Songwriting Without Boundaries (40 page)

Traffic cop → Linking quality:
Stands and points for long periods of time

Traffic cop → Linking quality:
Stands and points for long periods of time
→ Target idea:
A redwood tree

A redwood tree is a traffic cop.

You are planted there like a monument, unburdened by your forever stillness. Thick roots holding tightly to the ground in strong fists of muscled grip. Underneath you the forest floor shakes awake with crawling insects flicking their stiff legs, furry creatures on the hungry hunt, animals eating and going about the chaotic business of living and dying. You stand stoic and protective, overseeing the orchestration of a city made of dirt and leaf. Your bark is a rippling uniform form-fitted over purposeful flesh, your stance is regal and proud. Your delicate leaves dangle like fingers pointing toward the sun, signaling the direction of freedom; the birds weave themselves around your shape in a choreography of ordered flight. You are the shield that can be counted on to shoulder the brunt of the rain and wind, the armor that does not crumble under pressure, the landmark that indicates how much time has passed between seasons.

Hmmm. What an unusual linking quality. But it really opens up a fresh look at a redwood tree. Caroline even invites
traffic cop
’s cousin,
shield,
into the orchestra. Note also her use of simile, giving the redwood fingers without the necessity of hands. Her use of second person creates a close, personal look at this giant.

Now spend another ten minutes reversing directions, looking at
traffic cop
through the lens of your target idea.

A traffic cop is a redwood tree.

In the middle of the street I stand stoic and sturdy, my feet growing rootlike into the hard crust of road. My legs, strong as trunks and wrapped neatly inside the navy blue bark of my uniform, do not tremble even though the rush of cars feels like a hurricane whipping past me. My arms move in slow purposeful spirals, I exhale into my whistle, the cars crawl by like ants in a line. The sun beats down on the top of my head and under me is a shadow cast in the shape of a brimmed, stiff hat. In my shade a pigeon stops to nibble on a piece of leftover donut. A line of sweat blooms on my brow and the salty moisture drips from my face onto the street. I do not move my still green eyes away from the intersection. I feel as immobile as a dry log.

A lovely turnaround, complete with roots, bark, hurricanes, and ants. Again, an intimate look, and this time she used first-person narrative.

SCARLET KEYS

Traffic cop → Linking quality:
Controlling

Traffic cop → Linking quality:
Controlling
→ Target idea:
A mother

A mother is a traffic cop.

She stands in the hallway, waving little Johnny out the door, her scream is like a traffic cop’s whistle and she blows it for things like forgetting your lunch and leaving with your shoe untied. She hugs her daughter good-bye, she ushers her youngest girl down the stairs and kisses her husband at the door as she waves him good-bye, standing there in the crossfire of other people’s lives, shoulders back, strong and steady, arms flailing like a windmill. The family is ordered and their lives keep moving in a steady flow of homework papers, doctor’s appointments, napkins forced across stubborn chocolate faces, brooms being pushed, phones answered—the axis that everything and everyone swirls past. She stands there, her beating heart pushing through her housedress against her shiny badge of martyr and master, the badge that is worn down smooth, lackluster and hanging off as she sometimes dreams: the soft lips of a lover on her neck, big soft hands on her hips the feeling of being desired, of being sexy and noticed, a stop sign instead of a speed bump. Or maybe caution, slippery when wet instead of slow, children playing or careful, men working, yield, deer crossing, she wants to strip naked and wave her arms not in warning but in striptease and taunting, remember me, remember who I am, underneath this uniform of formula oatmeal and spit up, there is sweat and passion: This hair should be untied and let lose to fall on my shoul…

Wow! Check out Scarlet’s expressed identity “standing there in the crossfire of other people’s lives.”

Now spend another ten minutes reversing directions, looking at
traffic cop
through the lens of your target idea.

Traffic cop is a mother.

She stands there in the intersection, wearing bright notice-me colors, waving, stopping or waving cars by. Her stomach bulges and pushes over the top of her uniform like play dough squeezed through your hands. She is thick and middle aged, she is tired and stuck, she is the maternal guard of the traffic, whistling orders, checking for seat belts, her voice often unheard, resented, and tolerated. Age spots, sun spots, skin like a leather wallet, feet wide and fat in her black shiny shoes, now her only option is to find purpose in her day of swirling cars and the blare of stereos, the smell of coffee and cigarettes and barking dogs. She’s mother to them all, she blows her whistle like she’s calling everyone in for dinner, the red and yellow and green light her face and she sweats in the morning sun. Crosswalk, where four lanes meet, what is she left now, they would all come apart …

In both her pieces, Scarlet uses simile to connect the two literally: “her scream is like a traffic cop’s whistle” and “she blows her whistle like she’s calling everyone in for dinner.” Also note the expressed identity in, “she is the maternal guard of the traffic, whistling orders.”

Scarlet’s linking quality allows fluid movement between the two keys,
mother
and
traffic cop.
They have a lot in common.

Your turn. Find your two linking qualities and do your usual ten minutes for each one, exploring your target idea through the lens of
traffic cop.
Then spend another ten minutes reversing directions, looking at
traffic cop
through the lens of your target idea.

Traffic cop → Linking quality 1: ________________

Traffic cop → Linking quality 2: ________________

Now supply the target idea for each of them.

Traffic cop → Linking quality 1: ________ → Target idea 1: ______

Traffic cop → Linking quality 2: ________ → Target idea 2: ______

DAY #12

FINDING LINKING QUALITIES: MOVING BOTH DIRECTIONS

Prompt: Wheelchair

Again today, after finding your linking qualities and doing your usual ten minutes exploring your target idea through the lens of
wheelchair,
spend another ten minutes reversing directions, looking at
wheelchair
through the lens of your target idea.

Try this. First find two interesting qualities for
wheelchair.

Wheelchair → Linking quality 1: ________________

Wheelchair → Linking quality 2: ________________

Now supply the target idea for each of them.

Wheelchair → Linking quality 1: ________ → Target idea 1: _____

Wheelchair → Linking quality 1: ________ → Target idea 2: _____

SUSAN CATTANEO

Linking quality:
It makes you independent

Wheelchair → Linking quality:
It makes you independent
→ Target idea:
Learning how to drive

Learning how to drive as a wheelchair

Hands frozen like spokes at 10 and 2, your metallic arms stiff with nervousness, the engine whispers, as the tires roll gently forward, seated firmly, your right foot paralyzed on the gas, the dashboard is a blanket over your trembling knees, the traffic flies by with a freedom. You are immobile, your eyes roll right, then left as you venture into the intersection, windshield bracing against the wind to come, your brain brakes at the thought of tailing an 18 wheeler …

I love “Hands frozen like spokes” and the “dashboard blanket.” It takes a while to become independent, but Susan has found an interesting linking quality to join the two families.

Wheelchair as learning how to drive

Feeble, withered string-bean legs, lifted under the thighs and placed in the leather seat, arms hover over the soft black tires, poised to join the highway of wheelchairs zooming up and down the hospital hallway, feet like pedals below, the soft whisper of the tires, the wheeze of brakes, patients roll slowly past rooms, their IVs hanging from metal stands like moving telephone poles, the skip of your heart as you feel the freedom of movement, the open road of life, off ramps waiting to be discovered, confidence revs in your chest, muscles idle in your biceps, then tense as you push forward, you are one with metal and movement …

What a wonderful moment, “their IVs hanging from metal stands like moving telephone poles.” It puts you immediately on the highway. A powerful link.

SCARLET KEYS

Wheelchair → Linking quality:
It makes you independent

Wheelchair → Linking quality:
It makes you independent
→ Target idea:
An adventure novel

An adventure novel is a wheelchair.

She’s never left the United States except for San Diego and South Dakota. Arthritis settled in and she spends more of her life sitting in that soft green chair by the window, book in hand. She doesn’t feel bad about never seeing the world, she sees it every day and she pushes up her glasses and sets down her tea. She crosses one short pudgy leg over the other and lets her half socks fall off her feet and picks up her adventure novel. She turns the page and it’s like her chair grows wheels and transports her to the world. In one sentence she is eating pasta and melon in a café in Milan. She is looking at Da Vinci’s Last Supper, she can feel the warm fingers of an Italian man holding her with moonlight on her face and she holds her breath. You see she says, I’ve been around the whole world and I’ve never left this chair, I love the feel of the pages, the smell of the ink, and I never know where I’ll end up when I turn another page. I dog-ear the memories I want to read again, I underline the parts that take my breath away and when I’m lonely I read it all again from the beginning, I can do that, I can go back to Milan and feel the 900–year-old stones beneath my tiny sandaled feet and brush the scarf from my neck in the humid July air. I can feel his fingers again and again and stop and read each letter like it’s honey dripping from the page. I can kiss him slowly or quickly depending on how fast I read and it’s really quite wonderful. Don’t feel sorry for me here, sometimes, I wonder if I’m not the lucky one, savoring each moment like I do, stopping at each flower, head down, I know the cracks in the sidewalk, where lovers etch their names and people lose their keys and children drop their ice creams, this is where the life happens, slow down, look down every once in a while, you with the fast-paced life, you with your head in the clouds.