I’ve had occasion lately to write things based on parameters that weren’t my own.
A short story and a song, both with specific purposes that were not part of what I ordinarily think of as my central emotional … thing. Stuff. Doo-dad. Mojo. Whatever. I didn’t write from some emotional or intellectual realization or epiphany, or even from the desire to capture a feeling. I wrote because somebody put three pictures in front of me and said, “Write a story about these things.” And so I did.
And boy is that ever revealing.
Because we have to furtle ’round in our subconscious (subconsciously, of course) to discover what these exterior images mean to us. We have to discover what they make us feel and think, and how we want to express that. It’s truly fascinating.
Most of my life as a songwriter and writer I have relied on my own inner spark, on the things that just came up, that needed examining or expressing. And that’s fine as far as it goes, but to have three random objects imposed on my thought process, forcing me to connect invisible dots and see connections where there are none, and fill in blanks and gaps and backstories – well, it’s a powerful exercise.
Here’s a short story I wrote about someone cutting a pizza, a snowstorm, and a bag of marbles.
His geometry is better than mine, so I always ask him to cut the pizza. But he loves doing this small thing, taking care of me. The knife makes a crispy, rolling sound on the butcher block cutting board, something between a plunk and a swoosh. It always makes me smile. Outside the snow has brought deep silence. The interstate is closed, and not a car is moving anywhere. We can barely see the houses across the backyard out the kitchen window. I open the patio door for a moment, just to offer up thanks to the Snowfather for the much-needed precipitation, and realize that the snow falling on the few leaves left on the trees is making the most extraordinary sizzling sound, and I call him over to listen with me. His eyes widen, and the smile I fell in love with lights up his face. He says nothing, not wanting to break the spell. He wraps an arm around me and I lean back against his warmth, just listening. We can’t bear to close the door, so we throw another log into the woodstove and eat with the patio door open. The popping of the wood and the sizzle of the snow lull us into the deepest peace we’ve known in a … while. Don’t think about how long, don’t ruin this moment. Focus on the taste of the pizza and the sound of the snow and the silence all around. This is a bubble in time, a crucible that might just start to heal us so shut up shut up shut up. I stretch my leg out to lay my foot on his, and he smiles in acknowledgment. We finish eating in loving silence, and rinse the dishes for later. He closes the patio door, and we head to the couch, not knowing what comes next. There’s wine, but neither of us pours any, not wanting to dull what we’re feeling. My head rests in the hollow of his shoulder, and his arm drops securely around me. His heartbeat is steady and strong, just like I remember it from … a while ago. I rest my hand over it and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: Let’s just be here, no words tonight, let’s get back in sync, back in tune with each other. The wood in the stove crackles and pops for us. His free hand joins mine, and I hear the contented sigh rush into his lungs and out again. The wind picks up and rushes against the walls and windows, making the window screens hum for a moment like angry bees, until the gust dies down. The house makes some familiar settling noises, a pop from the front porch, a creak from the roof. Our hands twine together, speaking for us now. We’ve agreed somehow, no talking tonight. Just this. Upstairs the cat leaps down from the bed and patters across the floor and down the hall. We’re looking into each other’s eyes, soft and silent and secure, and there’s this … kiss … which seems to last for a … while … and then there’s a crash and the sound of marbles falling from a shelf and bouncing onto the wood floor in the room we never talk about - followed by the sounds of a cat flying like a bat out of hell away from the ruckus. We startle and freeze. “How?” I whisper after a … while. He shakes his head and frowns. We go upstairs and step into that room, heavy, aching hearts. The marbles are scattered everywhere, each one with a name and a personality granted in love by … “Oh, Ivy,” he whispers. “Don’t worry, love, we’ll pick them up. Every last one.” We drop to the floor and start rounding up marbles. They click as they drop into the bag and we try desperately to remember their names. “Jonas,” I say. “Mattias,” he responds. “Lily.” “Norman.” “Candice.” “Maurice.” “Tom.” “Lizzie.” “Martha.” “Clive.” “Oh, this one … this one …” The tears start as I struggle to remember the name of the marble with the red gauzy interior, and he reaches for me, tears pouring down his face, too. “Eric,” he says, barely a whisper, his throat so tight, and I say, “Right, Eric.” We hold each other a long time, crying over spilled marbles, the rising wind howling in mourning along with us. Finally we let go and pull softly away. There are only a few marbles left. The wind hurls itself against the house now, frantic with worry. We pick the rest up, reciting their names in the silent room. “James, and Tony.” “Walter.” “Evan.” “Mindy.” “Arthur.” “Dave.” “Joanna.” “Margo.” The list goes on and on, like a slow drumbeat – name, click, name, click, name, click – and finally, we have accounted for everyone. He draws the drawstring, a soft, textured sound, cloth on cloth. The wind seems to settle down as he places the bag back on the bookshelf with a soft, muted thump. We draw each other close in the center of the room, and there is another kiss, slightly salty. I make that soft little involuntary noise women make sometimes, half moan, half whimper, and his arms tighten around me in a meaningful way. I hear his breathing change, and the blood begins rushing in my ears like it hasn’t in a … while. He picks me up in his arms and carries me down the hall to our bed, and the wind sings a hallelujah.