Sometimes I go to the creative writing meetings thinking I'm too tired to participate actively, I'm just going to enjoy what my fellow writers come up with. This relates closely to the subject I wrote about recently here: Making yourself write even when you are not inspired or motivated and don't think you can produce anything worthwhile.
At our last creative writing session, we were prompted to write from the perspective of an inanimate object. Several ideas, very specific - a bloody ax that didn't know how it got bloody, etc, - were offered, but we were welcome to choose anything we liked. I chose a writer's keyboard. And in spite of being certain I couldn't write anything creative or even cohesive, I surprised myself by writing something that was worth sharing. The real surprise to me was that my writing was as good as it was with a limited time and no revision. My first drafts generally don't come together very well.
Another recent blog post that this makes me think of is the one about writing humor. The gist was that I don't think my writing is funny, but other people do and I sometimes don't understand that. This is a perfect example. When I read this brief piece at our meeting, I thought it turned out well and was kinda entertaining, but I had to keep pausing as I read because people were nearly falling out of their chairs laughing.
As an experiment, I mentioned this to several non-writing friends and family and emailed them the piece. They all wrote back that their laughter disturbed their co-workers. I've read it a few more times, and still think it's only mildly amusing, but I'm going to share it here and you can judge for yourself.
It's Not My Fault
How can it be my fault? My keys don't move; have never moved since the typewriter was invented. I don't know why they put the letters in that order or who designed where to put the symbols, but that shift key idea - whoever came up with that was pretty clever. Unlike you who forgets how to use it.
Why are you swearing at me and the computer? I don't spell things wrong and capitalize entire words by accident - you do that. And why do you get so aggravated with spellcheck? Do you know how much harder your job would be without it?
I know the letters are worn of the L key and also the E. Whose fault is that? Not mine - yours again. What difference does it make? A writer is supposed to know how to type. If you do it correctly you don't need to see the letters to know what the keys are.
Ouch! That is H. Still H. No matter how hard you jab the key, it will continue to be H. If you want J, press the J key, moron.
Yes, I noticed the space key is sticking. Sorry, I drooled coffee on it. Oh, wait, that wasn't me. It was you - again. Weeks ago, in fact, but you didn't bother to clean it up then or since. So I have a sticky space bar. Can I tell you how uncomfortable that is?
(Sigh) You and I could be such a team, creating great literature, but you don't appreciate my part in all this. You seem to think I hinder your writing instead of helping. Well, how about this? Try doing it without me.
How can it be my fault? My keys don't move; have never moved since the typewriter was invented. I don't know why they put the letters in that order or who designed where to put the symbols, but that shift key idea - whoever came up with that was pretty clever. Unlike you who forgets how to use it.
Why are you swearing at me and the computer? I don't spell things wrong and capitalize entire words by accident - you do that. And why do you get so aggravated with spellcheck? Do you know how much harder your job would be without it?
I know the letters are worn of the L key and also the E. Whose fault is that? Not mine - yours again. What difference does it make? A writer is supposed to know how to type. If you do it correctly you don't need to see the letters to know what the keys are.
Ouch! That is H. Still H. No matter how hard you jab the key, it will continue to be H. If you want J, press the J key, moron.
Yes, I noticed the space key is sticking. Sorry, I drooled coffee on it. Oh, wait, that wasn't me. It was you - again. Weeks ago, in fact, but you didn't bother to clean it up then or since. So I have a sticky space bar. Can I tell you how uncomfortable that is?
(Sigh) You and I could be such a team, creating great literature, but you don't appreciate my part in all this. You seem to think I hinder your writing instead of helping. Well, how about this? Try doing it without me.
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