My mind's swirling, and I need a release. I'm setting a timer for 15 minutes, then writing what comes to mind. Care to do the same? I'd love to see your 15-min "dump" in the comments. Ready? Set? Go.
I'm reading a Jodi Picoult novel right now and she has two sentences I just love:
"His voice is wrapped in batting so soft I can barely hear it. It is a broken bone of desperation and it won’t set."
and
"I should dive in and start swimming, but I’m already sinking here on dry land."
I just read them this evening and thought, "I want to practice writing metaphors like that." Then I came across your substack prompt. Thank you so much!
This was just what I needed. These are fairly awful, but here is my unedited 15 minutes of trying to imitate her metaphors:
a splinter of pain shoved so deep it's a tattoo
a sand dune of hope with the answer hidden deep inside
i should reach out to him but i'm only an image on a canvas
i should stay, but i'm at the starting line and the gun has gone off
i should warn her, but i'm already on a plane to somewhere else
a pendulum of enduring pain that swings on, heedless of time
a cool hand of solace that heals a fever
an unclenched hand of friendship that caresses my heart
This is exactly what this exercise hoped to do -- encourage fascinating observations and take us inside others' heads. Thank you for sharing, Jocelyn. I don't think they're awful at all. In fact, I'm going to try this exercise tomorrow. Thanks for the idea.
Yay! You are so welcome. Did you try it? I've been collecting more of her metaphors and I'm going to start a regular practice of writing my own. Thank you for nudging me along with your prompt. ❤🙏
The spooky, eerie feeling started in my gut and spread to the rest of my body. It was 1994, a cold, dark January night. The images on the screen in the classroom came from documentary footage: people boarding trains, packed in with barely any room to move. Piles of and piles of what, upon a closer zoomed in look were human bodies, so so thin, from the starvation. A gigantic pile of shoes. The helpless, terrified looks on the faces of people with yellow stars of David being rounded up by officers with Nazi symbols. These were unedited, uncut, unwatered-down scenes of what actually happened, and what would have happened to me if I had been alive and living in Europe at the time. The Holocaust was familiar, I knew the basics, and understood that there were people in the world who believed Jewish people should not exist. The class was a graduate level survey of the Holocaust, and I was given special permission to join. Later in the semester we watched Schindler’s list, which, after watching so much documentary footage seemed like a caricature, nowhere nearly as explicit or graphic. That feeling of being so spooked was ignited by the sick realization that time and distance was the only thing preventing me from experiencing that. Several days ago that feeling returned for the first time since that night in 1994, only this time it was worse. Seeing people marching and attending rallies for the extermination of all Jews, seeing children being taught that Jewish people do not deserve to live, that they (we) are the reason for all evil in the world. Watching these images on the news and my computer in THE YEAR 2023. No matter how religious, no matter how informed, Jewish people all over the world, at this moment, are feeling the weight of all of this hatred. It’s creepy. I get chills when I see police presence at synagogues, knowing that this is necessary even in the well educated, liberal leaning bubble I live in. Look at how quickly dumb ideas spread: like stolen elections. It doesn’t take much for people to latch on to an idea or concept and then believe in it. If we didn’t learn in the 1940s, and we still can’t figure it out, what are we doing wrong?
Thank you, Katie. I'm blown away by what you've written, and more importantly, I'm so sorry about what is happening to Jewish people everywhere. I have no words.
I'm reading a Jodi Picoult novel right now and she has two sentences I just love:
"His voice is wrapped in batting so soft I can barely hear it. It is a broken bone of desperation and it won’t set."
and
"I should dive in and start swimming, but I’m already sinking here on dry land."
I just read them this evening and thought, "I want to practice writing metaphors like that." Then I came across your substack prompt. Thank you so much!
This was just what I needed. These are fairly awful, but here is my unedited 15 minutes of trying to imitate her metaphors:
a splinter of pain shoved so deep it's a tattoo
a sand dune of hope with the answer hidden deep inside
i should reach out to him but i'm only an image on a canvas
i should stay, but i'm at the starting line and the gun has gone off
i should warn her, but i'm already on a plane to somewhere else
a pendulum of enduring pain that swings on, heedless of time
a cool hand of solace that heals a fever
an unclenched hand of friendship that caresses my heart
a ragged wound of loneliness that won't heal
This is exactly what this exercise hoped to do -- encourage fascinating observations and take us inside others' heads. Thank you for sharing, Jocelyn. I don't think they're awful at all. In fact, I'm going to try this exercise tomorrow. Thanks for the idea.
Yay! You are so welcome. Did you try it? I've been collecting more of her metaphors and I'm going to start a regular practice of writing my own. Thank you for nudging me along with your prompt. ❤🙏
The spooky, eerie feeling started in my gut and spread to the rest of my body. It was 1994, a cold, dark January night. The images on the screen in the classroom came from documentary footage: people boarding trains, packed in with barely any room to move. Piles of and piles of what, upon a closer zoomed in look were human bodies, so so thin, from the starvation. A gigantic pile of shoes. The helpless, terrified looks on the faces of people with yellow stars of David being rounded up by officers with Nazi symbols. These were unedited, uncut, unwatered-down scenes of what actually happened, and what would have happened to me if I had been alive and living in Europe at the time. The Holocaust was familiar, I knew the basics, and understood that there were people in the world who believed Jewish people should not exist. The class was a graduate level survey of the Holocaust, and I was given special permission to join. Later in the semester we watched Schindler’s list, which, after watching so much documentary footage seemed like a caricature, nowhere nearly as explicit or graphic. That feeling of being so spooked was ignited by the sick realization that time and distance was the only thing preventing me from experiencing that. Several days ago that feeling returned for the first time since that night in 1994, only this time it was worse. Seeing people marching and attending rallies for the extermination of all Jews, seeing children being taught that Jewish people do not deserve to live, that they (we) are the reason for all evil in the world. Watching these images on the news and my computer in THE YEAR 2023. No matter how religious, no matter how informed, Jewish people all over the world, at this moment, are feeling the weight of all of this hatred. It’s creepy. I get chills when I see police presence at synagogues, knowing that this is necessary even in the well educated, liberal leaning bubble I live in. Look at how quickly dumb ideas spread: like stolen elections. It doesn’t take much for people to latch on to an idea or concept and then believe in it. If we didn’t learn in the 1940s, and we still can’t figure it out, what are we doing wrong?
THIS.
Thank you, Katie. I'm blown away by what you've written, and more importantly, I'm so sorry about what is happening to Jewish people everywhere. I have no words.
Thank you ❤️❤️
Thank you for providing the space for a 15 minute “brain dump,” which is excellent practice!