Passages » family

Prompts and Junk and Stuff

Eric — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 03:01:57 +0000

One of the best ways I’ve found to inspire myself to write is by trading prompts with others. I enjoy finding something unique to stir the creativity of another. Brainstorming has always been one of my favorite activities and feels very pure in this format. Running with the spark of text provided by someone else is equally intriguing. Sometimes I feel as if I’m interpreting their words and trying discover what meaning might be within. Other times it is as if the words were lost somewhere in my own head and it took the insight of another to bring them to light.

Another component of prompt sharing that I find particularly rewarding is learning about someone else through the exchange. You get a rare opportunity to see something of that person’s intrinsic creativity; their view of the world as seen through their eyes. I’ve shared prompts with many people but the person I enjoy writing with the most has been my mother. Many times we share a similar tone or quality in the prompts themselves if not in the resultant writing. I’ve found that some of my most creative writing has been found in prompts we have exchanged. I’ve always appreciated that shared creative inspiration regardless of how divergent the outcome, which in itself is something to deeply appreciate and respect.

A few prompts are sitting in my inbox right now. I’m looking forward to what they prompt on this blog.

Isn’t there a song called “In my father’s eyes”?

Eric — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 07:23:41 +0000

Sometime in college…

The piece below was written as a quick reaction to a now forgotten poem a professor read in a class I attended. Whatever the words, the imagery it conjured was of me watching my father find his name on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington D.C.

The professor picks two poems
The class hears them as he speaks
With one my interest mildly sits
the other raises my level of awareness
while catching me off guard
I’m gone from class and sit in myself
as I was many years ago
My father with that worn Air Force parka and black bandanna
the sign “Another Viet Vet for peace” forgotten at his side
And I see it, I see his name
his whole self reflected in my father’s eyes.

Shorter Than You Were

Eric — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 18:31:36 +0000

I don’t have many clear memories of him. He was sort of a peripheral member of the family in my young eyes. In fact, the only times I really saw him were at family gatherings like birthdays, holidays and the like. What I do remember of him was money, fitness, beer and loud laughing. I remember him saying vulgar things at the dinner table that made the kids laugh, the parents look uncomfortable and the grandparents frown. In the later years of my youth I heard the darker stories from my parents regarding his lifestyle. The divorce came and went and he faded out of the larger family’s life.

I saw him recently at a funeral. He seemed fragile, depleted, sad. Attempting to display a front of calm compassion and support came across as nervous confusion. He looked like a puzzle piece that arrives at the table only to find a more compatible piece has taken its place. I remember speaking with him briefly. I remember overhearing his nearby conversations with relatives. I can’t seem to recall any of the words however. All that comes to mind is thinking “He is shorter than I remember him”.