⚡Day 10. Stuck in time.
Being in the moment.
This week, we’re focusing on exercises that will help us focus on how we represent the passage of time on the page. Yesterday’s prompt focused on crafting a fast-paced, tense series of events.
Today, we’re slowing waaaaaaay down. Sometimes—as in “Vision for the Coming Year,” by Joanna Penn Cooper and “Twenty-Something” by grace (ge) gilbert—time feels hazy and floaty. We get stuck in moments or phases where it seems almost as if nothing is happening … though of course something is always happening.
PROMPT #10
Take your time.
Before we write anything today, we’re going to spend at least five minutes transporting ourselves back to a different life phase. You might light a candle and close your eyes, or you might find inspiration in a photo or an artifact of object from that time. Try to remember who you were then, and how the world felt (or sounded or smelled).
Then, try to capture those feelings and sensations in words and phrases. How does one sensation or image or memory lead to another? Try to stay in this space; resist the urge to explain or to fast-forward to the present. Write for 15 minutes.
Share: Your favorite paragraph.
I was 11 years old, interviewing myself in the bathroom mirror, door locked, settled on top of the counter. The upstairs bathroom, we called it, aptly so. It had a full bathtub and a true laundry chute and a working lock- all draws to any kid in a family of six (kids, that is). Add in the parents, 8 of us, privacy hard to come by. The chute looked like a large wooden milk crate with a latched lid; you could open it and deposit clothes or towels down a large rectangular tube of aluminum into the laundry room below. Other things that went that way-toys, shoes, and my sister’s fingernail collection once when I was so red faced enraged at her and could think of no worse punishment than to spend out what she had carefully saved. There is no replacement for a dumped collection of fingernails in dirty laundry, no dash to the local K-Mart. A year later, I would unravel her knitting, one row at a time, tears pouring down my face as I pulled on the string first one direction, then the other, recommitting to the destruction each time the row came to an end and I moved on to the next one. I can’t remember what it was that she did to me in either instance, only the feeling of being so very angry that I had to do something, and then the shock and power of reacting with irreversible damage. I can’t think of doing it a third time.
I'm 9 years old and it is a bright sunny day in northeastern Ohio. I am outside on our back patio which was just a slab of concrete, but to me, my siblings, and my cousins it was a space where we could have many adventures. We are all wearing our swimsuits, lying on beach towels, and soaking up as much sun as we can. I am filled with energy, excitement, and happiness because I'm surrounded by family and enjoying the beautiful summer weather.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and it feels like I'm being hugged by the sun. There is music playing and we all begin to dance around. I am carefree in that moment. I am not filled with anxiety or worry, just being fully present in the moment. I truly feel like a child in that moment, as it should be. This moment feels like it will last forever and I don't want it to end. Little do I know at that moment how precious this memory is and how important it is to fully cherish one's childhood.