This morning, I decided to revisit old fashioned Cursive from grade school, and it was lovely. For about two hours I sat down and wrote in this notebook just whatever came to mind.
I wrote of a young man, Andrew, who was scared of the spiders. He went home to report to his mother and father. They said, “Never mind them, get back to your schoolwork.” He completed it and watched a movie. Later that night, he got out of bed and snuck out of the house with a fishing pole. The sun rose and he kept fishing. At noon, he decided he’d fish some more. Dusk came and his parents were worried sick. “Probably I should go back in the morning,” he thought, and made himself a comfortable bed in the woods. It was more pleasant than he imagined. Perhaps this new found love for the outdoors would cure him of his phobia.
Well, this was certainly a pleasant experience for young Andrew, but he was annoyed awake by the sound of something in the distance. Something. Dogs. A search party with dogs had gathered. “My parents are gonna be some kinda pissed,” he thought. And the dogs caught up to him. They surely did. They roughed him up quite a bit, too. THE END
So it was not a great story; I’m not saying that. But it was proof to me, that out of just getting the hand to move for a few pages, a story did fall out. The act of physically moving the hand in the act of writing just may produce something of value.
I wrote to friends: Dear Friends—
Thanks for getting this and opening it and accepting it. I hope you miss me as I miss you, but it’s okay if you don’t. As I write to friends of the past, I’m well aware I’m writing to current unseen friends in other dimensions (which sounds creepifying, I know, but that’s the kind of package deal you’re getting here).
I said all kinds of things, in Cursive. I wore out two pens, actually, and started on a third. Black ink. In black ink I said I may very soon put this open mic poetry thing to rest for awhile and concentrate on other writerly things. There weren’t any complaints, not after that fiasco Thursday night.
Oh, and I saw that kid again, in the market. I was downtown pleasure seeking and spotted him in the coffee shop window playing chess with some friends. My first reaction was to keep walking. The second was to turn back around and grab myself a table and write, and read. And so I wrote. Maybe it was in blue ink, not black. I wrote: “I didn’t expect to see you out in the sunlight!” and laughed loud enough that it was audible. Asked the girl at the counter for a cup of water instead of coffee. Then I thought, “If I throw this water on you, will you do a whole melting routine for us?”
take off your