Read Songwriting Without Boundaries Online
Authors: Pat Pattison
Songwriting Without Boundaries (5 page)
MO MCMORROW:
With a whoosh and a snap and a rush of cold rain the umbrella’s skirt is blown up and I’m pulled rudely along the sidewalk grasping onto the thin metal leg as if holding the foot of someone being swept away in a storm. Water lashes my face and runs down under my nose into my mouth. Salt. My legs run to catch up with the rest of me like a comedian and I sneak a glance around to see if there’s a laughing audience. Suddenly the umbrella closes shut in the reversing wind and my legs pedal backward to catch up the other way. My stomach lurches and I feel a tingling in my head like my skin is preparing for a sudden impact.
I like Kaz’s “icy pellets stinging my face” and her umbrella as a “webbed beast.” And Mo’s “umbrella’s skirt is blown up” is a treat. Note their use of multiple senses.
Now, you give it a try.
10 minutes: Hair
Silky strands in clumps and clips in bolts and plaits in pigtails and ponytails tied up in bright elastic rubber bands like bunches of parsley, sprouting out of her head like Athena, like antennae, like antlers for the female of the species. Really dirty hair smells like gear oil, like the darkened sweat bands of old hats, shady and musky oily dusky leather and sweat smell and with straw hats mildewed hay, like a denim jacket after being in the park all day. Clean hair is soapy silky, too soft too stay in place it slips and slides away a sly smiling child, taunting teasing testing. Shining like taffeta in those colors that have no name. A hundred shades of platinum is my true lover’s hair. A hundred shades of silver and gold are hidden there. But you would call it brown.
Delicate strands plastered to skin, golden tentacles wrapping like snakes around sweaty shoulders, bodies pulsing to the incessant beat of the music, hands raised up as if in prayer to the revolving disco ball, smell of Marlboro cigarettes, taffy-colored pink nails drum on the bar counter, spandex and eye shadow the color of antifreeze, slathering Bonne Bell lip gloss on each lip, smelling of strawberries and red licorice, the hair teased and coaxed by the spitting hairspray, a comb shucking the strands of hair the way you shuck corn, the hairspray smells sweet and toxic, the tattoo of my aunt’s pink coral lipstick on the end of a slim Parliament cigarette, long black gloves stuffed into a genuine alligator purse, I hide amongst the fur coats in the coat closet, the smell of camphor laced with perfume, hearing my brother breathing fast as he tiptoes past the closed door, hunting me down, suppressing a giggle as the fur tickles my nose, a sneeze creeps its way up my throat, I try and swallow, today’s tuna fish sandwich lingers …
After you’ve finished yours, go back to these and pick out the phrases you like best. Try answering the question, “Why do you like those best?” It will help you discover tools for your own writing.
90 seconds: Feather
Seagull feather blowing through the breeze brushes against my skin. Breathing in the salty sea breeze. The greasy smell of fish and chips. Smudges on my fingers from the newspaper wrappings.
Tickled under the chin by a matted pearl and slate feather from a farmyard duck.
Bumbling over a pail of eggs by the henhouse and sliding into a trickle of yolks…
I like that both Kaz and Deborah move freely from
feather
into fish and chips, and broken eggs, respectively. The only rule here is to stay sense-bound, so keeping to a single focus isn’t necessary. Practicing this kind of sensual free-association will help you brainstorm more effectively.
Your turn.
DAY #4
“WHAT” WRITING
Three days down. You’re almost becoming a veteran. As you’re discovering, there are no rules here. You can stay focused on an event or experience, or you can float from place to place, rolling off one idea onto the next. Just stay with your senses.
Set your timer and respond to the following prompts for exactly the time allotted. Stop IMMEDIATELY when the timer goes off.
Sight Sound Taste Touch Smell Body Motion
5 minutes: Curb
Foot sliding off the side of the curb, scraping fine cement dust. Wind from cars rocks me, car horns drone by as sunlight blazes off too-hot-to-the-touch metal. Too hot like the sand down at the beach, you run and try to let your feet touch down for just a second. Skin sun drenched, like you’re marinated in sun wine. Another summer passing like a long wave which takes forever to break, collecting more memories … you start dreaming
Flaking cracked yellow paint clings to the curb like a skin disease. Diesel drops drizzle like rain, a cold concrete slap on the face. Red balloons trigger panic and obstruction, tripping hard, toe-stubbing confusion and puddle jumping, zigzag. White powder tickles my nose as I fall face first into screaming traffic and twisted panic bites hard, ripping soft skin wide open.
Check out Nick and Linda’s verbs. Go ahead, underline them. I’ll wait.
Strong verbs are the key to strong writing. Audition your verbs. Let them prance and somersault for you. Verbs based in metaphor or steeped in the senses usually get the gig.
Now write about your own curb.
10 minutes: Bouquet
The stems are molding in the dark of the vase, rotten, down out of sight filling the house with musty funk. The petals are on the table, an I Ching telling me of the haste of my departure. The litter box is full of cat shit and the ammonia of the cat urine hits my nose in an acid wave when I round the corner into the kitchen. Cat puke on the carpet upstairs like a dead little rodent lying under the window. Closed up house smells of hot attic. Somehow the colors all shift when you go away and come back. Dishes in the sink look like archeological dig crusted and smeared in ancient browns. What can we learn from these people? They lived with animals. Burnt out lightbulbs and softened oranges greet me and tell me I have work to do just to keep my head above water cause there is a slow leak in this lifeboat and a week away means some emergency bailing. I am bailing. I am taking out the ripe and evolving garbage under the sink.
