Songwriting Without Boundaries (3 page)

(For additional reading on object writing, see chapter one of
Writing Better Lyrics
.)

Each day of the fourteen-day Object Writing challenge asks the reader to participate in three timed Object Writing exercises of five minutes, ten minutes and 90 seconds for fourteen days. To help inspire you, each day’s object writing prompts will include two responses from other writers, including songwriters, poets, and prose writers. When you’ve finished, look at the example responses and dive in yourself, preferably in a special notebook or a separate file in your laptop.

Most of the responses in this first challenge are drawn from an object writing “contest” at objectwriting.com, a site built by Paul Penton in Melbourne, Australia. The contest ran for forty days, each day presenting a new prompt. We chose two, from the 20 to 40 responses we received each day, for inclusion here. This way, you’ll have a group writing experience whether you form your own group or not.

But do form a group, or at least find a partner. It’ll keep you on track.

The first five days are devoted to pure object writing. Let’s call it “what” writing. Then three days each of “who,” “when,” and “where” writing. Have fun.

DAY #1

“WHAT” WRITING

Set a timer and respond to the following prompts for exactly the time allotted. Stop IMMEDIATELY when the timer goes off. Do not even finish the word you are on. Use only your seven senses. No judgments, comments, or quotes allowed. For the first few, feel free to read the samples before you begin. After a few days, read the samples after you’ve finished.

Use the list below as a place to let your eye wander when you’re not sure where to go next.

Sight   Sound   Taste   Touch   Smell   Body   Motion

5 minutes: Sky

CATHY BRETTELL:
Sapphires glisten underneath the glassine globe—marquise-shaped clouds floating, cross her eyes, back buried in the uncut summer grass—two yellow wings flash as she blinks, antennae curve and flutter like lashes upon her cheek. Roses billowing softly—pink lips pursing against cool violet petals—slender green stems bowing in her white hands like a hymnal, pages gilded—reflecting light like the crystal eyes of the lake—cattails sing, dragonflies passing between narrow rods of brown and white-fire—lazy slags of mud cup puddles of warm brine—salt drying white crusts at the slick edges—nighttime—worms guzzling their shade in the twiny albino roots—parasol dandelions ascend, scaling the blue heavens carrying child wishes …

PAT PATTISON:
On my back, wind shadow in the grasses that bow in rhythm, tickling my face as I watch two redtails wheeling their figure 8’s, riding, slicing the air—forewing feathers flattened against muscles and bone—peeling left toward a stand of sentinel pines brooding in shadow. Sun blanches my face, warm in speckles, rinsing clouds and lacing arrows of light against queen’s lace and ragweed, ants scale weeds flattening in the wind …

Cathy takes you on quite a journey, moving beyond the girl, “back buried in the uncut summer grass, looking up at the sky,” to the metaphor of the hymnal, which gives her something gilded to bring in the sun’s shining on the lake, ending with “parasol dandelions … carrying child wishes.” It’s letting one thing roll into another, frequently leaving the original prompt fading somewhere in the dust.

Now, you try writing
Sky
.

10 minutes: Crash

SUSAN CATTANEO:
Ear-splitting screech and then silence, the whine of steel against wood, the chrome fender like a blade against the rough neck of the old oak, the wound in the bark weeping sap and smelling of gasoline, a windshield reduced to glass pellets that crunch underfoot, a sneaker lies on its side near the licorice skid marks, its laces splayed like arms, the turn signal still blinking like beacon in the dark trees, the pines whisper carrying the faint smell of oil and gas and fear and perfume and beer, a sweaty hand fumbles for the doorknob, on hands and knees in the pine needles, the smell of overturned earth, neck muscles taunt and aching, he looks down at the red mark blossoming through his blue jeans and begins the feel the slow throb of pain, a heartbeat that pulses separate from his own heart, wiping the sweat from his upper lip, getting to his feet, the sky and stars and tree tops whirling in dizziness around him, he takes in great waves of air, trying to clear his head. he remembers the warm sticky counter at the bar, the smell of old peanuts and spilt beer, her voice like warm molasses, Jon Bon Jovi on the jukebox, and his wavy, ghostlike reflection in the mirror behind the cash register.

SCARLET KEYS:
Pots slam on the floor again, they are her voice, doing the screaming that a nice southern woman can’t do for herself. She smiles and pushes through that swinging wooden kitchen door every night as he mumbles like he’s spitting out tobacco. She wipes her hands down the front of her flour-covered apron, slams the cupboards and seems to drop things pretty hard on that linoleum floor. She looks out the window, drinking iced sun tea, resting her arm on the faucet as she listens to it drip, shaken from her daydream like a lazy kid on Sunday morning clinging to the mattress as she hears him holler from the living room. His tone is so sharp it grabs her when he yells, as words fall hard on her heart like the pots on the floor. She strains to remember how he was when she first married him. He’d rush in the door and scoop her up like a handful of flowers and look at her. He’d breathe her in like he was going to drink …

How many senses has Susan made you use? Remember, the more senses you involve, the more real your reader’s experience becomes. Both Susan and Scarlet use interesting simile and metaphor. (Much more on that as we move through these challenges.)

Object writing is pretty flexible. Susan stayed at an actual car crash. Scarlet crashes pots on the linoleum floor. Both stay focused on one scene, as I did in “Sky,” while Cathy takes you floating away on a carpet of free association. The only rule: Stay attached to your senses.

Your turn. Give
Crash
a try.

90 seconds: Lily Pad

CATHY BRETTELL:
Backs of hands grown over with emerald moss—rocking chair webbed with rickety spider legs—ponytail—wire gray hair like a witch’s broom—Cutlery limps across her throat—bones like bridges suspending wrinkled skin—red pools under the Wood-Spoke Linoleum …

PAT PATTISON:
Glittering in sunlight, swamp grass and green algae dance. A V-ing above the largemouth’s wake, widening to the shore, a mouth gulping stars, galaxies seen in the eyes of a child.

Pretty intense, these ninety-second dashes. They’ll really build your speed and get you deep into your senses quickly. And, they’re fun. Your turn.