Writer's Craft

Creative Writing Assignment #3

In this creative writing piece I would like you to find a painting or a photograph that you find inspiring, beautiful, horrible, interesting, or thought provoking. Write a story about the painting or photograph, the artist, one specific part of the piece, or anything else that you have been inspired to write because of the visual art you have chosen.

For example, if I were to write about Edvard Munch’s The Scream, I might look in the background and write about the people behind the main subject.

  If I wanted to use a photograph, I could use the idea of the famous Tianamen Square photo:

But maybe from a different point of view:

Of course, you could also write about the main point of the painting or photo. I’m just trying to illustrate that you are free to use any part of the piece for your story.

Try to keep it under 2,000 word/ 4 pages.

His tortured mind that no one understood has been studied so much that even that seems trite now. But when I look at the eyes, I don't think we can possibly even scratch the surface of this complicated man. 

It was a God awful small affair to the girl with the mousy hair. The fact that it was small did not make up for how awful it was; in fact, it made it more difficult for her to hide. Her sense of isolation was palpable. Maybe that’s why everyone seemed to avoid her. They weren’t a nasty group of people or anything, but no one could make themselves do the polite thing and truly attempt to include her.

She didn’t want anyone to talk to her anyway. Her father had forced her to go to this stupid party. He wanted her to fully experience university life whether she wanted it or not.

“I made all of my best connections at university, sweetheart!” he said brightly. “You know that’s where I met Uncle Simon. We met at one of these student and faculty mixer parties.”

Like she hadn’t heard all about it before. She might as well just put on her interested face since he would tell it anyway.

“It was the first party where I felt like I belonged; I was really part of the place.  A couple of the guys and I went together, but they were already getting on my nerves. They were still the idiots I’d met first year and I couldn’t seem to shake them.”

Was this story getting longer and more pointless, she wondered.

“Well, I didn’t stay with them long because there was this guy in the centre of everything. It was like he was doing a comedy routine or something. You know how funny Simon is,” he said to his daughter who seemed particularly interested in his story. Maybe he was getting through to her.

She smiled in her dad’s direction and thought about her father’s funny friend, Uncle Simon.

“Imagine an undergrad holding practically the whole room in the palm of his hand. There were grad students and full professors there, but they were all laughing. I didn’t really meet him until after the party when we were on our way home and we were both taking a leak on the Masonic lodge. God, it must have been about 4 in the morning. Notice that I’m leaving out the more interesting  middle portion of the evening?” he looked at his daughter with that silly grin and raised eyebrows.

She laughed because he had his silly grin and raised eyebrows that meant he was being funny.

“There’s something about pissing while also making a political statement that really brings you together. You don’t want to miss out on opportunities like that, do you?”

“I can’t pee standing up,” she said dryly.

“Ha, ha. You know what I mean! You might meet your best friend tonight…or maybe some nice guy.”

She shot him a warning glare.

“Not that I’m pushing that sort of thing. But you’re brilliant, beautiful, and very fun when you let that barrier down a bit,” he said with love.

She got up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Daddy. Not everyone has your great taste though.” She said this as she walked out of the kitchen.

So that’s how she found herself here. She hadn’t wanted to, but her daddy had told her to go, so she went. He was so good to her; she couldn’t disappoint him again. He saw something in her that she just didn’t have the energy to allow others to see.

She forced herself to through the door. People she recognized from classes said hello as she walked by with her head bent just enough to let her hair cover most of her face.  She did look at them and respond. She wasn’t a freak. She just didn’t fit in easily.

Nothing was easy for her except school, as long as she didn’t have to talk.

“She’s so bright,” her teachers would say. “It would be nice if she shared with the class more during discussions.” Thirteen years of the same comment on report cards and during parents’ nights. They really needed to expand their bank of comments if that’s really all they had to say about her.

University was more anonymous. There were so many students, she could observe without comment. She could do online quizzes to make up for her lack of participation in seminars and she handed everything in online too. No embarrassing handing over the paper copy that would have forced interaction.

Her introversion was a sore point with her parents. They were both so caught up in their business, clients, parties, chatting, mingling, networking; their quiet child was a mystery to them. Her mother found it more annoying than her father and felt she just needed to make more of an effort.

“You talk to her then,” she’d heard her mother say.

She still sat on the top step during these conversations.

“You’re the one she’ll listen to. Lord knows I’ve tried.” The exasperation wasn’t at the stage-worthy point yet.

“Of course, I’ll talk to her, “my father said. “You’re too hard on her. She’s fine once she gets to know people. You act as if there’s something wrong with her.”

This was an old argument. Since there was nothing new to hear, she decided she might as well go and get ready for this party that her father would later tell her would change her life with best friends and boys.

As she stood in the corner watching everyone talking and laughing about absolutely nothing, she thought about the last time she had really laughed, let herself be loud, and talk about nothing. It was so long ago why bother even trying to remember.

And then it started;  the memories. They were always there, of course, but she was usually able to keep them deeper down. Then the wave would hit. That wave that made her feel alone; not a part of anything.  It was a physical and real sense of aloneness. She didn’t care if it wasn’t a real word because it fit perfectly. Aloneness.

How many times had she sunk like this? Complete aloneness in a full room. Especially in a full room.

She always ended up back in the same time, the same place. She realized the bottle of vodka she had brought was now half empty.

“That’s the kind of girl I am. The bottle half empty type.” She had said this aloud without meaning to. Then she started laughing. The guy standing closest to her turned around.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

She snapped out of her inner world. She was now in a different place that came with the vodka. She didn’t realize it, but the memories brought her to this place too.  This was her place and her time to shine. Too bad mummy and daddy didn’t know about this place. She was Uncle Simon holding court in the centre of the room. How appropriate to become him.

None of them had realized she was so funny. She pulled them all in when she was the bottle half empty girl. Wait until they met three-quarters.

When she woke up she wasn’t quite aware of where she was, but she wasn’t completely surprised either. Her head was pounding and she was both starving and nauseated at the same time.  She knew that three-quarters girl had arrived late to the party and she had missed her.  She was glad she had missed her.

“Good morning, I think,” he said while rubbing his eyes. “What a night. I’m sure you’re feeling the after effects.”

She was collecting her things and not really listening.

“The stuff you came out with. Old Urquhart didn’t know what hit him. You should talk more in class,” he offered helpfully.  “If you did you might…”

She didn’t hear the rest as she mumbled, “Have to go.”

If he objected to her leaving so quickly, she didn’t hear it.

The walk home was a blur except for the smug bitch who pointed out, her voice dripping with judgement, “Your fly is undone.”

I wondered when she’d get around to me. She walked through the café with such self assurance that she was starting to anger me. Her tall, lithe body with curling blonde hair that was so in fashion at the time was not helping my mood either. It was not completely her fault I know, but to be so young and have such confidence did not seem natural to me

My annoyance really had nothing to do with this young woman. I had been waiting for at least twenty minutes and my discomfort at being the only unaccompanied woman in the café was rattling me. Such things didn’t matter as much now.  Some things even for the better. The war had been fifteen years ago and changed everything. It still haunted us and my parents lamented the damage done to our city which was just now beginning to look like a city again. With a complete lack of employment and the children in the streets fully exposing the poverty and hunger, one unaccompanied woman should concern no one.

The café mamsell finally decided to come to my table.  I felt I had to explain myself.

“I’m sure my companion will not be long.” I was angry with myself for blushing. She did not appear interested, at least not enough to spare my feelings.

“So it will be tea for one,” she stated as if she hadn’t heard me.

“For two, please.” I was not about to let this working class girl get the better of me.

As she left to fill the order, the café door swung open.  Both the bitter cold and my companion came rushing in. He was instantly recognizable to many people in the café and they turned to see the wild salt and pepper hair that could not be contained.

“I am sorry, my dear, “he said absently as he tried to find a place to put his coat while kissing my cheek at the same time.

“Why do you insist on riding that bicycle in this weather?”

“It wasn’t that at all.  Leopold and I had an argument and I couldn’t leave without trying to resolve it,” he replied.

“What was it about? Can I help?” My curiosity about what went on in that lab was sometimes overwhelming, but I must admit that at that time I did not completely understand their work.

“It doesn’t matter. It was nothing. Just … well, nothing.”

I noted the evasiveness, but decided not to push. I watched as he settled in and pulled out his pipe. That hair and the ridiculous mustache that looked like he had bought it from a broom maker in the streets; what did I see that kept me running to him when he called? He looked at me through the smoke of his pipe and then I remembered. The eyes, the keen mind, the pure genius, and his kindness; it all made up for the minor irritations.

His eyes were a dark, unfathomable brown that always looked like he was smiling. He did not yet have the sins of the world burdening him. Those eyes came later.

“Okay, well now you must relax, Beider,” I said as I placed my hand on his. “I must say that I am somewhat curious as to why we are here. It is a nice place, but a bit out in the open for us, is it not?”

Before he could answer our tea had arrived. Enough for two.  When the server saw my companion, her attitude changed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”  She was not talking to me.

“No, no,” he said as he boyishly rubbed his hands together looking at the treats before him. “This is exactly everything I like.” He said this to her with gratitude and a grin as if she had somehow divined his favourites.  Pleased, our server bowed her head slightly while still looking at him. The absolute charm of the man!

“Well?” I pressed. He seemed confused and then I saw his face change as he realized his purpose.

“I have… well, it relates to my argument with Leopold. He is not happy about what is happening and some of the changes that must be made, ” he said, obviously delaying his point.

“I am sorry you fought with Leopold, my love, but I am not sure what it has to do being here,” I said as I tried to keep by frustration at bay.

“Yes. Of course … to the point. I have decided to go… must go to America,” he blurted out, perhaps louder than he had intended. “It is clear that our time here to study, to work, to live as we have is quickly coming to an end.”

“That is quite a decision to make without me!” I was shocked and sat back in my chair. “You mean that lunatic and his book?  You can’t think that these people will actually do anything, do you? No one would put up with it. Things like that do not happen here.”

“I fear this is where our age difference rears its head, Kuschelbar,” he said with as much tenderness as I had ever heard from him. “We need to get out before we are thrown out or worse, not allowed to leave.”

“My father will be furious. He doesn’t even know about us yet. I must have time to prepare him.” My heart was pounding as I thought about my parents’ reaction when I realized something.

 “Have you told Elsa?”

He put down his pipe and placed both hands on the table.

“Yes, I have.”

“Well, that is wonderful then.” I brightened.

“No, it is not what you think. I cannot leave her here to face these people. You must know that. It is an impossible situation,” he said as he started to puff away on his pipe again, avoiding my face.

So that was why we were in public. It became a tactic of mine later, although it did not have the desired effect this time. I was too young to care about what people would think of this pathetic girl who was so obviously being rejected.

“You know what I also thought was impossible? That a young woman, meant to be the wife of a baron, at the very least, was accepted to Humbolt University to the famed physics department. It is impossible that this same young woman is about to receive her doctorate in that field. Yet, here I am.

“Don’t be so melodramatic. It is hardly a just comparison. I am speaking of our lives,” he said in that paternal way that made me so angry.

“Or maybe you think that because of you all these things were possible for me? Is this what you think?” My voice was becoming shrill and even I was finding it unattractive, but I could not seem to stop. Everyone was now looking, obviously uncomfortable, but their curiosity and the cold kept them in place.

“Now you are sounding paranoid, Schatz,” he said quietly, trying to calm me down.

“Don’t call me that,” I whispered, my face close to his. I noticed that my only recourse, my only weapon, my final act with this man I had loved for three years, was at hand. I took my teacup and poured its contents on his lap.

As someone who loves language, I have always wondered why people become upset at the desire of many to abolish biased language. I want language to be as precise as it can be, not some slapdash grouping of words that sort of describes a situation. I think that we have matured enough as a communicating society to refrain from language that excludes or makes people feel excluded.  The words we use express just as much, or more, about who we are as those to whom we are referring. It is for these reasons that I believe language should be used with both thought and care.

Probably the first time I noticed the importance of inclusive language was in grades seven and eight. That is the time that it started to bother me that all people were referred to as “mankind.” I, of course, noticed that boys and girls were treated differently much earlier, but the language side of it took awhile to sink in. All of our history and geography books referred to “mankind” as if I were a part of it. There are many things I would love to be excluded from when talking about humanity’s history, but I am part of it. It’s my history, too. Yes, “mankind” has shown at times that it has grown from public floggings as family entertainment. I am happy that I don’t have to get into my corset and five layers of clothing to go to the market square in the middle of summer and cheer as someone pokes a stick at a chained bear.  I think our language should reflect the maturity of humanity’s abolishment of the torture of the corset. I know it wasn’t “mankind” who cared enough to think of that. The word humankind is not much longer and it includes all of us. 

If the message people wish to convey is a biased one, then they should feel free to express it.  I may not always agree with that free use of language, but it is our right as members of a democratic society. That freedom is offered to everyone who lives in our country. As citizens of Canada, I feel that our language should reflect our population.  Some people do not agree that everyone in Canada is equal and that there are, in fact, lesser citizens. If I am wrong about this then why is the word “gay” used as an insult or to indicate the dislike of something? If half the world’s population can find the use of “mankind” as exclusionary, then using the word “gay” as a pejorative means that one-quarter of the population is insulted. Our world should have moved past the need to make others feel like lesser beings. Isn’t name calling kind of embarrassing at our age?

On Wednesday this week a young teacher in our board was killed as she was on her way to school on that really stormy day. I can't believe I'm so moved by the death of a woman I didn't know, but I'm glad I am. 

It's easy to be affected by events that are close to us; sometimes other tragedies don't have the same impact. We don't notice other people's suffering unless it's on a bigger scale. 

Since becoming an e-learning teacher I have become more aware of how small our board is and the fact that every school is the same. I love St. Stephen's; the fact that I've been here for 25 years attests to that. Now I love Holy Trinity, St. Thomas, Holy Cross, St. Mary's, and St. Peter's too because that's where my students are.

It’s hard to be 52. Think about it. I’m closer to the end than to the beginning of life. I know it’s morbid, but it’s true. I don’t dwell on it – it’s just fact.

Another fact is that I have not accomplished what some other 52 year olds have accomplished. Barak Obama (President of the United States and Nobel Peace Prize winner) is 52; so are Peter Jackson (Oscar winner), George Clooney (People’s Sexiest Man Alive for 1997 and 2006), and Wayne Gretzky (I think he played hockey). Even Susan Boyle, the mild-mannered, frizzy-haired, slightly bewildered, 52 year old church volunteer made millions once they stopped laughing long enough so she could sing on Britain’s Got Talent. You can maybe feel my sense of inferiority – I mean, Susan Boyle!!!

To be honest, though, I wouldn’t trade places with anyone of them (although I wouldn’t mind being called “The Great One” once in awhile). My path has been more conventional. Boring, some might say. But what a beautiful path to take.

If I had taken a different route to 52 I might not have met my husband or had my beautiful and brilliant daughter. There’s no amount of power, money, or YouTube hits worth these people in my life. It’s important to remember that when I feel I should have done more. Even when I think about my wish for a different job, my choice is not outrageous.

My wish may seem strange for an English teacher, but I would really like to be a makeup artist. I’m not sure why or when the dream began, but I think it would be a great career.  Maybe I like the idea of doing something completely different and artistic. Maybe I’m just looking for a way to cover my wrinkles. I honestly don’t understand this nagging wish, and maybe I don’t need to.