I took a creative writing class where the instructor gave us what she called "jumping off lines." She reads an opening a sentence at random and you finish it along with the rest of whatever it inspires. You write for a set period of time with no cross-outs. At the end of the class she gave us a whole bunch to take home. I keep them next to my bed and when I don't feel like journalling I will pull one out of a drawer and write un-interrupted for a few minutes. Here is one I worked on recently.
Jumping Off Line: The last time we talked...
The last time we talked I didn't really listen to your words. All I could feel was colors - bright vivid oranges and yellows, reds, blues, purples, crashing together on a vast canvas. I felt warmth. You might have told me something important but lately I can't hold onto my brain. My thyroid has been acting up and it makes me hungry and anxious. Sometimes I find a nice spot in the sun and I dream in my sleep but I usually wake up startled and don't remember a thing. This must be aging. THIS must be what mothers feel when their children grow up and love their boyfriends or girlfriends more than their mothers. I'm a passenger in the back seat now and I have to sit in the middle. I don't even get a good seatbelt, just that flimsy one across my lap. So I lick carelessly around my butt and let the dingles pile up. This is how I get attention lately but I'll take any morsel because I love you. And I know you love me too -- you're afraid to love me since I'm dying. I'm good at seeing the warmth and colors -- I tell you with a wide array of beeps and buzzes. Fucking little dog. And that heathen feral cat. I lick you.
note: written from the perspective of our 15 year old cat who is having a hard time adjusting to her health, the new puppy, and the new cat.
amazing....
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