Writing Myths #1: Why the sun rises and sets

It’s November so that means writing. Some people have signed up for NaNoWriMo, where they try to write a novel in a month, or DigiWriMo, where they write whatever they want to in a variety of forms. I’ve considered to join both but have decided to go with neither because I’m not prepared. Plus, I just don’t feel like it.

However, I want to make November a writing month so I’ve decided to write something every day for the month of November and maybe post something on here everyday as well. With that in mind, I was glad to discover Jason’s post, Writing Myths, this morning. He found 20 writing prompts on Facebook for writing myths and I liked the idea so much that I decided to do it too. Here’s my first for November 1^st. (Let’s see if I can post it before midnight.)

Write a myth to explain why the sun rises and sets.

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The fight over the event last night

Daily Prompt: Roy G. Biv

Write about anything you’d like, but make sure that all seven colors of the rainbow — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet — make an appearance in the post, either through word or image.

Note: I started with the first image that popped in my head and went with it until I ran out of steam. I have no idea where this came from. I’ve never been in such a situation before.

My vision was red when I woke. I was so enraged. I thought that a quick nap would shake off the anger but instead it slept along with me, patiently waiting to resurface, and now it was ready. Ready for me to take action. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my jacket, and left the house in search of him. I drove my blue buggy right up to his house and banged on the door until he opened it. He refused to meet my eyes knowing that he had done wrong, that he had pushed me too far. I shoved him into the house and entered after, intent on putting a hurting on him that he’d soon not forget. No one messes with me.

As I drew back my fist to deliver a punch, a flash of pink caught my eye and I looked around to see little Sara staring at me. The sun caught the flecks of green in her big hazel eyes as she stared up at us, opened mouthed, probably wondering what I’m doing to her daddy. But my anger refused to relent even for this little girl and I tried to sweeten my voice as I coaxed her to return to the living room and her cartoons, but she continued to stare. Dammit!

Pondering my Handwriting

Daily Prompt: Pens and Pencils

When was the last time you wrote something substantive — a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. — by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?

I fantasize about writing with a pen—never a pencil. Always I would imagine myself sitting by an open window in the summer, inhaling the brine of the ocean down the road from my house (my fantasy house by sea) while writing a short story or a letter to some loved one. It’s a huge window and every now and then a blue jay or sparrow would perch upon its sill and chirrup at me as I write, encouraging me to continue with my thoughts. Whenever I fantasize about writing, it’s always handwriting, not typing.

The physical exertion involved in handwriting makes the act more personal, especially if it’s a letter or a journal entry being written. When I do write with a pen, it’s as if I’m leaving a part of myself on the page along with my thoughts. I think more exertion is required of us when handwriting, which makes the act all the more satisfying when completed. However, since handwriting is more physical, my hands are now out of shape since I do not handwrite often. Now whenever I write with a pen, I can only do so for a few minutes before I have to stop to rest my hand. These days I find it hard to imagine how writers managed to write hundreds of pages for hours by hand back in the day.

“The Yellow Wall-Paper” by Charlotte Perkins Gillman

Available on Amazon and at you local bookstore. (Cover via Amazon)

An unsettling story, to say the least. I decided to read this story because of how often I’ve heard of it. I was particularly intrigued because I was told that the narrator is highly unreliable and unstable and such narrators always pique my interest. Of course, my constant misgiving regarding the classics made me assume that it would be a boring read but I resolved to plow through it no matter what. I wanted to know what happens.

I read “The Yellow Wall-Paper” in the Penguin Classics copy of Gillman’s selected writing. It includes an introduction written by Denise D. Knight, professor of English at SUNY Cortland. I’m glad I read the introduction before reading the story because it provided some perspective. Usually, I skip introductions because they tend to give the story away and take all the fun out of puzzling it out for myself. But in this case—where the story is a tad confusing and might be hard to digest if you haven’t the patience for such a narrative—it’s good to read the introduction and get some information on the author’s background and what moved her to write such an unsettling tale.

I like Gillman. I like to assume that anyone who considers herself a feminist would like her too. I think of myself as a semi-feminist. Gillman advocated for equality in the household. She didn’t believe that the woman’s sole purpose should be that of wife and mother. A woman could be more than that or none of them, if she chose. Basically, a woman should have the free will to choose who she wants to be and how she wants to be identified. Gillman believed that society’s insistence on gender roles—man as provider and protector; woman as nurturer and domesticated—limits humanity’s ability. I wonder what she would say of the world now. “The Yellow Wall-Paper” is drawn from her own experience. She suffered from depression in her 20s after giving birth to a daughter and was prescribed bed rest, basically she was told not to do anything but lie around all day. Of course, this didn’t help her depression but made her worse. It wasn’t until she stopped with such treatments that she became better.