Real Writing in the World #8: Scavenger Hunt Through Time & Space
A writing portal: the next best thing to being there
First, I couldn’t help it—I had to make fun of the over-curated romantic pics poets and writers are staging of themselves in Europe or writing in cafes or gardens, etc. fully made up with perfect hair wearing a trendy and/or sexy outfit and a secret smile like Creativity just told them they are The One. They always make me laugh (sorry not sorry).
Therefore, I humbly submit, “Sunday Morning: Exhausted After Changing the Sheets in Baltimore” as my contribution.
Hashtag HotWriterSummer! (No, really, I’m in my late 50s.)
The good news about pics like this is you hit the 10 second timer and whatever comes out really is the one!
I heartily encourage you all to post something similar that says “Wish I Wasn’t Here” and strike a blow for Real Writer Lives everywhere. Let me see you mentally composing a sonnet while you wash the dishes, or dashing off an American Sentence in a work email that no one will notice except you.
Now on to the writing adventure.
It’s been a few days but I am still not over it.
Earlier this week I saw a chair that I suddenly had to have (the teenager in me shouted “dream chair!” — I heard her very clearly) when it popped up in an Instagram video of “new and on sale” items shared by Second Chance, a fantastic nonprofit here in Baltimore “that provides people, materials and the environment with a second chance.” They salvage from buildings to be torn down, accept donations, and provide job training and workforce development for people experiencing employment obstacles.
I immediately decided this chair was mine, where it would go, and how it would change my life, being the place in which I would stare into space and dream, read and dream, write and dream, and because of this I would be happy and fulfilled.
As you do.
I mean, look at it. It’s big enough for a fluffy pillow and a blanket, plus it has an ottoman (or footrest, if you prefer), a good price, and it’s lilac. The 12 year-old in me was thrilled.
But when I called to reserve it with a credit card over the phone they told me someone had come by and bought it.
I was so bummed. Ridiculous, but I was.
You see, Real Writers, I never had that quintessential childhood/teenagerhood bedroom. It was DECORATED and had to be kept PERFECT at all times. Mine had suffocating wallpaper like this on all the walls, my parents’ old bed (in which I had been conceived—EW), my father’s huge old desk with drawers and cubbyholes that I wasn’t supposed to fill with stuff because it would look messy, and my grandmother’s old cane rocking chair I was told was too delicate to sit in. The dresser was tall, dark, and foreboding.
The theme was “do not touch.”
It was a bit like a stark attic bedroom and that wallpaper now makes me think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s short story “The Yellow Wallpaper.” I swear things moved in it. Oh, and the rug was blood red. Whenever I hear “redrum” I think of that rug.
The two nods to the young me who lived there was a small red bean bag chair that I was supposed to keep in the closet when not in use and I think I was allowed one 8 1/2 x 11 “poster,” probably Shaun Cassidy, over the rocker, because it wasn’t visible if you looked in from the door.
As a teenager, it could not have been more stifling and creepy. I never felt comfortable there. It was never my room.
This sounds pretty severe, like I was chained to the bed and thrown a crust of bread three times a day, which obviously wasn’t the case. There were just a lot of rules and the house was to be what we’d now call “camera ready” at all times for some odd reason I will never know as my parents rarely, rarely, entertained.
Once I was an adult with my own space, whether with roommates or my own apartment, and eventually my own house, I always defaulted to a style that might be called “glorified dorm room” with thrift store furniture, color (mostly purple), holiday lights everywhere, cheerful but not overwhelming clutter (mostly in the form of books), candles, pillows. You get the picture. Cozy, a little chaotic, comfortable, creative. Always ready for a slumber party or movie night and there were always people coming and going.
So when I saw this chair that inner bell of recognition went off. It sounds a bit like the song “Free to Be….You and Me” on the 1972 album of the same name made for children (I was the perfect age for it.) If you’re the right age too you’re hearing the opening banjo right now, aren’t you?
(If you remember this album and program, you can watch the TV special here. Enjoy!)
I’m still chasing that childhood dream bedroom and the writing space I always wanted growing up--imaginative but comfortable.
After the purple chair got away, there was a space where a dream chair needed to be and I figured the only solution was to go to Second Chance and find whatever next-best-or-better thing made me feel “free to be.”
This pilgrimage turned out like most do—the thing you go for doesn’t turn out the way you hoped and you end up with something else that’s good in a different way.
I think I knew with multiple warehouses it would not be possible to air condition them, but I wasn’t prepared for how sweltering it was. There are huge fans everywhere and I met several lovely women every time I stood in front of one. As I wandered, two young men took turns playing a piano and they were both really good. The first piece they played was Debussy - “Clair de Lune.” I am not a huge classic music fan but this is such a well known piece of gorgeous music, you can’t not recognize it. It seemed like a sign I was in the right place.
Play this while you read the rest for the immersive experience. ;)
I hope whoever bought the shark also bought the cow and cart to get it home.
I went through every inch of the spaces for two hours (I was committed or should have been), slowly melting and hallucinating as I went. I found some treasures like the entire Hon bar back wall from the iconic Cafe Hon in Hampden, which closed last year after celebrating it’s 30-year anniversary. Hampden hosts the annual beehive-and-pedal-pushers-laden HonFest. “Hon” is short for “honey,” a Bawlmer endearment along the lines of, “Welcome to Bawlmer, hon!”
So many stories and lives were contained in those warehouses. One giant stage full of sets and props. I did start putting pieces together in my head to furnish a couple of rooms in a novel character's house. Sitting on “the couch” or at the table you picture in their kitchen is crossing through a portal into a 3D version of your story, a sort of parallel universe powered by your imagination. Talk about world building. It's a heady trance state I can't get enough of.
Remembering why I was there and starting to feel a bit lightheaded from the heat, I got back to my search.
Chairs were a challenge because they were tucked everywhere, sometimes in a herd and sometimes a stray, forgotten and abandoned. I found 3 I knew I didn’t want and began negotiating with myself about which one I would settle for only I didn’t tell myself that. I was talking myself into one of them.
There weren’t any purple chairs so Practical Chris decided to look for gray as that’s the neutral color I am now loving and have in my apartment. This is what I landed on:
I know. Soul-sucking and dreary, isn’t it? I mean, compared with the Dream Chair. I even went so far as to have a ticket written up for it and call someone I knew who would deliver it (Second Chance does not deliver) and then I thought, What are you doing? You can’t force just any furniture into being dream furniture. So I tore up the ticket and left.
A thunderstorm loomed so I went home and decided to just look for a purple chair online. The first thing that came up was THE chair, from Wayfair (of course), almost 3 times as much, but on sale, and I talked myself out of it. (For now.)
No dream chair, but I did walk away with seeing a shark’s head on a wall and a writing adventure.
Writing Adventure #8: Scavenger Hunt Through Time and Space.
This trip to Second Chance reminded me that I hadn’t gone on one of these in a while.
This scavenger hunt through time and space is when you get real with your story or poem (essay, etc.) and go in search of something key to bring it to life. Maybe your main character wears a scandalous red dress to an event (like Bette Davis in Jezebel, which was shot in black and white so find the colorized version) to get attention. GO FIND THAT RED DRESS. Go explore thrift and vintage and consignment stores. Look for shoes while you’re at it.
Maybe you’re writing a poem about a memory from childhood and it involves dishes or foods you haven’t eaten in forever. Go find those dishes. Go to a restaurant and order that meal.
Better still, drive by your childhood home, or a place you used to live, had your first kiss, had your first breakup, first job, worst job. If it’s a public place, park and walk around. Sit in the spot. Feel the feels.
Visit a neighborhood that reminds you of where your character lives (make it a road trip for a weekend or longer—even go to another country. Why not?).
If you’re writing about a time period, go to a historic location that’s featured in your piece, or a building, restaurant, store, from that time. Search out clothes from that time period, or go to a concert to hear music from that time played live.
Whatever you do, write about it while you’re there. Capture sensory details and those feelings and memories that come up. Take some pictures.
I would like to note here that I am not encouraging stalking. Don’t devolve into looking up a high school crush and hope you two will run into each other at the cafe in his/her/their neighborhood and be one of those romantic stories posted on Facebook. (I have not done this, by the way, but I’m a writer so I have imagination.)
I also suggest going alone. Another person’s vibe will interfere with the experience.
Added fun:
You could, instead, get a group of writer/poet friends (perhaps your Ninja Poet friends who went on Writing Adventure #4 with you?) to go on their own scavenger hunts at the same time. Agree to meet up afterward to share notes and pics, maybe write together for an hour about what you learned—suggested questions below.
If you’d like to really go for it, you could each dress as your Writer Alter Ego as well.
To challenge yourself, write the poems or the essay or scene/chapter first, then go on this adventure and revise it after.
What was the first memory or feeling that came up for you?
What changed from your initial expectation or memory?
What did you get right and how did it feel?
What was different and how did it feel?
What will you leave out and keep for yourself?
How did the experience change your writing of the scene, poem, etc.
What was liberating about the experience, as a person and a writer? Who are you now “free to be”?
Extra points if you managed to travel in both time and space!
Before I go, here’s another look at the cow and cart. I couldn’t decide if this or the shark took the prize. I think it’s a tie.
Happy scavenging!
Chris