Sunday Scribblings: The Acme Guide To A Literary Free Fall

Thanks to Meg and Laini, who have come up with Sunday Scribbling's, a website that encourages creative writing through the use of weekly prompts. This week's task involved writing about something that you would do, if you weren't scared. I have huge fears of flying--imagine bursting engines, flimsy wings, drunk pilots. I put a little spin on my fear and merged it with all of my writing neuroses. It's rough piece, but it was fun to try! I can't wait to read the entries from all of the other participants--it's always a pleasure to see how different people interpret/execute the same topic.


The Acme Guide To A Literary Free Fall:

Parachutes Available For An Additional Fee

Let’s talk about guts and glory, okay? Are you ready? Ready to take the dive of a life time? Ready to throw your innards out for the world to see, writhe naked in the moonlight after you leap from a Cessna 182? Make sure that your pockets and fanny packs are full of poetry and motivational quotes, and double check to ensure that your dictionaries and thesauruses are firmly attached to your arm splints.

And don’t forget: The Acme Literary Guild is NOT responsible for lost or stolen articles. Or injuries accrued during the jump.

Now, let’s begin.

To be a writer, you must begin with one foot on and one foot off of the plane. Like this. No, Esmerelda, a toe doesn’t count. LIKE THIS! See my foot dangling. See how there is nothing underneath it except for a cloud? Yes, yes, like that. No, don’t look down, Connie. You will forget to breathe if you look down and then we will have more problems than we already do, and at this point, we have more than enough.

Now, back to “foot in, foot out.” What you will need to do—yes, Gus, did you have a question? Why “foot in, foot out?” Well, Gus, I would have assumed that with your post-doc on literary theory and extensive journal credits, you might have already deduced the rationale for this requirement, but obviously, I’ve overestimated your skill set. You do “foot in, foot out” for one reason and one reason alone. Because it’s the way you write. A good writer has one foot firmly on a solid surface, but the other foot must be flighty. It must be weightless. It must be willing to step where there is no ground. It must be willing to trust that the clouds will cushion, that the imagination will lift, and that opportunity is invisible and just might take the form of Wonder Woman, zipping past in crystal clear jet. Is your Harvard brain able to process that little jewel, Gus? Alright, then, let’s proceed.

Number two. We have equipped you with thesaurus and dictionary splints for rapid flapping. Yes, after the plunge, you will be responsible for the Phoenix Maneuver. Hal, Connie, please pay attention. The Phoenix Maneuver is quite similar to treading air. You will sweat. You will get tired. But you must, must keep flapping. You must be a magical bird. This key technique has worked for legions of writers over the years and it is critical to success. You flap and you flap and you flap some more. Even though you are falling. Even though it is not working. You just keep flapping. If you don’t flap, you will immediately plummet to the ground and you will lay there, crumpled up, like a dirty paper towel. And don’t forget to use your guide words.

Number Three. While air born, you must toss your words out for the world to read. Yes, Connie, I realize that this is the difficult one. I know that it is a hard balance, flapping the Phoenix and digging in pockets and trying to hurl words. Reflect on your days as the pitcher for your college softball team and you will be just fine. Sling hard, but remember: some of your words will end up in the garbage can, like a Chinese takeout menu dislodged from under a windshield wiper. Some will only receive attention from the dusty sole of a shoe. Some will be glanced at. Some will be criticized. Some will laughed at. This is not the point. The point is to keep tossing. The more you toss, the bigger the chance that someone with impeccable taste and a kind eye will stumble upon your page, your words, your naked heart, and let you know that they have faith in your talent, and if that happens, at that point, you will forget you are tired and you will flap harder and faster than you ever thought you could flap.

Number Four. I often get heckled when I read this one, but it is very, very important. As much as the faith of others is important to your free fall, it is your faith in yourself that is critical. You must believe that the poems in your fanny pack will heal the paper cuts from the thesaurus. You must believe that your steady Phoenix flapping will sustain your flight. You must believe that the words that you have written are worth more than a muddy footprint, even if that is the only kind of attention that they ever get.

Now, let’s review. Foot in, foot out. Leap. Phoenix. Flap. Toss. Any questions?

Yes, Esmerelda?

Landing? Who said anything about landing?

Free fall, baby. That’s what this literary life is all about.