Songwriting Without Boundaries (21 page)
Read Songwriting Without Boundaries Online
Authors: Pat Pattison
Waitress
battles
:
The waitress battles to keep the heavy dinner plates on her arm as she weaves in and out of the overcrowded restaurant.
Waitress twists and turns, sucking in her stomach, squeezing through gaps, lifting plates almost above her head, hum of conversation, laughter, jazz band in the corner, clapping, pasta with creamy sauce and mussels …
SUSAN CATTANEO
Waitress
storms
:
The waitress storms the dining room, her hair a tornado of tinted blonde. She pours on the charm and flashes lightning white teeth.
Menus sticky with maple syrup, Elvis on the radio, eggs getting cold on the fry cook’s metal counter, smell of bacon lingers in the air like mist, playing pick-up-sticks with toothpicks …
Once Susan finds
storms
, other members of its family come rushing in to join the party. That’s the beauty of collisions: each side brings entire families to elbow into the other’s business.
Now, you try.
Summer ___________
Summer
waltzes
:
Summer waltzes on daisy feet across the open meadow’s floor, sweeping away spring in the folds of her emerald gown.
A lone hawk circles and catches an updraft, bees lumber from flower to flower, a lizard bakes on a hot stone and then is gone, breathing in clover and overturned earth, a brook skips over …
Summer
buckles
:
Summer buckles under the weight of wilting fruit, mounds of petals, lawns as far past thirsty as tumbleweeds.
Easter-blue sky and khaki horizon—but at night the light is yellow crime lamps, the air streaked with particles, shoes always white, breath clogging from a two minute run, the dust dried into in the seams of every joint, eating her …
I wonder what would happen if these were reversed: “_________waltzes summer … ”, “__________ buckles summer ….” Try it. Then do your own.
Graduation ___________
Graduation
stretches
:
Graduation stretches out across the afternoon, sighing during the final photos and lingering good-byes.
High heels sinking into the lawn, sipping champagne, face hurts from smiling for photos, itching to take off my black gown, holding pink roses …
Graduation
plods
:
Four hundred graduates, three hours of speeches, ninety degrees in the shade… On hot, swollen and heavy feet, the graduation ceremony plods along through the dwindling afternoon.
Programs waving back and forth as makeshift fans, mosquitoes buzzing like miniature helicopters, hard wooden folding chairs, heels sinking into wet grass …
I didn’t have the high-heel experience, though it must be a common experience, until now. Both Chanelle and Susan personify graduation, then give it an action. Nice.
Your turn.
More with verbs tomorrow. Exciting, yes?
DAY #6
FINDING NOUNS FROM VERBS
Yesterday was interesting, finding verbs from a noun prompt. Today you’ll reverse that and find nouns from a verb prompt, nouns that create collisions with the verbs. This will be unfamiliar territory—it seems easier to know the noun and put it into action than to know the action and find something that does it. Or not, I’ll let you judge.
As you did yesterday, for each combination, write a sentence or short paragraph about it. Then do your ninety-second piece of object writing.
VERBS
Flush
Indict
Paddle
Operate
Soar
_____________ Flushes
Company
flushes:
The company flushes out its underperforming staff in a recession.
Pulling the chain, swirling water, dirty waste, cold sterile porcelain bosses.
Dusk
flushes:
Dusk flushes out the daylight, draining the color from the sunset and washing the sky clean.
Watercolor clouds drip on the horizon, streetlamps buzz on, the houses on the street huddle close in the silence, the moon is a hangnail in the dark …
What quality does
flush
have? It removes, gets rid of. So find some things that remove or are removed. Since
flush
is primarily a transitive verb—it asks for a direct object—you’ll have to find two nouns: x flushes y. Dusk flushes daylight.
Hot spots: “porcelain bosses,” “the moon is a hangnail in the dark.”
Now, do your own.
_____________ indicts
Lilacs
indict:
The lilacs indict me with a few sparse flowers.
The garden is unhappy. My roses are reproachful, my iris refuse to bloom in their overcrowded beds. Even in my place of respite, I am coming up short.
