noticed.  Some wrote about the sound of a scratch.  Some wrote about scratches in other places,  like me.

I wrote something straight from the wells of my heart this time.  I imagined the scratch morph into the face of a clock, and into a mother’s anxiety of her child who has yet to return. And this is the story that came to me –

Every Tuesday,  8pm was tuition time. But Alice was not where she was supposed to be. She knew she was in trouble. But getting to class was not in her mind. She was trying to understand what has just happened.

“I need to pee,” she said to the stranger.

“Here. Just do here.”  he grunted.

“But this is not a toilet.  I need a toilet.”

“No toilet here. Just do it. Nobody will scold you.”

And so the little girl,  unable to repress her urge to pee, squatted down at the staircase and pulled down her shorts.

Shhhhhh…….

The warm sensation spread down her little legs and some of it got onto her feet and slippers. But she couldn’t stop.

She kept staring at the crack on the grey steps.

Shhhhh…. drip…drip.

Quickly,  she pulled up her panties,  stepped away from the yellow pool trickling down the steps and felt immediately dirty.

When she turned,  she saw him. His pants were down.  Maybe he needed to pee too, she thought and she ran.
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