Walking the Walk

I’m great at “talking the talk”. I set all kinds of great intentions for myself: I’m going to spend less time on my phone before bed and read more; I’m going to do a yoga video or stretch before I watch a show; I’m going to go out with Javi once/week; I’m going to get up earlier and start my days differently! Do I actually do those things consistently? No. I need to get better at “walking the walk.”

I’m not sure why I’m so fixated on this right now. Maybe it’s because I’m halfway through my thirties today and feeling introspective. It seems like something we all do: talk the talk without actually walking the walk. I remember listening to an interview with Dolly Parton (who is AMAZING, by the way) and she was saying how people always ask her what her religion is and she said that she tells them something like, “I live my religion!” and I thought that was really great. This really seems like “walking the walk” to me.

So, why do we “talk the “talk” so much? I think it’s because it’s a lot easier and we really do want to do those things! Sometimes we just don’t have the time, or the energy, or the self esteem to “walk the walk”.

I do want to act on my good intentions more, but I hope that I live my life more like Dolly: being the kind of person I respect and admire, being the kind of person I would LIKE to be, and being KIND.

Complaints

Weekly writing prompt: Write a poem or story in the form of a letter of complaint. Who is complaining? And about what?

Dear sir or madam
I am writing to lodge a complaint
Life is not fair
Bad things happen to good people
Bad people get away with bad things
There is too much money in this world
And yet, not enough
There are people who sleep in the rain and go to bed with a rumbling tummy
Why?
Because they can't afford a roof or food to fill their stomachs
A polar bear somewhere floats alone on an ice floe that has broken from the shore
Where are my friends? he asks
He doesn't know that they are dying, just like him
A child screams because their school was destroyed by a bomb
War is always illogical, but especially to a kid  who has yet to develop logic
A person with a gun walks into a public space and kills people
What was their motive?
They don't have one, but does it even matter?
I'm not sure you can fix this
In fact, I'm fairly certain you can't
Why complain to you, then?
Because my complaint still stands and
Life is not fair

Bridges

Prompt:

The Winter 2023 issue of The Kenyon Review, which is being mailed to subscribers this week, includes a folio of fiction selected by @lauramvandenberg and Paul Yoon. Yoon and van den Berg chose “bridges” as the theme of the folio.

Inspired by their theme, write a poem, story, or essay that features a literal or metaphorical bridge. Are your characters trying to cross some kind of bridge in life? Does the speaker of your poem regret having crossed a bridge? Are you writing a piece set on an actual bridge?

I used to run forever
Never tired
Run, run, run
I wonder when that changed
When I started to feel the burning in my lungs
And the lead in my legs
And I listened to that voice in my head that said stop
Just stop
I remember being older at a playground and swinging on the swings
I loved the swings
I could swing so high
And so fast
It felt like flying
Grown-up and on a swing
I didn't feel free
I just felt nauseous
And I thought This must be adulthood: unable to capture the feeling something once gave you

Uninvited

Prompt: an uninvited guest shows up at a party. What kind of gathering is it? Is it a wedding? A wbirthday dinner? A wake? What kind of conflict occurs? Write the scene in poetry or prose.

There’s cake and balloons and it’s clearly a happy scene. Presents are piled on the table and there’s a sign: Happy Birthday, Kaylie! People mill about, and what appears to be the birthday girl is wearing a striped hat with tight elastic strung between her ears. Why was Daniel there?! This is obviously a cheerful occasion, not a good time for family dramatics.

Daniel comes bearing gifts and the person Kylie seems to be with is blocking Kylie’s view of the brother she hasn’t seen in 5 years. Kylie notices Daniel, though, and doesn’t react, though on the inside she is asking herself “What the fuck is he doing here?” She was busy catching up with friends when Daniel got her attention. She walked straight to him, unafraid and unembarrassed. She was not, however, unemotional.

“Why are you here?” she whisper-growls at her brother.

“Obviously to celebrate your birthday, sis,”he answers sarcastically, with a wry smile on his face.

“You’re about five years too late for that,” she scoffs. The last time she had seen him was five years ago at her birthday party.

“Oh come on, let’s not rehash old wounds, let’s just celebrate being together,” he says, almost patronizingly.

At this point, Kylie’s partner catches her eye and gives her a look that says “do you need me to rescue you?” A subtle shake of her curls implies that Kylie understood and does not need assistance. Better, since family matters are rarely improved by an outsider stepping in.

“Convenient for you to say since you are the one who caused the wounds…”

“Oh come on, don’t act so innocent. It’s not like you weren’t complicit in all of it.”

“Maybe,” she retorted, “but you were the one who went dark for five years, not me.”

“What else was I supposed to do? My sister and all her friends, my mother, and my father all hated me. I had no choice but to disappear and start over,” he said with slightly wet eyes. Was he crying? Her brother? Not a chance. He hadn’t even cried when their childhood dog had died.

“I never hated you,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Was I mad? For sure. Did I feel like my birthday would be forever associated with the day Daniel lost his shit? Yes. Did I hate you? Never.”

He felt like she was lying but he had to admit, it felt good to hear her say that.

“The real question I have is why now? Why are you here?” Kylie asks amid the buzz of her party guests.

“I suppose that’s what I need to talk to you about…”

As she sat down to hear her brother out, her friends’ voices swelled into a familiar tune. She glanced over her shoulder to see her partner’s face, illuminated by candlelight.

“No, nooo, please don’t,” she protested. But they ignored her and sang on.

Resolutions

Hey! Happy New Year everyone! It’s 2023 and like every new year, it’s a little unbelievable! Time keeps marching on as it does. Are you a New Year’s Resolutions type? I’m not, in the traditional sense, because I don’t think that’s how change occurs, but I never think it’s a bad idea to set goals and intentions for ourselves! To that end, my goal for 2023 is to write more, especially about things I might not usually write about. The Kenyon Review does this thing on their instagram account where they post a writing prompt every week. I’d like to use these prompts as inspiration. So, join me on this journey (and keep me accountable!) as I use this blog as a platform to try something new. Below is my first attempt. It’s poetry, which I have very little experience in, so bear with me.

Prompt: Write a poem containing the following elements: a scent that speaks, the breath from a machine, a town with a persistent color, and a recurring animal. One line should be in the form of a vow. One line should state a regret.

I stand on the dock of a cold and giant lake, ready to jump but afraid of the Muskies that will bite my toes
"The Muskies might getchya" my dad would warn.
I think he was joking, but to me, it was serious. So serious.
I jump and swim. the cold lake swallowing me. Spitting me out.
I am cleansed, but I feel dirty. 
The boathouse calls my name. There is a bathroom there that might have spiders and smells of old wood and dank life vests.
But the lake has made me have to pee badly. So badly.
"You'll be safe in here, but make it quick" the old wood says to me.
To Wilson's for ice cream where the red-striped awning matches the red stripes of the deck chairs and of people's towels.
No Muskies at Wilson's.
Steam rises from the old soda fountain, coughing into the humidity of the midwestern summer air.
A surprise at the bottom of the ice cream cone!
Just for me. Just for me.
I promise to return one day.
But I cannot. I cannot.
The Muskies got my toes.