Write Your Story then Tell Me What Happens!

MY FIRST SHORT, SHORT STORY


Once upon a time there was a person named _________________



_____________________________. Secretly, she wished that she
(my name)


______________________________________________.
(one different life)

One time I saw her _________________________________. Next
(a thing I enjoy doing)

thing I knew she was ______________________________________.
(one of the tiny changes)

Frankly, it wouldn't surprise me if she went wild and

__________________________________________________.
(something I don't have to do perfectly)


As matter of fact, I'd like it if she did that. I might just try

a few new things myself.

WRITE YOUR RANT AND THEN SING OPERA

Writers really never know what they really think until they write it down. Sometimes I write on a napkin in a restaurant, in my journal, or on computer. If something (like an insurance company) or someone is bugging me, I just rapidly write down all I can on the topic. Then I quickly write from someone else's point of view about it. Then as an imaginary third party watching the scene from the sideline. (Never get confused and email this to anyone!! You will look scary or crazy.)

But, what usually happens in the middle of the rant is that another new, fresh voice chimes in. A new perspective on the issue. I feel a weight lift. Solutions pour out. If have gone from raw feelings to hope.

When I sing this rough rant in my fake opera voice, perspective shifts and I start laughing or crying because I am finally ranted out. I have hit the truth, or it hits me. I can't sing a lie. My frustration+creativity has turned into fun. Even if funny only to me.

The truth is . . . most everything is bearable, light and even funny once you get to the highest note of truth at the end of a well-ranted opera.

Maestro! "I'm the cheese in this office insurance panini. I belong on Saturday Night Live. Someone swoop me up."

The Fajita Odor Eater

Bleh! I cannot stand to be gassed in a Mexican restaurant when the waiter serves up a smoking fajita on a platter right next to me. I do not need to see popping grease before I eat it or before a stranger eats it. Someone, please, invent a silent Dust Buster to follow that waiter out of the kitchen. Suck up the smoke and cracking grease so I don't have to smell it. I am choking to death here.

What would you love to see invented? Or, better yet, what can you invent? Be sure to get a patent. The poor fellow who invented the yellow happy face only made $45.

"Designed to Boost Morale: The original yellow happy face has its origins in Worcester, Massachusetts, on the drafting table of freelance graphic designer Harvey Ball. Joy Young, Promotions Director for a subsidiary of the State Mutual Assurance Company, ordered up a button design from Ball that would help boost morale at the company (which had recently gone through a merger). According to press reports, Ball originally drew just a smile, but feared cynical employees might simply wear the button upside down. So he added two small eyes for vertical reference. A sunshine-yellow background and, voila, the happy face was born.


"In an interview with the Associated Press in 1996, Ball recalled: "There are two ways to go about it (drawing a happy face). You can take a compass and draw a perfect circle and make two perfect eyes as neat as can be. Or you can do it freehand and have some fun with it. Like I did. Give it character.

"Ball is also on record as having said that 'never in the history of mankind or art has any single piece of art gotten such widespread favor, pleasure, enjoyment, and nothing has ever been so simply done and so easily understood in art.'

"State Mutual originally printed up 100 buttons, but when they became popular give-away items, many more were produced. A 1964 picture shows State Mutual vice president John Adams wearing one of the yellow buttons. Ball was paid a $45 fee for designing the button, and neither he nor State Mutual thought to trademark the image."

See http://www.creativepro.com/article/heavy-metal-madness-put-a-happy-face

LICK DESSERT FIRST

I blew my semi-vegetarian diet at Kansas City BBQue by ordering a half plate of ribs, French fries, and cold un-toasted Texas toast. Although we are not near Texas, Kansas City, or Missouri, I enjoyed every bite and sucked the rib bones like a dog. I licked the mint toothpick for dessert but did not eat it. I'm now a depressed unfaithful parttime vegetarian. I may invent a new more positive phylem: SIMPLY NON-FRIED.

THE ART OF CREATIVE LIVING PLAYSHOP: A LIFE-CHANGING JOURNEY TO HIGHER CREATIVITY

WE ARE CREATED TO CREATE

Creativity is in your soul and not something you need to invent.

Discover or recover your lost creativity through learnable skills provided in highly effective exercises and activities that ignite your imagination and flame new ideas.

Help stamp out fear, self-sabotage, jealous, guilt, self-limiting beliefs and inhibiting forces.

Find out how small changes can alter the trajectory of a life time.

Find healing for “DIS-ease.”

Get serious about taking yourself lightly.

Learn to grieve loss and get on with it.

Camp for adults.

Change is the only thing that is unchanging.

Explore creative abundance

Work at learning to play.

Protect your inner artist.

SAYS WHO?

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. Picasso

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.
Thomas Merton

I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues.
Duke Ellington

Imagination is more important than knowledge.
Einstein

Do not fear mistakes—there are none.
Miles Davis

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented . . .?”
Actually, who are you not to be? Nelson Mandela


PLAYSHOP MEMBERS SAY

I didn’t know I had this many choices.

You should take a before and after picture.

I got in touch with my feelings at a level I’d never reached before.

The pages resulted in weight loss, less medication, and my allergies are better.

I feel like a one-woman work of art and the star of my own life.

I ended the pumpkin pie war.

I dreamed I had a beautiful baby at my age—me.

I quit my job. The most creative thing I can do its get a job—out of town.

This group should be required.

I keep forgetting to be unhappy. Sometimes it’s noon before I pick up a negative thought.

I went to see my baby rhinoceros again.

Last year I didn’t own a computer—now I’m a Web Page.

I never need a nap.

It’s my turn.

I’m having my second art showing.

She introduced me as her artist friend, and I didn’t turn around to see if she meant me.

When I am out alone, I’m in good company.

The joy is in the process and not in the product.

Now I pay attention.

I couldn’t overcome a perfect childhood, and you couldn’t overcome a bad one. We’re the same.

I don’t have time not to do the pages. They make me have a day worth living. Feel the fear and keep going.

You are now in my inner circle.

I wanted to go all my life. I did it.

My date was to stay in bed all day and read.

I have the sculpture because I offered to be the model.

I got a canvas bigger than me.


WHO?


K--
facilitator
writer
mom
wife
chauffeur
key keeper
cat catcher
seamstress
typist
scheduler
nurse
humorist
teacher/consultant
editor
friend
relative
artist
daughter
repairer
greeter
columnist
administrator
and
standup comedian

MAKE CONTACT

letslightenup@cox.net




Usually when we say we can’t do something, what we mean is that we won’t do something unless we can guarantee that we do it perfectly.

The grace to be a beginner is always the best prayer for an artist. There is always one action you can take for your creativity daily.

Serious art is born from serious play.

Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived.


The answer is always within. YOU ARE THE LEADER YOU HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR.

SAN FRANCISCO SHOPPING . . . NOT

While shopping alone in San Francisco, I encountered some colorful Girl Scouts rapping on the sidewalk. Their mom took my photo as they showed me some moves. Turned out the beautiful Scout leader was the niece of retired Judge Charles Owens from my hometown so it was a regular reunion.

The girls and I drew quite a crowd and sold cartons of cookies. Two other women joined us. My twenty-something son would really have enjoyed seeing this scene, but my poor husband would have crawled in a waste can and missed all the funky fun. Now I could add "Rapping" to my old Scout sash where "Cooking" should have been.

The week after receiving my drama badge for starring as the Witch in SNOW WHITE, I quit the Scouts. How could I humble myself to a kitchen after my name appeared in all caps on the bright play poster I had put in the window at the corner IGA? At age eleven, I refused to boil a dumb egg to put in a boring lettuce salad. Some things never change.

I thought I left town to forget it all not to remember.

To write.

To remember to write.

It's not about the shopping.

Monologue: My WORK Number

Scene opens. Tired supermom writing a check at the grocery store. Hand it to the innocent teenaged checker and smile.

“Yes, I found everything needed,” I said. “My work number? OK. 755-5968. Extension? Extension? Yes, there are several extensions. Let me give them all to you.

“Push 1, and you’ll find me in the master bath. I’ll either be anesthetized by Lysol, this Lime Away (she reaches into the sack) or Windex. Let it ring twice because my head may be stuck in the toilet.

“Push 2 (she holds up 2 fingers), and you’ll find me in my teenager’s room. I’ll be picking up sweat socks with tongs, shuffling CD’s, or wiping peanut butter off the remote control. If I’ve fainted from reading the lyrics to one of his poems, push 3.

"3 is the kitchen. I could be down on all 4 waxing or coaxing the incontinent cat out from under the table. I might be sneezing at the dust mop or riding high on my electric broom. Or maybe praising the sheltie for licking up all the cake crumbs.

“Now my assistants--the self-cleaning oven, the dishwasher, the microwave—will be there, but they don’t take messages. Call back.

“Or better yet, try extension 4. I might be in my home office balancing the books for my husband’s business. You see, if I stay in the background and make up flow charts and write checks, he can bask in a glamour position all day at his office and receive credit, or better yet cash, for a job well done.

“Stay right there, young man. If you push 5, you’ll get the backyard. Call anytime day or night because I won’t be resting by the pool. No, I’ll be cleaning the barbecue with a steel brush, putting out a pork rib fire, or explaining to my husband why I won’t stick my hand into the ice water and clean out the pool filter.

“Did you get my cell number, Sonny? 485-6958. Sometimes I run free and wild to the cleaners, the bank, the dentist. But, don’t worry, I’ve got an answering machine. If I’m pumping gas, leave a message. I’ll get right back to you. Or better yet I may just drive right on over the store and see you in person.

“No, I would not like to meet the store manager, but I’m sure he’s very nice. And so are you. See you tomorrow or maybe later today. And thanks again for asking for my work number. If you need me, you know where to find me.”



I thought of this scene because I encountered the same grocery store checker last month on jury duty. After 25 long years, he recognized me first.