Look around the room you are currently in. You’ll find fabrics, woods, metals, all manner of shapes, possibly sounds, colours— things that make up our “everyday.”
Look for any one element that catches your eye, that resonates—even if you don’t know why at the moment—one basic element of “every day”—and write about it. Explore it, in poetry or in prose, in some way that reflects its nature—or what you see, or come to see (via writing about it) as its nature.
He looked at the cup of coffee, the little bubbles forming around the sides and the stained table cloth before him. He lifted the cup gently, the warm smoke slithering into the air in curls, closed his eyes and breathed in the whiff of the dark brown coffee. It had the strong aroma of the dried coffee seeds from the southern hills. He slurped a little from the cup and closed his eyes, as a thin line of foam formed around his mouth.
It was ten in the morning. A clear sunlight, almost rebellious in bearing, lit the rooftop, making small puddles of shadows near the wall, where the birds- mostly pigeons and sparrows and sometimes an odd crow rested. All in all it was a good summer morning.
*****
*Southern Hills: Most of the coffee production in India comes from Southern States of Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
*I will incorporate your feedback and include this piece in my next publication.
"Think about it," Alistair typed on TheTruthAboutTables.com, "What is the evolutionary explanation for humans being upright, and having to 'invent' tables, flat surfaces for us to work with? Don't we evolve based on our surroundings, don't we adapt?"
He exhaled visibly, not wanting to rush this work. He reached for his cup, nestled into the carpet he sat cross-legged upon. He postured again to continue typing, his arms stretched to their fullest below him and managing to reach the keys of his laptop, also on the carpet and rapidly overheating.
Around the room, there were some paintings hung on the walls, varying two or three feet from the floor, which for Alistair was his only table.
He finished working on the homepage of his new website, highly anticipated by the hundred thousand or so subscribers to the subreddit, r/TableTheory. A sloppy draft, but he got the main points down: functioning as upright, two-legged creatures without tables is a stretch; the concept of a table is totally unnatural; it is not helpful to assume tables are alien technology, for example, how do we know tables were not a relic of some prior era of humanity?
He walked into his kitchen, and wondered why he stood at all. He kneels down, semi-crawling around to grab the necessary ingredients for his sandwich. Whether or not he felt like cooking had a lot less to do with his decisions than how difficult it was to use the stove, elevated a few feet above all of the utensils and spices. The kitchen had old laminate flooring, not just ugly but much worse for sitting than old carpet. Still better than standing and eating, he sat on it with bruised ankle bones. Eating on the carpet was inescapably messy, and food spillage on a carpet is worse when it's also your table.
His phone lit up with a life-giving Reddit notification, a new post on r/TableTheory had reached a thousand upvotes. An image, someone who had square chasms installed in areas of their floor, which they would get into so that the rest of the floor would be at arm level. Alistair scoffed at the sandwich on his plate as he reached for it and slightly strained his lower back. "Brilliant," he thought, lamenting he lived on the second floor.
******
Well, this is certainly one of the weirder things I've written. :)
The one basic element I chose is tables and the like, as you might guess. It was the first thing I saw. I do love a good desk, and I feel like we generally take for granted how vital having flat surfaces at the right height is, unless you are remodeling a kitchen or furnishing a home. I wanted to explore this through a character, and came up with our friend Alistair, who avoids the use of tables out of fear for whatever conspiracy there is behind them.
Almost stopped typing this a few times as it felt so silly, but writer's write.
Wine. Red, dark. Cuddling in bottom curve of stemless glass. Sip: minerals of Niagara Escarpment limestone where I grew up. Memories savoured - anti-social neighbour leaving full bushel of red/cream sour cherries purchased by my mother to be pitted with copper pitter, most frozen but also cooked into so delicious cherry cobbler, as the anti-social neighbour drinks, banished by his wife who owns the cherry orchards, to a back bedroom with one unshaded lightbulb, on a solitary chair, cursing/clinging to the high school physics classess he will teach tomorrow. Heady. Now I can accomplish everything on my list tomorrow: swim, shop, cook, clear and organize entire closet with 10 shelves, drive to an adventure, write.
Posting the edited version after incorporating changes.
(The Art Of Drinking Coffee.)
He looked at the cup of coffee, the little bubbles forming around the sides, and the stained table cloth. He lifted the cup gently, watching the warm smoke slithering into the air, closed his eyes and savored the fragrance. It had the strong aroma of the southern hills. He slurped a little from the cup and closed his eyes as a thin line of foam formed around his mouth.
It was ten in the morning. A clear sunlight hit the rooftop, making small puddles of shadows near the wall, where the birds- mostly pigeons and sparrows and sometimes an odd crow rested. All in all it was a good summer morning.
(I have also published this in the latest issue of my literary newsletter 'Brief Notes on Life.'
Going to have to circle back and join in on this discussion after I get home tonight!
Thanks for the prompt.
(The Art Of Drinking Coffee.)
He looked at the cup of coffee, the little bubbles forming around the sides and the stained table cloth before him. He lifted the cup gently, the warm smoke slithering into the air in curls, closed his eyes and breathed in the whiff of the dark brown coffee. It had the strong aroma of the dried coffee seeds from the southern hills. He slurped a little from the cup and closed his eyes, as a thin line of foam formed around his mouth.
It was ten in the morning. A clear sunlight, almost rebellious in bearing, lit the rooftop, making small puddles of shadows near the wall, where the birds- mostly pigeons and sparrows and sometimes an odd crow rested. All in all it was a good summer morning.
*****
*Southern Hills: Most of the coffee production in India comes from Southern States of Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
*I will incorporate your feedback and include this piece in my next publication.
Thanks,
Tarun K.
"Think about it," Alistair typed on TheTruthAboutTables.com, "What is the evolutionary explanation for humans being upright, and having to 'invent' tables, flat surfaces for us to work with? Don't we evolve based on our surroundings, don't we adapt?"
He exhaled visibly, not wanting to rush this work. He reached for his cup, nestled into the carpet he sat cross-legged upon. He postured again to continue typing, his arms stretched to their fullest below him and managing to reach the keys of his laptop, also on the carpet and rapidly overheating.
Around the room, there were some paintings hung on the walls, varying two or three feet from the floor, which for Alistair was his only table.
He finished working on the homepage of his new website, highly anticipated by the hundred thousand or so subscribers to the subreddit, r/TableTheory. A sloppy draft, but he got the main points down: functioning as upright, two-legged creatures without tables is a stretch; the concept of a table is totally unnatural; it is not helpful to assume tables are alien technology, for example, how do we know tables were not a relic of some prior era of humanity?
He walked into his kitchen, and wondered why he stood at all. He kneels down, semi-crawling around to grab the necessary ingredients for his sandwich. Whether or not he felt like cooking had a lot less to do with his decisions than how difficult it was to use the stove, elevated a few feet above all of the utensils and spices. The kitchen had old laminate flooring, not just ugly but much worse for sitting than old carpet. Still better than standing and eating, he sat on it with bruised ankle bones. Eating on the carpet was inescapably messy, and food spillage on a carpet is worse when it's also your table.
His phone lit up with a life-giving Reddit notification, a new post on r/TableTheory had reached a thousand upvotes. An image, someone who had square chasms installed in areas of their floor, which they would get into so that the rest of the floor would be at arm level. Alistair scoffed at the sandwich on his plate as he reached for it and slightly strained his lower back. "Brilliant," he thought, lamenting he lived on the second floor.
******
Well, this is certainly one of the weirder things I've written. :)
The one basic element I chose is tables and the like, as you might guess. It was the first thing I saw. I do love a good desk, and I feel like we generally take for granted how vital having flat surfaces at the right height is, unless you are remodeling a kitchen or furnishing a home. I wanted to explore this through a character, and came up with our friend Alistair, who avoids the use of tables out of fear for whatever conspiracy there is behind them.
Almost stopped typing this a few times as it felt so silly, but writer's write.
Wine. Red, dark. Cuddling in bottom curve of stemless glass. Sip: minerals of Niagara Escarpment limestone where I grew up. Memories savoured - anti-social neighbour leaving full bushel of red/cream sour cherries purchased by my mother to be pitted with copper pitter, most frozen but also cooked into so delicious cherry cobbler, as the anti-social neighbour drinks, banished by his wife who owns the cherry orchards, to a back bedroom with one unshaded lightbulb, on a solitary chair, cursing/clinging to the high school physics classess he will teach tomorrow. Heady. Now I can accomplish everything on my list tomorrow: swim, shop, cook, clear and organize entire closet with 10 shelves, drive to an adventure, write.
Posting the edited version after incorporating changes.
(The Art Of Drinking Coffee.)
He looked at the cup of coffee, the little bubbles forming around the sides, and the stained table cloth. He lifted the cup gently, watching the warm smoke slithering into the air, closed his eyes and savored the fragrance. It had the strong aroma of the southern hills. He slurped a little from the cup and closed his eyes as a thin line of foam formed around his mouth.
It was ten in the morning. A clear sunlight hit the rooftop, making small puddles of shadows near the wall, where the birds- mostly pigeons and sparrows and sometimes an odd crow rested. All in all it was a good summer morning.
(I have also published this in the latest issue of my literary newsletter 'Brief Notes on Life.'