I Spy. . . Prompt #80

Today’s writing prompt is inspired from the book, Write Free, Attracting the Creative Life by Rebecca Lawton and Jordan E. Rosenfeld

This writing exercise is called: I Spy

List a few things that happened this morning or yesterday. They don’t have to be big or memorable, just whatever falls into your mind.

The goal is to slow down and take stock of those things you do not normally notice.

Writing Prompt: Focus on one event and write how you felt about this encounter. Jot down your feelings and then do a freewrite.

fish 2Did the event make you think of anything else? Did it remind you of other events, experiences, memories or feelings? What were you thinking while it happened, or just before or after?

Write your freewrite. Type your freewrite and save it.  Log on and post your writing on The Write Spot Blog.

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  1. Ke11y

    To Live…Or Not To Live!

    (This moral dilemma unfolded in my kitchen.)

    The ant crawling around my boot right now does not understand the present danger. Tired, frustrated and angry I care less whether the ant should live or not. It’s just an ant. I raise my foot and watch it climb under the sole of my boot. So what if I’m about to extinguish the life of this ant, would it really matter? The situation right now has its own special temptations. I might feel better if I stamp on its existence. ‘Hast thou no heart; can’st thou not let this creature live and suffer whatever it be?’ Conscience, I hate it.

    The ant dares to climb back on top of my boot. Ignorance is bliss. It crawls round in circles, seeing the world from a different height. The ant is not afraid. By its very actions it is telling me: ‘What art thou afraid of? Can’st thy not find it in thine heart to trample me under thee’s foot?’

    What is the purpose of the ant? I ask myself. What is the purpose of its life? Its life, you should understand, hangs precariously upon my temperament and association. Watching its antics causes me to wonder: what does a young ant look like compared to a geriatric ant? Upon this thought all my presuppositions about the ant at once fall to the ground.

    It is in my nature to let it live. Later tonight I may, accidentally, extinguish it. Better that, don’t you think, than act out my vengeance and anger by stomping it into the kitchen floor.

    So I let the ant live. What did it matter you may ask. Well, it was a matter of infinite consequence. I wasn’t willingly ready to accept the burden of knowing I had deliberately stamped my foot on the ant. An hour earlier it might have been different. My mood, my thought, my temperament was not what it is now.

    Anyway, the ant seemed friendly enough. I let it climb on my finger; it ran across the palm of my hand. Finally I let it down on the kitchen table. What possible harm can such an irrelevance have upon my life? I left the ant to go his way and head for a shower.

    The water hits me hard. When I look down, still rinsing my hair, a hardback beetle is crossing the shower floor. I raise my foot and stamp down on it, crushing it to death immediately with some ferocity.

    I hate beetles in my shower.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Omigosh, I am laughing out loud. First, I love the Shakespearean nature of the ant. Love the narrator’s philosophical monologue. And finally, the last line. . . exquisite! Well-written, Kelly. And really, such universal thoughts that can be expanded to human life. . we just finished a month of moving 95-year-old father-in-law from Kaiser hospital to care facility to home where he passed away peacefully and comfortably. So, end of life issues have been on my mind. And life truly does “hang precariously” . . . sometimes dependent on the goodness of caretakers. I LOVE the concept of comparing a young ant to a geriatric ant. Such fun and brilliant writing. Thanks for posting.

      1. Ke11y

        I was saddened to hear your news, Marlene. I seem, myself, to have reached a time of life where attending funerals has become the monthly event. I have now begun inviting myself to weddings! I’m the one who’s head is poking over the bridegrooms shoulder and no-one can put a name to the face! I did it last in the city, such a joyous occasion, and there I am, uninvited in a group photo, but walking away with a slightly happier frame of mind. I love weddings! I’m in Chicago for a few days and watching out for anything but a funeral to attend incognito!


        1. mcullen Post author

          One of my pretend fantasies . . . something I would never do. . . but I do think about it. . . attend weddings where I know neither the bride nor the groom. Not a party crasher . . . rather an exuberant uninvited guest! Some day . . . it could happen! Thank your for your good wishes, Kelly. Safe travels.

  2. James Seamarsh

    The sun was low. I didn’t notice this right away, but knew there was something different. It was the leaves. It was the shadows. They were too big, too dark, too horizontal. My eyes drifted, trying to follow the rocking boughs, trying to wake up.

    Bright sun was rare enough. Bright sunshine at sunrise was, well, I had been in Ireland for five weeks and not once seen anything but clouds in the morning.

    There was no sound, no rustle, no whisper. Perhaps my ears were still asleep, or the double-glazed window were closed.

    “It’s too early,” the tree reassured me, every leaf smiling, every leaf glowing and dancing. “Go back to sleep.”

    How could I argue. Sunrise meant 5am. And I was on vacation.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Love this, James. Love “too horizontal” and “Perhaps my ears were still asleep. . . ” And I enjoy the reassurance by the tree. Delightful imagery. . . the tree rocking the narrator back to dreamland.

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