Generating ideas

Last night's writing class involved a brilliant idea-generating exercise! We had a big box of random objects and the idea was to pass each object in turn around the class. As each object arrived on your desk, you had to scribble down the first thing that popped into your head.

Some of the lines I ended up with are wonderfully surreal... here's a sample:

• Tinkle like a gypsy bell
• Bleach the skull of Jefferies
• An English shade of blue
• Hedgehog by air mail
• Crushed beneath a marble shell
• Call yourself when young
• Snap the slate of life

After all the objects had been passed round, we all ended up with a lovely long list of random lines. We then chose one of the lines to use as a basis for a poem. I'm still a kid at heart, so I chose the item that generated the "Hedgehog by air mail" line, namely a tobacco tin bearing this picture:

Christmas hedgehog postman by Molly Brett

We then had to write a list of ten facts about the item we'd chosen. Here's mine:

1. The postman is a hedgehog.
2. The hedgehog is wearing a dark blue hat.
3. Birds are perched all around, being nosy.
4. The hedgehog is delivering parcels to a family of rabbits.
5. There are three kids in the rabbit family.
6. There are three parcels being delivered, so presumably that's one per rabbit kid.
7. The hedgehog can drive.
8. It's a bright sunny day.
9. It's been snowing. Lots.
10. The entrance to the rabbits' burrow is *huge*.

... and then we needed to write a list of five feelings we got from the item:

1. Pleased for the young rabbits, because I'm assuming the parcels are their presents.
2. Hopeful for the hedgehog that this is his last job of the day. (He looks a bit sleepy, poor guy.)
3. Worried the rabbit children may bicker over their presents (e.g. the green parcel's a lot smaller than the yellow one, which might cause a bit of jealousy).
4. Amused at the birds being so nosy.
5. Impressed how the hedgehog has managed to drive his little van over a snowy field (there's no sign of a road).
6. (Bonus feeling! 6 for the price of 5!) Worried the rabbit construction workers have not considered how easy it would be for a fox to fit through the massive entrance to that burrow.

The final part of the exercise was to write a little piece about what the item would say if it could speak. I forgot to do this bit (oops) but I'm sure Postman Hedgehog would be unable to speak as he climbed that hill - he'd be all puffed out. The rabbit children are, no doubt, squealing in excitement, and the parents are whispering to each other about how they're hoping Amazon hasn't screwed up their order.

So with all these facts and feelings and ideas, it was time to write a poem. Come on Brain, let's hear it! Give me assonance and alliteration! Give me consonance and rhyme!

Actually, no, not rhyme. We weren't allowed to rhyme. Sad face :-(

Brain rummaged in its poetry suitcase and decided it didn't know what to do. So it gave me this:


The blue hat
of the hedgehog
is dark.
Here is a line
break.
Line breaks show you're good
at poetry.


Thank you, Brain. I will print that out and put it on the wall... as a reminder not to try and write poetry any more.

Brain then decided it wanted to rhyme (it really likes rhyming), so off it went and I was forced to follow along:

The postman is a hedgehog!

Imagine, if you can,

Him dealing out his presents

From his bright red van.

The rabbits in their burrow

Peer delightedly

Out at Mr Hedgehog

Coming round for tea.

Thank you, again, Brain. I asked for something deep and you gave me something daft. And why is the hedgehog postman suddenly coming for tea? Was that just to make the last line rhyme? Yes, I thought so. Sigh.

I think that's enough poetry for now. Brain, go back to sleep.

I don't understand poetry

It's time for another writing class update! Tonight's lesson was an introduction to writing poetry. I've always assumed I'm only capable of producing daft poems (which are apparently better known as "light verse")... while posh poems (the ones that use clever words and imagery to talk about feelings) are probably not the sort of thing my brain can cope with.

One of the poem we read was "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams. It's very short, with lots of line breaks. Here it is:


So much depends
upon

A red wheel
barrow

Glazed with rain
water

Beside the white
chickens

Whenever I read something like this, I imagine it must be full of deep, meaningful, wonderful things that I'm simply too dumb to understand. Other people think it's great so I can only assume I'm missing something. The poem's considered one of Williams' most important works. It has the honour of having its own wiki page (!) and was recently used as a title for an episode of Homeland so it obviously still resonates with modern writers. What I never understand about poetry like this, however, is why it's been picked out as something for literary types to point and nod intelligently at, while other poems (that sound similar, to my ears) are dismissed as "trite". In this respect, as someone in the class pointed out, poems like this are a lot like Jackson Pollock's splatter paintings: the arty types tell us they're amazing, but there will always be someone (probably me) standing there saying "a five year old could do that." Perhaps it only counts as "art" if you're the first person to get noticed doing it?

So what do I get from "The Red Wheelbarrow"? I'm not a literature student so I don't know what to say, but here's a few thoughts:

• I can see the poem paints a very specific picture, and I'm guessing most readers will find their mind conjuring up much more than just the wheelbarrow and the chickens (because it's not a huge leap from that image to seeing the entire farmyard). Any writing that creates a strong image in the reader's mind is definitely doing a good job... but I can't help feeling it would be nice if something actually then *happened* with that image. What holds the reader's interest after he/she's looked at this pretty little farmyard scene? Is the wheelbarrow full of human skulls? Is one of the chickens hiding a Kalashnikov under its feathers? Where's the action?!
• The line breaks are interesting, I guess... they change the meaning as you read, e.g. you see "the red wheel" and your imagination conjures that image, then you reach the next line and have to adjust your mental image to "the red wheelbarrow". But does that count as clever? Or is it just odd?
• The first line is a good way of making you read on, and I suppose you're left wondering why the wheelbarrow is so important. So is that the secret to good poetry? Leaving everything open-ended so that literary types can sit and discuss meaning/symbolism for hours on end?

Anyway, the lesson was fun and I think I learned something... but I'm still very confused!

The chickens are confused too

Austentatious and Eric "big balls" Hamilton (Mrs)

Mrs Mumbletoes and I had a fun time watching Austentatious last night (an improvised comedy play in the style of Jane Austen). The play is based on a title chosen from the audience's random suggestions. Sadly my title didn't get pulled out of the hat and used in the actual show, but I was very pleased to get mentioned as their "top unused title"! Does this count as being published?

And our top #unusedtitle tonight ~ 'The chocolate bird bath of Eric "big balls" Hamilton (Mrs)' #bemusing #confusing pic.twitter.com/2FOH3448UA
— Austentatious (@AustenImpro) February 21, 2015

[EDIT: It turns out the lady pictured, Alison Thea-Skot, is an old school friend... of the sister... of a friend... of my wife. Only Facebook could make such a random connection!]

The random man's arse

I received some random text messages from a friend today:

A random man on the tube called me a f***ing smartarse this morning

This is very true

A random man on the tube called me a f***ing smartarse this morning

Because I touched his shoe

Maybe it's just me, but this sounded like a daft poem. My brain immediately decided it had to try and join in. I didn't really get a choice in the matter - my brain just seems to like daft poems.

The random man’s arse was not so smart

It hung below his knees

He swung it up between his legs

To give a cooling breeze

I asked him not to swing his arse

But he ignored my earnest plea

Instead he swung it round his face

And said he could not see

To try and stop that swinging arse

I grabbed a-hold his shoe

I tied it to its neighbour

With a clever knot I knew

He tripped and fell upon his arse

(still wrapped around his head)

He cursed and yelled and bawled my name

And me... I turned and fled.

Apparently the original messages weren't meant to be a poem - the repeated line was just my friend's phone screwing up. Thank you, friend's phone, your mistake gave me another daft poem to add to my collection. And that brings to mind a Neil Gaiman quote I kinda like:

I hope you'll make mistakes. If you're making mistakes, it means you're out there doing something. And the mistakes in themselves can be useful. I once misspelled Caroline, in a letter, transposing the A and the O, and I thought, "Coraline looks like a real name..."

(from http://www.uarts.edu/neil-gaiman-keynote-address-2012)