THe "creativity kicker" was really fun, and brought out my improvisation side in a right-brain-charging way. Here are some of the exercises I did, based on the sample words/phrases I was given as starting points:
"She opened the trunk"
After opening her umbrella to shield herself from the dark mists descending from the crags of Mount Persephone and its sirens' spells, she opened the trunk to find a curling, squealing mass of entrails and thick, warm splotches bursting from the spare tire that was no longer in its place with the Goodyear wrench, jack, and bolts.
"The dog crossed the street"
Away went the meatball, over the edge of the lemonade stand, past Bobby and Ricotta's horseshoe sand pit of worms and plastic army soldiers dusted with mace and firecracker ash, and into the sidewalk where, in full view of the rooster, box of kittens, and three buzzing hummingbirds, the dog, with its tongue dragging along the pavement, crossed the street.
"She raised the knife"
Lightning flashed and the lights went out just in time for the man to raise his knife, but he still had a split second to consider what he was doing: here, beneath the 10-foot portrait of his wife and children sailing a boat into a kraken, he was about to end of the life of the one woman, his stepmother, who had ultimately summoned the great beast to wipe out their adventurous lifestyle and to this moment remained completely unaware that her plot had been found, goose had been cooked, and knife, with great precision and care, sharpened to a vengeful point.
"The child ate his dinner"
The child ate his dinner in the main stereo-gyro-scoping hall of the Eatinarium Laboratory, as scientists in dazzling purple robes studied him on hundreds of monitors, measuring how close the fork came to his enamel with each bite, with what frequency his knees bobbed and shook, how much sauce he would allow to accumulate around his lips before licking them, and when, as the morsels disappeared from his plate, he would raise the dish and ask for dessert.
"pirate, Greek god, quill pen, tiger wants to eat character, street corner, character drinks water"
Another old man passed by the street corner, laughing his wrinkled chin off at the young man seated beneath the cold gaze of Poseidon. In front of them, a Burmese man-eating tiger licked its jaws, salivating at the opportunity to eat another sea-salted pirate. The pirate shook in his boots, scratching his parchment with a quill pen as he brainstormed the Greek god's riddle. A small confederation of child-scouts assembled before the pirate, and Poseidon nodded with approval.
“We came back as soon as we could,” their leader gasped.
“And, and?” the pirate asked, nodding hysterically.
“We asked the oracle at Delphi if she knew your fate and how to free you of your curse.”
“That's great! Does she know the answer to the riddle of Poseidon?”
“She said you're a dumbass,” and the lieutenant child scout tossed a clump of dirt at the pirate's head, nailing him between the eyes. Poseidon chuckled and ruffled their hair beneath his massive blue palm.
“That was your last lifeline, pirate. There are only moments left before you are swallowed up by the sea you so love.”
“But my first lifeline didn't count. My cousin in Troy--”
“There is no more Troy!” Poseidon roared. Already, storm clouds gathered in the distance. From the moment that the pirate pissed in a clamshell that happened to be the great-great-great-granddaughter of a fairy who had a one-night stand with a stalactite nymph, Poseidon had stalked him across the Mediterranean coast, waiting for the proper moment to capture him and make him pay for his rather quasi-offensive gesture against the regal citizens of Olympus.
He had captured the pirate in a bar at his greatest moment of his weakness: namely, when the pirate had heard that a 150-foot tall godhead was hovering beneath the surface of the sea moaning the words “MY VENGEANCE IS MANIFEST” and headbutting various ships in the harbor. Before word of the angry god reached the pirate, he had drunk two liters of brandy and gin. Once he was informed that, more specifically, he was the sole target of divine retribution, the two liters left him and his sober fear was paralyzing.
The pirate looked up from his parchment. A list of drinks, both grand and cheap, natural and refined, was spelled out from his memory. The riddle had only one minute left to be answered. What did the god of the sea drink after a long night's sailing? Was it ambrosia? That's the only thing gods drank, right? Or did Mars drink the blood of his enemies? The gods turned into animals from time to time – perhaps they had a favorite watering hole they liked to visit, or a berry tree that they pulped every year to make sweet wine.
“Your time is up, vulgar mortal,” Poseidon said, crossing his bulky arms.
“Is it ambrosia?” the pirate asked in front of a morbidly curious crowd, all of them hanging on the final answer.
“Nope! The king of the sea drinks only water!” Poseidon laughed, flicked the pirate's head off his shoulders, and rode away on a rainbow. The tiger ate the remains.
No comments:
Post a Comment