DAY 9: Writing Exercises From “What It Is” by Lynda Barry
To Practice Writing.
I’ve been doing the exercises in the back of the book, “What It Is” by Lynda Barry. I love this book. It’s not only beautiful, creative, and inspiring just to look at, but it’s full of writing exercises that could keep me busy for the rest of my life. The book said to get 100 sheets of paper with 3 holes punched out, a 3-ring binder, and a nice pen. My mother used to give my father a nice Cross pen every year for Christmas, so when I finished writing my 10th book and began to work on these exercises, I got myself an affordable Cross pen as a gift and I love it.
The first exercise was to list ten cars I could remember from childhood. Then, I had to pick one that came to mind quickly and answer a bunch of questions about a memory I had of it. Things like, How old are you? Who’s with you? What are you doing? Where are you going? Where are you seated? What’s above, below, left, right, etc? Then, I had to write a scene that started with the words, “I am…”
My first few came out shitty, but I liked this one, although there is far more to this particular story. I wrote about it in my Godchild Trilogy, but that was written almost a decade ago.
PAPA’S CAR
I am riding home from therapy with my Papa and there is something weird in the air. I’m trying to get sober at only thirteen years old and I know my grandfather is in recovery. I want to talk to him about it, but I’m afraid. He wants to talk to me about something too, but he’s afraid as well. His cigarette burns to ash without taking a drag. He’s spaced out driving and almost gets us into an accident as he goes through a red light. I have a lot on my mind as well. I’m traumatized by a few different sexual assault situations I recently went through. My Papa knows I’m in trouble and he thinks it’s somehow his fault but he doesn’t say that, and although I can feel that energy, I haven’t put the pieces together yet. He talks to my mom for a while when we get home and I go upstairs to listen to my Aerosmith CD. I come back down to say goodbye to him when he looks like he’s leaving and he jokes, “You tryin’ to get ridda me?” I say no, but that I thought he was leaving. He leaves soon after that and he never tells me what’s going on in his head. He dies the next day and I feel intense guilt over it for the next twenty years, only to have my Papa show up in a dream one night saying “You’re the Godchild,” as if it were an omen. I try to figure out the meaning behind this message and it drives me to madness.
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The next exercise I did was to write down the first ten “other people’s mothers” that I could think of. Then, I had to pick one mother that came to mind quickly and answer a lot of similar questions to the ones I did about the car, but instead about the mother. Then, again, a scene beginning with “I am…”
JOEY’S MOM
I am sitting with Joey at his parents’ yellow house on the horse farm in Acton. We are snacking on hummus with red onion and Tabasco sauce. His mother is standing, trying to do several things at once, and his father is out the back door, on the porch, getting the grill ready for the quesadillas that Joey’s mom is making. She is a beautiful woman, around my parents’ age. She may be a few years older than them, but she looks young and she is more sophisticated than my parents. She likes folk music, health food, and Reiki. Her two sons are big, hairy beasts, but they are lovable and they love their mother and the amazing food she cooks. They are Portuguese and say that Portuguese people are known for being good cooks, like Italians. She has just brought the groceries in from Trader Joe’s and is setting up the food to cook as she puts it away. Joey and I aren’t helping, but I don’t think she wants us to. Joey’s dad is putting the chicken on the grill for everyone except Joey who isn’t exactly Vegan, but a vegetarian that doesn’t eat eggs. He still eats cheese and dairy though and we eat pizza and macaroni and cheese together all the time. Joey looks like a cross between Jesus and early 90s Chris Cornell with his long hair and beard, plus he is always wearing sandals, but he’s growing a belly and so am I. These delicious quesadillas don’t help, but they’re worth it. I say to myself, “I’ll learn how to make these, and I’ll cook them all the time,” and for many years, I do. They become one of the go-to meals of my twenties. I hardly ever make them anymore, but I should once in a while. I miss Joey’s mom and her delicious food. This is just one of many memories of her.
Thanks for reading.
Peace.
