Half a
Spider’s Bottom.
Almost
conjures up a visual, doesn’t it? Or at the very least a notion; an idea
already forming of what in all that’s right on earth this could be about.
Perhaps it’s but another ingredient in some new-fangled Witch’s Brew to go
along with eye of newt to ward off smelly feet.
One of the
things I admire most about writers and embrace about myself is the intrinsic
ability to hear and see and feel beyond the black and white. The very same wind
that wrecks your hair whispers to writer’s the words of ether worlds, while
spectacular sunsets are resounding concerts to our souls.
So naturally,
when I asked my grandson how his morning walk was and his nonchalant reply was
“It was okay. There was half a spider’s bottom in the road…” everything else
suddenly muted. There was only him and me—and half a spider’s bottom.
I was
fascinated and had to know more, to hear more of his take on all things
unimagined. Was I talking to a budding writer? Only time will tell, I guess.
But it certainly fortifies a suspicion that there are certain qualities of
being a child that never cease to exist within the hearts of writers. Or maybe
it’s just me.
Had I been
given the task of describing a scene such as that one I probably would have
stumbled and stewed and chewed my lip to shreds before coming up with something
profoundly pathetic like “squashed remains of what may have been a…” Ugh. Writing is tough sometimes.
So, what’s
your formula for climbing out of a word or description funk? Do you just move on
and go back to it later? Give it up altogether? Ask someone how they’d describe
it (kids are pretty good at this, by the way ;-)?
Typically if
it’s not remotely important to anything I’m working on, it is
nonetheless a challenge and my response is to have fun with it! It’s good exercise. So how could I expound on a story so succinctly summarized? Well, I wrote a poem instead!
With morning but a rose-tinged lamp
behind the
mountain peaks
Songbirds
rise from cozy camps
coyotes long
for sleep.
A spider
pauses, center road
her eyes
alert with fear
and silent
is the river toad
as human smells
draw near.
No danger
from the walking ones
beware the
kind on wheels
death by
rubber, life undone,
as break of
day reveals.
What nature
knows as senseless truth,
bleak and oh
so solemn
Center road,
in trodden proof;
half a
spider’s bottom.
diedre
Knight© 2014
Ha! Love that poem! You know, children just have a way of being so matter of fact, and sometimes we writers could probably use a bit of that when we write (instead of agonizing over certain sentences). If I get stuck I either go back to it later or, as your grandson, just say it plainly.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Quanie! So true about the agonies that ensue when literal is upstaged by literary aspirations. But then, returning to it later is often the perfect way to get it right!
ReplyDeleteKids are so inspirational. I sometimes leave a particular spot to go back to later and describe. I like to keep pushing through until my drafts are finished, so that's what works for me.
ReplyDeleteI typically do the same, especially if I've an entire paragraph--or more--dripping from my fingers! Just to be sure it isn't forgotten I highlight the stubborn description and carry on.
DeleteGreat poem, I like the way that the animals wake up one by one, and the slightly unconventional ending!
ReplyDelete