A New Experiment

So I have received feed back from numerous people I respect and trust that I really should begin writing– creatively that is. One of my greatest mentors told me I was a “great storyteller”. I think that was a covert compliment. One part is lovely, I understand how to engage people and take them on an emotional journey that is exciting. The other part to that is that I also, like Pinnochio, lie. I lie all the time… about silly things!

Have you ever caught yourself doing that? It’s so ridiculous. Like, why not just tell your friends you ate the chocolate cake? Why lie about the way you lost your front tooth? Somehow the story is so much more compelling than the truth. Lie. What are the implications of such a habit? No trust from anyone. That is one.

Huh, so to transition lies to storytelling… maybe I use my powers for good rather than evil. I will practice telling stories. I bought a book. Yes, I believe there is a book for everything, and I bought one for a daily writing practice.
It is called “A Writer’s Book of Days“. It was written by a woman named Judy Reeves and it gives you a writing exercise every day.

So September 1, I started.

I thought I would share what I write with you all and if you like, you can write along and post as well! Sort of like an online writing group! Yay community!

Here goes:

September 8th, 2009
_________ is the color I remember.

Orange is the color I remember. Burnt orange. Burnt, vibrant, deep rich orange.
I remember cutting the flesh of a vegetable that reminded me of skin coated in iodine.
The smell of iron overwhelmed anything having to do with the banana bread baking in the kitchen.
I was 14 and I had just gotten my belly button pierced and iodine was the answer to infection at that point.
So every day I laid down in the living room, and poured the metallic liquid into the button on my belly so as to ward off evil bacteria from the new hole I chose to impose upon my body.
It was back to school time. Autumn in Los Angeles is a time of clearing skies and smokey sunsets.
The Santa Anna winds rush the overly dried desert with fires across the coast line for weeks in the end of August. And everyone is always so surprised.
It happens every year, and yet we have no memory of the past.
Why is it that certain things stick in our minds, burned into the folds of our brain, never to be forgotten, and other things we repeat as though we are on a loop track?
I suppose the enjoyment of living in Malibu supersedes the annual fires that blaze through the properties there.
I think of these things as I enjoy the burn of air that floats around me and twist my belly button ring in and around the internal and external portion of my soulful carrying case.
“I am such a rebel”, I tell myself. “Blake Heron is going to think I am so hot!”. Oh yes, the puncture wound was an attention strategy for a boy. I wanted desperately to be dangerous. To be desired. To be mysterious. And so I had a human pin cushion jam a needle through my abdomen and called it “cool”. Several years later I would repeat this patten with needles and ink. Scarring myself with pigment and indentations on my chest and ankle as a way to disprove my own value and confirm the value I found in the approval of the man next to me.
Just like the people who refuse to acknowledge the annual fires that dance along the Los Angeles coast line. So do I refuse to acknowledge the life time commitment to consistent abnegation of worth or trust for the next cool, confident, powerful person in the room.
Permission, permission to learn, permission to move on, permission to grow.
Permission to explore other places to live that may be equally as beautiful, but without the fires.
Hmm, that’s a thought.

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  • PaulF

    What’s the difference between a lie and a story, a work of art? Is there a difference? I just finished reading the brilliant Umberto Eco’s “Baudolino”. Quote:

    “‘Baudolino,’ he would say to him, ‘you are a born liar.’
    ‘Why do you say such a thing, master?’
    ‘Because it’s true. But you mustn’t think I’m reproaching you. If you want to become a man of letters and perhaps write some Histories one day, you must also lie and invent tales, otherwise your History would become monotonous. But you must act with restraint. The world condemns liars who do nothing but lie, even about the most trivial things, and it rewards poets, who lie only about the greatest things.’”

  • Ghaith

    Wow, keep writing!
    I think a lie or two couldn’t hurt, i try never to lie, but i also keep finding myself changing little minor details..
    shhh you didn’t hear it from me

  • Beth

    I’ve always loved creative writing. Creative writing assignments were always the easiest and the most fun for me to get my head into other than drama or film assignments.
    I want to check out that book by Judy Reeves too.

    I love what you have written Allison.
    Isn’t writing fun!

  • Jenny_1982

    I’m not really into writing Allison but will enjoy reading everything you post.

    I just have one thing to say about you getting your belly button pierced at 14. OUCH!!!!

  • MarilyneL

    I would have to agree with Jenny, I’m not that good at writing but I will definitively read your stories, may they be true or a pure lie hehe. This story was especially great and funny, going to the teenage rebellion haha!;)

  • sheryl225

    I love ‘Writer’s Book of Days’, and there’s one other good one–’Room to Write’ by Bonnie Goldberg. “Writing Down the Bones’ by Natalie Goldberg is also excellent-as is “The Artist’s Way’ by Julia Cameron. Her book is for all artists, not just writers. Can you tell you’ve touched on a passion of mine?

    I, too, find it strange that you can live in a place for years-go through each season, and not remember one fall from another. Maybe that’s a good thing! Happy adventuring!

  • http://www.xanga.com/jessbruceman Jesse

    Hi Allison

    You are a great story teller I must say very creative. I don’t feel however, you should change for anyone just to be cool. You should definitely be yourself in all circumstances within your life. The new cool should be hopefully, something you want within and shouldn’t necessarily be something that would make you uncomfortable. The new cool should be something that makes you “big” stronger not weakens you haa the lifting lingo haa. Your life partner would be someone that adds to you not takeaway. Essentially I hope the next cool makes you truly happy and you wouldn’t have to change who you are internally or externally minus a few tattoos haa. I hope you would love the new cool and it would make you feel different. Always be a cucumber umm Oh move to New York haaaa no fires haa umm

    -Jesse

  • Melissa

    Hi!!

    I haven’t read that book, but I’d love to. Writing stories of our past sometimes can be hard or sweet, it all depends of the memory you have of that moment. I don’t feell ashame of the things I did but I DO feel like I could have done them way much better, it’s part of growing up, a lot of people I know are ashamed of the things they did in their childhood but I’m all the opposite because I know I can’t change them, I can’t change what I did in the past but I could have done it better.

    You can’t pretend to be someone else because that model you are trying to follow or impress it’s not you, we are unique and special. Everybody has someone, a rol model, to follow, that’s great, because it makes you want to be stronger and fiercely in life, that gives you the power to totally make an impact in the world.

    Part of growing up is finding yourself wanting to be someone else, just then you realize you ARE NOT someone else but someone new, someone you have created.

    Life is dangerously-beautiful. :)

  • adahl78

    Blue is the color I remember.
    As a lifeguard, I remember sitting in my tall wooden chair, looking down on children laughing and splashing in aqua blue water in the shallow end that eventually turned deep blue in the deep end.
    As a child, I remember standing on the diving board with floaties on my arm with my swimming lesson teacher in the water, treading effortlessly, and telling me that she would catch me. Eventually on the very last day, with the promise of a crunch kote ice cream cone as my reward, I took off my arm floaties and jumped into that deep blue water into her arms.
    The day I recently decided to leave the job that provided security to me but also much stress and anxiety I looked up and saw that the sky was so much bluer than it had ever been before. Birds were singing and the sun was brighter. I was taking a daring step into the unknown, but I knew that I was doing the right thing.
    Recently as I flew to see my sister, I looked into the sky with ribbons of blue from light to dark and saw the expanse of God’s horizon. I knew that whatever my future holds, it would be good.
    Blue is my color that I remember.

  • Grayson

    Oh what tangled webs we weave, when we practice to deceive. The difference is telling a lie and telling a story is often the motivation of the liar/storyteller. Is it to deceive and mislead someone? Then it’s a lie. If it is to entertain, to amuse, or any other non-harmful purpose, then it’s storytelling. I love writing myself, and hope to be a novelist some day. Personally, I’ve found that The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr and E.B.White is a great tool for future writers. Your second to last line made me think of another famous quote, though, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” (J. Lennon)

  • Grayson

    PS, where would you like us to post our “writing exercises”? Perhaps on the fan fic part of the forum, but it should be titled so we know it’s the same exercise you did, maybe?

  • Jade Ruby

    The steel grey clouds dappled the sky outside of my window. Inside, I thought of what kind of dapple I could add to the blank sheet of rough watercolor paper I set up on my makeshift easel. Always wondering how long THIS phase would last, I decided not to invest in a full blown easel, but bought an “artist’s clipboard”– I guess you could call it an easel without a stand.

    When I had looked at the old tin of watercolor blocks from my younger days (32 colors), I thought, “well this time I’ll get me some professional paints; then combed the art stores. Then, ha, there it was, just what I wanted: a box of eight tubes together. So I got two, and a couple of more brushes.

    So. There it was, a blank sheet waiting for me to add some color; to create some art. To zoom through the Cosmos of my mind, and transform thoughts into brush-strokes. To find an oasis in the desert of this so called city. Idea.

  • http://psmallsp.blogspot.com smalls

    What does it mean to lie? Sure a lie is not telling the truth to someone when asked a question. But can’t anything be considered a lie? We smile when we are sad to avoid the questions that would inevitably be asked us. We laugh at jokes that we think aren’t funny at all. Sometimes we lie to protect those we care about. So isn’t ok to lie if the reason is good? Can’t we lie to protect those we care about?
    Brown is the color I remember.
    Looking to the north, east, west, or south the brown seemed endless. Growing up in Mesa, AZ the color brown was very prominent.
    A road trip to visit family up north meant going to through more noticeable desert. The brown of the mountains climbed dozens of times is burned in my eyes never to be forgotten even if I were to try.
    I will read your writings and agree with your greatest mentor. You are great writer. Able to capture the attention of those that read your stories. Regardless they be truth or fabrication.

  • http://www.myspace.com/rostafarian Ross UK

    There is a quote which Mark Twain attributed to the Greek historian Herodotus: “Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest do not happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.” This pretty much sums up Herodotus’ approach to writing, and the ancient world in general, where historians and biographers would happily claim to report verbatim the speeches of the great and mighty, and etymology was as much an art as a science. In essence an ancient writer was telling a story, and if the facts didn’t quite work out the way he wanted, he tweaked a few things. One might say that for them, history was synonymous with fable or parable: a tale with a moral message, the message being more important than stark reality. So, is it really lying, or is it dramatic/literary flair?

  • Solti

    Hi dear :-) !

    Great, it’s a sweet story, really! I think the lie is a tool in the hands of the writer as the painter’s brush in his hand. Revived the old, turns the worn one into glittering one and leaves it, may occur with you…

    And the boy? What was he with him? What did he believe about you? Did he value you and your strategy? And what colour is Mr. Heron’s orange?

    Present his reaction and I’m waiting for your happy end of course :-) .

    With love :-) :

    Solti
    xoxo

  • Beth

    I love that last quote about life Grayson. It’s very true.

  • Robin

    Wow Allison!

    You are a real light of inspiration in turning your head to so many varied forms of creative arts.

    On reading your creative story I’m amazed at how you manage to set the scene, take us on a journey and how compelling – so honest and blunt the work is!

    I’m so in awe at how open (and brave) you are in writing such personal thoughts.

    I will at least attempt to take you up on your offer here with the rest of guys and gals in attempting creative writing (i’m more of a sketch and doodles man but fingers crossed).

    Thank you and the other posters here, for your amazing enthusiasm and generosity in sharing and taking the time.

  • scott123

    hmmm…..

  • Kate

    Blue is the color I remember. I remember the slow motion as the blue became closer and closer. I remember praying and hoping I would not encounter the blue. For that blue was a bad blue. I remember the song on the radio, the station and the time. But I wish I could forget that blue. I remember my friend’s shirt and how it played with her eyes. Such beautiful eyes. Those eyes had a beautiful blue. Not like the blue I wish i could forget. I remember the scream of my friend and my tires. How I wish i could forget that blue. Crash went the car. Forever will my car have that blue.

  • sarahthelyd

    i love creative writing exercises! were there any more prompts other than “______ is the color I remember” and go?

  • sarahthelyd

    also, this was wonderful. a couple of unforeseen shifts. i liked it.

  • Smallvillekent

    Wow Allison you are a good writer. Good personal thoughts. Your enthusiasm is amazing. Writing a Smallville episode could be next? Hmmm..

  • peppermint

    Hi Allison,

    I thought you might like this poem, written in the 11th Century.

    For in and out, above, about, below,
    ‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
    Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
    Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

  • http://www.rfministries.com/ IreneT

    I’ve always known that you have great communication skills. Thing is, many people can tell stories, thats why there’s so many books. I don’t read much, only that which really grabs me, and your writing does! You should write a book, or a movie, which ever comes first. Your not just good, you have a real gift. use it, or you’ll lose it.

  • adriano henri

    A bottle of wine half empty is also half full, but half a lie will never be half true.

    kisses!

  • adriano henri

    Whoever tells a lie does not know who took the job because he is forced to invent twenty times more to support the certainty of the first.

    kisses allison

  • http://www.chloesullivansite.com/ Bouroux

    Hi Allison.
    I’m not that good at writing but I will definitively read your stories.
    What is impressive is that your story is true and forces us to reflect on certain human behaviors.
    Your personal experiences allow us to apreciate your talent and your wisdom to recognize your mistakes.
    Your message does not do anything to impress others is very refreshing.
    A person is successful when she is authentic.
    We should know that we can not please everyone. The important thing is to be honest with ourself.
    I really enjoyed the bonus DVD of season 8, “In the director’s chair” where you and your team share your experience with us.
    This video is a tribute to your talent.

    Take care of you.
    Claude.

  • http://www.reelartsy.com Karen

    Wow, that’s impressive. Please write a novel for us (and more importantly for yourself)! Whenever I come to your blog I’m thrust into deep thought about simple yet poignant things. Thank you.

    http://www.reelartsy.com

  • adriano henri

    “Although no one can go back and make a new start, anyone can start now and make a new order”

    kisses ! S2 s2 S2 s2

  • http://www.youtube.com/user/RitinhaBr RitinhaBr

    I love to write too! Especially my feelings and moments of my life! Very good you have posted allison … Thanks! Ah, glad you realized that you do certain things wants to be noticed was silly, what matters is what the person is inside! ;D

    Xoxoxo

  • adriano henri

    ” Imenso Amor ”

    Bebo do cálice do teu amor…
    Em ti encontro o refúgio, amada lua.
    Ignóbil eu sou, e, vejo-te toda nua…
    E no sábado, vislumbro o teu amor.

    Oferto-te um título com amor…
    Nos minutos a ilusão flutua,
    Teus pés audíveis enfeitam a rua,
    Busco nos céus o nectário do amor.

    No teu rosto há o eflúvio que perfuma,
    Conto pétalas d´ouro, uma a uma…
    Tua expressão soa como um hino!…

    Tímido…beijo os teus cabelos, meu astro!
    Tenho o teu cheiro… teu canto… teu rastro…
    Eterno será teu corpo divino!…

    hi angel, this is a poem called “Immense Love” is in Portuguese so that you can go when training for staff to find! I hope you enjoy poetry!
    kisses S2 s2
    Adriano Henri

  • http://www.rfministries.com/ IreneT

    adriano henri Says:

    Tu poeme es bien bunito!
    Did I spell that right? giggle.
    I really like what you wrote. I understood most of it. Wow! Beautiful!

  • Beth

    what’s the poem about? i dont know Portuguese.

  • Jade Ruby

    Beth Says:
    “what’s the poem about? i dont know Portuguese.”

    It’s a love poem that’s very sensual, and equates the object of devotion to Divinity.

  • adriano henri

    the poem is something like this!

    “Immense Love”

    I drink the cup of your love …
    With you there refuge, beloved moon.
    I am vile, and I see you completely naked …
    And on Saturday, envision your love.

    Been offering up a title with love …
    In minutes the illusion floats,
    Your feet audible adorn the street
    I seek the skies nectary of love.

    In your face is that the efflux perfumes,
    Tale of gold petals one by one …
    Your words sound like a hymn! …

    Shy … kiss your hair, my star!
    I have your smell … your song … your trail …
    Eternal God is your body! …

    was a little different, but in order to understand!
    sorry for the English! rsrsrs

  • Robin

    Posted below is my first attempt at creative writing…

    Oh Blank Sheet of Paper!

    So I’m sitting here, HB pencil in hand poised over a piece of blank A4 paper ready to start my own creative writing adventure. To start a work that is either moving,funny, sad, intelligent, witty, outrageous or even exciting…but something is wrong.

    This mere blank shhet of paper seems to just sit there, unflinching, mocking my attempts at “being creative”. Go on it says, I dare you…

    Damn, why isn’t a lightening strike of inspiration hitting me?
    These poets, novelists, playwrights, scriptwriters, reporters, songwriters and even bloggers make it all look so easy.

    More minutes pass, the blank paper begins to curl at it’s edges, it’s patience with me growing thin.
    F*@k it, that’s the final straw, I wont let an innocent looking piece of paper get the best of me, and so in my frustration I rip a single sheet from my nice new pad and screw it up intl a ball as tightly as possible and throw it to the other side of the room.

    Well, so much for that I tell myself, mt attempts at being creativite falling at the first hurdle.

    But wait, what if paper is not just a mere partchment on which words are written. I suddenly remember how paper can be itself creative.

    I remember my childhood, of rolling paper into a telescope and peering into the horizon, of folding paper into an aeroplane and test ing if my design can fly further than my brother’s. Or I flashback to my school days, of paper becoming a mysterious device containing numbers and symbols in which the girls in my class used to manipulate like some complex rubix cube to predict each of our futures or more importantly, who fancied who between the girls and boys.

    Paper has the power to inspire, how we choose to use it depends on ourselves, as this mere paper is just like some opaque mirror reflecting parts of ourselves in abstract ways. Paper is just an extention of our lives, just like the promise of tomorrow, a blank sheet waiting for us to write our own story, it depends upon our own perception, it can be be shaped, folded and as creative as our imaginations allow…now if I can only think of something to write.

  • Beth

    Thanks for translating adriano. It is a nice poem.
    Robin don’t underestimate yourself. You ARE a good writer.
    ‘…paper becoming a mysterious device containing numbers and symbols in which the girls in my class used to manipulate like some complex rubix cube to predict each of our futures or more importantly, who fancied who between the girls and boys.’
    I had completely forgotten about those things Robin. Thanks for reminding me. By the way I love how you started off: Oh Blank Sheet of Paper!

  • http://awakeinyou.blogspot.com Ruthie

    Excellent…so brave and truthful. The truth in creative writing is always in the story but in what we take from the story…
    “Permission, permission to learn, permission to move on, permission to grow.
    Permission to explore other places to live that may be equally as beautiful, but without the fires.”

    Beautiful truth. Interesting the lies we believe about ourselves, about our value or lack of, about our desperate search for approval. And in the end, permission to find truth in this journey, to grow through it, to move on…permission…grace.

    I’ll embrace that today.

    Lovely, thank you.

  • Vegas911

    Purple is the color I remember,
    Sitting on the front porch swing with my mother…..”I spy with my little eye something purple” she would say. This was redundent of course….the only thing within a close proximity that was purple was the flag hanging on the outside of my bedroom window. But the game was fun non-the-less, just for the sake of being fun. It is engraved on my heart and in my mind; swinging softly on the front porch with my mother.

    There was a huge solid Oak that stood in my front yard, ever watchful and grand. It had been there since I could remember, standing stern and unchanging. The Weeping Willow’s leaves would russle and sway in the breeze, it’s presence was like that of an old grandmother, wise and soft….The sound of the owl that lived in the woods on the hill, these sounds were to me akin to a hauting song of a lost love. I am haunted today by these sounds, for they are my lost love!
    Things of the world did not touch me in this place, a cacoon of love that I seldom took leave of. I would stay on that porch swinging the summer evenings away forever if the option was there. But alas it is not and never was.

  • adriano henri

    It was a cold morning in April,
    Little sunshine converged window.
    A prism, reflecting the colors to come, from there,
    Color watercolor of my soul.
    A violet petals danced,
    Following the gentle melody of the wind,
    Sung in gentle dissonant chords,
    A composition of sublime love.

    On that cold morning of April
    I felt the rebirth of the soul, the sprout of being.
    My heart, who suffered a silent longing, loss,
    He shouted again, like crazy. That was crazy, crazy that is.

  • Jade Ruby

    Robin Says:

    “Posted below is my first attempt at creative writing…

    Oh Blank Sheet of Paper!”

    LOL!
    HA, HA, HA!!!
    +Clap, clap+
    Bravo!
    Nicely done!
    Great!
    Good one!

  • Jade Ruby

    P.S.
    Robin,

    LOL ;D

    +Clap, clap+

  • Jade Ruby

    I’m sorry, Robin has put me in such a jolly mood, I’ll have to re-read the others later.

    “…now if I can only think of something to write”

    Priceless.

  • sandy9064

    I highly recommend “The Write-Brain Workbook, 366 Exercises to liberate your writing” by Bonnie Neubauer as well. When my writer’s block comes calling, I whip out this book and run through some of the exercises. The pages are bright, and the artwork geared toward each individual challenge which makes it all the more fun. (i.e. an exercise called “Spring Forward” has a picture of a woman on a diving board, arms extended. The goal is to finish a story that starts with the phrase “Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”)

    Also on each page at the bottom is an encouraging comment that relates to the page’s exercise and can be incorporated in it. This one’s is “Sending your writing out into the world requires a leap of faith in yourself. Write about what your life will be like if you DON’T ever take the leap and send out your writing. Time to take the leap and do it!”

    I just find the book to be very inspirational as well as encouraging.

  • sandy9064

    Oh, also…

    Green is the color I remember. I could raise my head from my pillow on cool spring mornings and look out my window. Directly across the street was an undeveloped lot filled with large trees and grass. I remember how GREEN everything looked, new and emerald, where the bright sun shone down on the leaves. The ground was dappled with that same brilliance mixed with darker, hunter greens where the leaves and limbs created shadows.

    Against the bright blue spring sky it looked magical and fresh. It looked warm and like home. Emerald, and hunter blended, and I still fondly remember the color green.

  • Robin

    Well done Adriano, your piece about April was fantastic. Also, good work Vegas911,Jade, Kate and Adahl78….you’re all such a talented bunch.

    Thanks for the kind words Beth and Jade, i’m so glad you enjoyed reading my piece.

    This writing game is so much fun, so so difficult, but very enjoyable.

  • adriano henri

    Thank you to all the comments, we all have done well, all are inspired by the poems! only missing Allison give her opinion right! rsrsrs

  • william

    sound cool allison

    william

  • http://www.barkingreed.blogspot.com josh

    Thanks for the Challenge, Allison. I’m the guy who wrote you the email about meeting you (sort of) as an extra on your show. I plan to follow you on this, so keep them coming (saves me the price of the book, tee hee). One writer to another, I appreciate the honest, searching voice in your words.

    —

    Light brown is the color I remember – the chocolatey brown of the amazonian waters where I learned to swim, to almost drown, to love… to lust.

    There is a smell these waters carry with them, a glorious musk compiled of tiny particles dragged from snow-capped alpine peaks, tumbled off smooth-tumbled rocks and dragged from mossy cliffs . Every year the rains swell the rivers and they reach out – first in fingers, then with broad sweeps of arms, laying a blanket of themselves over the whole Amazon basin and then sucking downstream tiny bits and pieces, drawing with them the stink of life and death and decay.

    By the time this water flowed through the oxbow Peruvian lake on which I lived, the dank waters were so choked with this history of a watery life that to an outsider they were nearly unswimmable.

    For me, however, each time I immersed the warm waters wrapped me in their amniotic embrace and I emerged, at last, feeling new-born and alive. It was a Baptism of Being – and although I now live in North Carolina, swimming only very rarely in the sterility of chlorinated pools – every once in a while I smell something so earthy and primal that I am transported in an instant back… back to the light brown waters of my childhood.

  • Brittany

    Hello! You are a fabulous writer Miss Mack! Keep going, I feel an incredible story up your sleeve! I’m actually a very honest person. If I try to lie, I either start laughing or just have this grin on my face that gives it away. If I do get away with a lie, if it’s really bad then I feel guilty and just end up telling the truth. So I’m a terrible candidate for lying. Then again, that could be a very positive thing? Couldn’t it?
    Take care!!!
    BrittanyXOXOXO

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