Pearls My Mother Wore

     So writing at Cafe La Boheme was terrific.  There were four of us: Cary, Caitlin, Benjamin, and myself.  The first thing they did was to write prompt sentences on slips of paper, fold them and toss them in a pile.  I misunderstood that initial instruction and therefore did not contribute any kick-off sentences; nevertheless, there were plenty created.  We each had a turn at unfolding a slip of paper and reading the inspiration sentence.  And then we wrote for about ten minutes.  And then we shared what we had written – passing was an option, but none of us used it.

     Cary chose the first slip of paper.  It read, “Not everybody can be Hunter S. Thompson.

     This is what I wrote, off the top of my head:

Not everybody can be Hunter S. Thompson.  Somebody has to be his handler, the manager, the sweeper of messes.  Hunter must, by order of being, create conditions for the satellite people to circle in.  Hunters of the world are the gifts that keep giving if you are a fixer.  Fixers need those ruinous-wreak types.  Its such an added bonus when they happen to be brilliant at the same time, but brilliance is not a requirement when it comes to fixers.

When your ruinous-wreak type finds clever and unexpected ways of creating utter chaos – it’s fun.  Who wants the everyday variety of chaos: suicide attempts, overdoses, jail.  A really brilliant ruinous-wreak type gets on airplanes and calls you in the middle of the night to have you wire them money in Argentina or Rio.

     If I had had time to edit this, I sure would have.  After I finished reading I realized how out of my depth I was.  I really don’t know too much about Hunter S. Thompson.  While I was writing, I remembered that he was dead, but I wasn’t thinking about how he died.  Later, I started thinking it may have been by one of my run-of-the-mill ruinous-wreak type scenarios.  Sorry Hunter, I didn’t mean it that way.  Even though I didn’t know you, I’m sure you were never run-of-the-mill.

     The other three prompts that we wrote on were:

She held up a hand to block the sun.

Birds swooped down around my head.

And, I work in a very large office.

     I was given all of the folded pieces of paper as a souvenir, and here is what was written on those remainders:

Any bonds today?

People bunched up at the bottom of the stairs.

Deep the water and shallow the shore.

I was late and arrived out of breath.

And one that took me by surprise:  Terry’s hair is red.  My shirt is red.  I’m thinking

     So there you have it.  Please feel free to write on one of these and don’t edit.  I’d love it if you’d share what you come up with.

     Until next Friday when I’ll post again, have a great week.

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