One day recently, I sent Annie (who needs no other introduction because she's mentioned a lot on this blog already) a text that said, "Can we please go to Life Alive [this really hippie café] and sit and have a philosophical conversation about life as soon as possible". (Question mark deliberately omitted, because #textspeak.)
Annie's reply was, "YES YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL YES PLEASE ASAP"
As if that wasn't bohemian enough, I also came up with the idea that we should do a free write for thirty minutes on a random prompt we would pick off of Pinterest (the greatest of all distractions) and then share what we each wrote.
That prompt was, "Write a scene that uses the line, 'I've decided to stay, even though you said not to.'" So because I haven't yet posted on this blog this month, here is what we produced.
My take on the prompt:
There wasn’t really much else to see on the vast expanse of meadow that lay out in front of us besides the flowers that had just begun to bloom, dotting the verdant green grass with flecks of color as if some artist from high above dipped a paintbrush and flicked on its bristles with his fingers. Well, not really much else besides the edge of the cliff not far away from we were standing, and the ominous dark gray clouds that formed on the horizon far beyond the ocean underneath the cliff on which we stood.
When I first got to Ellsworth Island to volunteer to help raise endangered seagulls, I never could have imagined that it would come to that point. I never thought that eventually, I’d be staring into a brewing storm standing in front of a lighthouse whose light was slowly fading out, with a lighthouse keeper gradually turning more mad with desperation the more the lighthouse refused to properly shine, seeming to supernaturally imitate his deteriorating health. I never thought that I’d grow so attached to those birds, those birds who have the sheer luck of being able to command the sky and sea. It just all seemed so improbable; I continually thought to myself, “How did my life work out to be this way? Only four months ago I was living in a yurt in the middle of the desert. This world really is full of endless possibilities, whether we’re actively seeking them or whether they are serendipitously handed to us.”
But because of the supposedly legendary storm that was about to arrive, it would all have to end. However, evidently, I didn’t want it to. I didn’t care that soon, the island would become infested with a bird-borne virus. I didn’t care that the lighthouse keeper was what I think the first one to be afflicted. I loved the island in all its isolation, the lighthouse in all its rustic splendor, and the life that I had made for myself there. Although I had always been one to seek new adventures, for some reason, I had become attached to the person I had become on Ellsworth Island.
So when the lighthouse keeper, still at the initial, harmless stages of the illness, told me to leave the island as soon as possible and find something else to do with my life, I was given a few days to pack up and reflect on my time there before saying good-bye to it forever, leaving the island, its lighthouse keeper, and my beloved seagulls to fall to ruin and disappear from the memory of everyone on earth but myself.
So pack up my stuff I did, reluctantly putting the last of my notebooks and photos into my duffel bag. But my heart wasn’t in the act of leaving. I couldn’t find it in me to think ahead of what else life might offer, because it had reached a plateau I didn’t think could be more elevated as I was living on the island. It then brought me to confront the lighthouse keeper, which is how I found myself standing on the meadow by the cliffs, with full proof that the island was about to be no more in front of both of our eyes. It was there that I told him, in a voice that I hope conveyed there was no chance of me changing my mind, “I've decided to stay, even though you said not to.”
Whether or not he bought it, I don’t know. What I do know for sure is that if I had had the intention of continuing to live my life, I made the wrong decision.
This is my story.
Annie's take on the prompt:
The following is an excerpt from a play in which scientists have cloned a human embryo, producing four exact copies, with each copy having one gene (and/or sex chromosome) genetically engineered to be slightly difference. These slight differences create four stereotypical characters that the play follows:
- - a Harvard-educated white man working on Wall Street
- - a homosexual NYU-educated white man pursuing theater
- - a stay-at-home/unemployed mom who graduated from a woman’s college
- - a Yale-educated Muslim woman.
The slight differences in these clones are explored throughout the play, as the play follows all four through scenes in their life—some scenes which correlate strongly between characters, others which are impacted drastically by their single differentiating trait. Ultimately, all four slip into insanity at the exact same time and find each other at a mental institution together yet don’t recognize each other because they’re convinced each clone is simply a figment of their imagination (due to their insanity). But I basically just gave away the entire play, so that’s nice.
BETH is speaking to VOICE as if she’s talking to another person, except VOICE is obviously just a voice offstage and not actually person. This is apparent to the audience, but BETH is convinced the voice is a person.
VOICE:
Beth, listen to me. I’m telling you… you shouldn’t stay.
BETH:
Why? Why would I listen to you? You’ve been wrong every other time. Dare I mention the time you told me to stay in school, at that random woman’s college? I stayed, and you were wrong. Dare I mention the time you told me to stay with the English degree, rather than pursue something more practical? I stayed, and you were wrong. Dare I mention the time you told me to not stay with the job? I didn’t stay, and you were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! This time, I’m not listening.
VOICE:
But I promise I’ll be right this time. I promise I’ll be right. Besides, how do you know I was actually wrong?
BETH:
How do I know you were wrong? Let’s see, I’m unemployed. I’ve been unemployed for two years. None of this would have happened had I not gone to a woman’s college with and English degree. I’m pretty sure you were wrong.
(pause)
Wrong, wrong, wrong!
(pause)
I’ve decided to stay even though you said not to.
VOICE:
But you need to go. You can’t keep living like this. What did your husband say to you? You can either voluntarily leave, or he can force you. You really have no option…
BETH:
He won’t force me. I can stay. I can stay. I can stay. He said insanity requires institutionalization. He said I could check myself in, he said he could come with me. He won’t force me. He won’t force me.
VOICE:
He said he could, remember?
BETH:
But he didn’t really mean it, right?
VOICE:
Did he?
BETH:
Did he?
VOICE:
Probably.
BETH:
But you’re always wrong!
VOICE:
Maybe you’re always wrong!
BETH:
No, you’re always wrong.
(pause)
You’re always wrong. Right?
(pause)
I already said I decided to stay. I’m staying.
(Black out.)
One day in the far future, when people are studying literary giants of this century, they're gonna study these pieces by Annie and me, two very eminent persons (in a yet unknown field of expertise, which could very well be writing?) who were once students at some place called Harvard College.
Even though our philosophical discussions about life mainly center on us being confused and wondering what we're even doing with our lives here, wondering if we're ever going to find the success that people somehow associate with students who get degrees from here, a girl can dream, right?
Annie's reply was, "YES YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL YES PLEASE ASAP"
As if that wasn't bohemian enough, I also came up with the idea that we should do a free write for thirty minutes on a random prompt we would pick off of Pinterest (the greatest of all distractions) and then share what we each wrote.
That prompt was, "Write a scene that uses the line, 'I've decided to stay, even though you said not to.'" So because I haven't yet posted on this blog this month, here is what we produced.
My take on the prompt:
There wasn’t really much else to see on the vast expanse of meadow that lay out in front of us besides the flowers that had just begun to bloom, dotting the verdant green grass with flecks of color as if some artist from high above dipped a paintbrush and flicked on its bristles with his fingers. Well, not really much else besides the edge of the cliff not far away from we were standing, and the ominous dark gray clouds that formed on the horizon far beyond the ocean underneath the cliff on which we stood.
When I first got to Ellsworth Island to volunteer to help raise endangered seagulls, I never could have imagined that it would come to that point. I never thought that eventually, I’d be staring into a brewing storm standing in front of a lighthouse whose light was slowly fading out, with a lighthouse keeper gradually turning more mad with desperation the more the lighthouse refused to properly shine, seeming to supernaturally imitate his deteriorating health. I never thought that I’d grow so attached to those birds, those birds who have the sheer luck of being able to command the sky and sea. It just all seemed so improbable; I continually thought to myself, “How did my life work out to be this way? Only four months ago I was living in a yurt in the middle of the desert. This world really is full of endless possibilities, whether we’re actively seeking them or whether they are serendipitously handed to us.”
But because of the supposedly legendary storm that was about to arrive, it would all have to end. However, evidently, I didn’t want it to. I didn’t care that soon, the island would become infested with a bird-borne virus. I didn’t care that the lighthouse keeper was what I think the first one to be afflicted. I loved the island in all its isolation, the lighthouse in all its rustic splendor, and the life that I had made for myself there. Although I had always been one to seek new adventures, for some reason, I had become attached to the person I had become on Ellsworth Island.
So when the lighthouse keeper, still at the initial, harmless stages of the illness, told me to leave the island as soon as possible and find something else to do with my life, I was given a few days to pack up and reflect on my time there before saying good-bye to it forever, leaving the island, its lighthouse keeper, and my beloved seagulls to fall to ruin and disappear from the memory of everyone on earth but myself.
So pack up my stuff I did, reluctantly putting the last of my notebooks and photos into my duffel bag. But my heart wasn’t in the act of leaving. I couldn’t find it in me to think ahead of what else life might offer, because it had reached a plateau I didn’t think could be more elevated as I was living on the island. It then brought me to confront the lighthouse keeper, which is how I found myself standing on the meadow by the cliffs, with full proof that the island was about to be no more in front of both of our eyes. It was there that I told him, in a voice that I hope conveyed there was no chance of me changing my mind, “I've decided to stay, even though you said not to.”
Whether or not he bought it, I don’t know. What I do know for sure is that if I had had the intention of continuing to live my life, I made the wrong decision.
This is my story.
Annie's take on the prompt:
The following is an excerpt from a play in which scientists have cloned a human embryo, producing four exact copies, with each copy having one gene (and/or sex chromosome) genetically engineered to be slightly difference. These slight differences create four stereotypical characters that the play follows:
- - a Harvard-educated white man working on Wall Street
- - a homosexual NYU-educated white man pursuing theater
- - a stay-at-home/unemployed mom who graduated from a woman’s college
- - a Yale-educated Muslim woman.
The slight differences in these clones are explored throughout the play, as the play follows all four through scenes in their life—some scenes which correlate strongly between characters, others which are impacted drastically by their single differentiating trait. Ultimately, all four slip into insanity at the exact same time and find each other at a mental institution together yet don’t recognize each other because they’re convinced each clone is simply a figment of their imagination (due to their insanity). But I basically just gave away the entire play, so that’s nice.
BETH is speaking to VOICE as if she’s talking to another person, except VOICE is obviously just a voice offstage and not actually person. This is apparent to the audience, but BETH is convinced the voice is a person.
VOICE:
Beth, listen to me. I’m telling you… you shouldn’t stay.
BETH:
Why? Why would I listen to you? You’ve been wrong every other time. Dare I mention the time you told me to stay in school, at that random woman’s college? I stayed, and you were wrong. Dare I mention the time you told me to stay with the English degree, rather than pursue something more practical? I stayed, and you were wrong. Dare I mention the time you told me to not stay with the job? I didn’t stay, and you were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! This time, I’m not listening.
VOICE:
But I promise I’ll be right this time. I promise I’ll be right. Besides, how do you know I was actually wrong?
BETH:
How do I know you were wrong? Let’s see, I’m unemployed. I’ve been unemployed for two years. None of this would have happened had I not gone to a woman’s college with and English degree. I’m pretty sure you were wrong.
(pause)
Wrong, wrong, wrong!
(pause)
I’ve decided to stay even though you said not to.
VOICE:
But you need to go. You can’t keep living like this. What did your husband say to you? You can either voluntarily leave, or he can force you. You really have no option…
BETH:
He won’t force me. I can stay. I can stay. I can stay. He said insanity requires institutionalization. He said I could check myself in, he said he could come with me. He won’t force me. He won’t force me.
VOICE:
He said he could, remember?
BETH:
But he didn’t really mean it, right?
VOICE:
Did he?
BETH:
Did he?
VOICE:
Probably.
BETH:
But you’re always wrong!
VOICE:
Maybe you’re always wrong!
BETH:
No, you’re always wrong.
(pause)
You’re always wrong. Right?
(pause)
I already said I decided to stay. I’m staying.
(Black out.)
One day in the far future, when people are studying literary giants of this century, they're gonna study these pieces by Annie and me, two very eminent persons (in a yet unknown field of expertise, which could very well be writing?) who were once students at some place called Harvard College.
Even though our philosophical discussions about life mainly center on us being confused and wondering what we're even doing with our lives here, wondering if we're ever going to find the success that people somehow associate with students who get degrees from here, a girl can dream, right?
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