Songwriting Without Boundaries (10 page)

DEBORAH QUILTER:
Felt tasseled caps and camera clicks of smiles. Soft clapping hands and back-patting laudatory gestures. Doves of freedom flying toward the open door that swings beside a cliff. Holding grip of rolling scrolls tied in satin ribbons. Handshake gowns, handed down, fresh and pressed as new. Bumbled words spill out amongst champagnes gulping clatter. Pleased as punch, parents toast to the marvel of their making. Muted nights of muddled minds that cram before the morning. Blurred new days that fade away into late-night library ramblings. Friendships made and promises accidentally broken. Textbook trash heaps, lonesome walk back home. On solid the ravens flock …

Both Chanelle and Deborah remain in the present, making the experience more immediate. As an experiment, translate both into past tense. Note that both use a lot of the
ing
form of the verb, which is tense-neutral. Look:

Parading down the main street of town, spilling onto the road, hundreds of graduates in black flowing gowns and hats with tassels swinging, blue and white collars, descending on the theater …

So far, there’s no tense established. It could be:

Parading down the main street of town, spilling onto the road, hundreds of graduates in black flowing gowns and hats with tassles swinging, blue and white collars, descending on the theater, the graduating class looked fabulous …

It also could be:

Parading down the mainstreet of town, spilling onto the road, hundreds of graduates in black flowing gowns and hats with tassles swinging, blue and white collars, descending on the theater, the graduating class will look fabulous.

Chanelle doesn’t put the reader clearly in present tense until line four, “I feel ….” Deborah’s first commitment to present tense is also in her fourth line, “Bumbled words spill out ….” Tense-neutral verbs can be very useful. For more, see chapter nine in
Writing Better Lyrics
, “Stripping Your Repetition for Re-painting.”

Your turn.

90 seconds: Wedding Rehearsal Dinner

KAZ MITCHELL:
The champagne is crisp and full of bubble, just like the chatter around the table. There is much joyous banter and rubbing of shoulders as the guests warm to each other, over hot slices of roasted chicken, filling the air with its succulent aroma. There are tears as the bride’s father …

MANUEL STüBINGER:
Clattering dishes, murmur, creamy on the tongue, scent of candles and perfume, candles flicker, stiff suits, elegant dresses, abdominal fullness, hubbub …

Now, your turn. Go.

DAY #10

“WHEN” WRITING

There’s plenty of action in “when.” One of the more helpful questions you need to ask when you write is, “When is this happening?” Try several answers: “Am I feeling this loss in the spring, when the external world creates an ironic contrast? In the fall, when everything is fading, just like my lost love? In the winter, when I have to protect myself from the chill, like I’ve been doing since he left? Or summer, when everywhere things are growing in the heat while I shrink emotionally?”

Or, times of day. So many options, so much time available …

Set a timer and respond to the following prompts for exactly the time allotted. Stop IMMEDIATELY when the timer goes off.

Sight     Sound     Taste     Touch     Smell     Body     Motion

5 minutes: Six in the Morning

CATRINA SEIFFERT:
The alarm screamed in my ear jolting me violently from my flying dream. A beautiful relaxing float above the clouds crashed like a plane wreck. My eyes tried desperately to unglue themselves to peer at the neon red lights of my clock radio. My tongue felt (and tasted) like shriveled cardboard and my bloated stomach was the only incentive to venture out of my warm cocoon and onto the ice-cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

CHANELLE DAVIS:
Cell phone vibrates on my bedside table, louder and louder, flip it open to stop the noise, warm in winter sheets, eyes tight shut, trying to open, a dim streetlight shines through a crack in the curtain, dark outside, rip open the bedcovers letting the cool air slap my body, bare feet on wooden floors, crouch down search under the bed for a missing gym shoe. Blurry eyes, stretching T-shirt over my head, arm muscles torn and sore, pull my hair back tight into a ponytail and brush my teeth with fresh mint Colgate toothpaste …

Yikes! Both give a jarring alarm clock experience. Which is more immediate? Why?

Now try it yourself.

10 minutes: First Snowfall

CHANELLE DAVIS:
Lift the white mesh curtain, outside snow is drifting through the air, soft and covering the green grass like icing sugar, jump back under the thick sheepskin and press my stomach into the warmth of the bed, walking down Manchester Ave in black furry boots, crunching snow on concrete, breathing in air and frosting my lungs, holding a takeaway Starbucks coffee, cinnamon warms my mouth, snowflakes land on my face and hair, slowly melting, clumps of snow on the carpet disappearing into dark patches, dark streets and church bells echoing, hands snug in mittens in pockets, tight woolen scarf around my neck, stepping carefully around ice, frozen river, skating children bright pink jackets, wobbling, falling, hitting the ice, squirrels darting across the path …

ADAM FARR:
Bright, heavy on the eyes, white like a baby rabbit’s fur. Everything is coated, padded with an anorak like a huge clumsy boxing glove. I hear dripping from icicles like stalagmite knives and an occasional parachute landing of a pod reentering the garden from the sugary roof.

The cold enters my airways with its purity and my teeth feel large and brittle. My boots labour through layers of crystals, with a sound like an electric bass. I feel myself slipping when the perfect coating gives way and reveals the unexpected dirt beneath. Small petals have been ripped down by the weight of bread-crumb cement, flakes ganging together to pull down branches and enter any vulnerable crack in rocks or clothes. Numb toes flicker trying to regain sensation.

Now it’s your turn.

90 seconds: Easter Sunday

JOY GORA:
Angelic songs echo high into the arches of the gothic-style church. The smoky scent of incense spirals in the air and walks along the pews—coating worshipers resting on their knees. Wrinkle-free pastel dresses and pressed suits dot the aisle as a halo of sunlight trickles through the kaleidoscope of brilliant colors etched upon the windows. The tart taste of deep red wine lingers on my lips …