I‘m experimenting with a new challenge this week. Actually, I was supposed to write this piece yesterday, since the challenge is titled “Stream of Consciousness Saturday.” But I just didn’t have enough time. The hostess is Linda G. Hill, and if you’d like to start participating in the challenge, just follow the link to her site.
I like stream-of-consciousness writing exercises. I use them often with my creative writing students in the college classes I teach. And many times, those exercises allow us to discover aspects of our creativity that we didn’t know were there. When we just start writing without planning and let our creativity take us wherever it will, without stopping to reason or even edit, we can come up with some surprising things.
This time around, I think I’ve come up with something rather silly, but — what can I say — I just started with a question out of nowhere and followed up with another line and another until I had what you see below. Maybe it will at least give you a chuckle.
DOWN MEMORY LANE – OR NOT
“Cash! Darn it, man! What took you so long?”
“I couldn’t find my gun.”
“What the heck you need a gun for?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? What do you plan to do with a gun?”
Cash looked at his friend Kent. They’d gone through high school together as best friends. And even after Cash had gone to Brazil to work, they’d kept in touch – well – until his accident. After that, he’d lost touch with most of his acquaintances, due to the amnesia.
Now, ten years later, most of his memory was coming back – slowly – and he had manged to get a job at the computer company where Kent worked. Kent had invited him to go out with him tonight – since it was Friday and no work tomorrow – but he was wondering now if his friend might be having some issues with forgetfulness himself. He looked at him closely. “You all right, Kent? I think maybe you’ve been working too hard.”
“Heck no. I’m fine. Lookin’ forward to tonight.”
“But I notice you don’t have a gun – and you’re not exactly dressed for hunting are you?”
Kent scratched his head. “What’s with this gun business? You afraid someone might try to hold us up or something?”
“No. But hunting requires some kind of weapon, doesn’t it? Bow and arrow or knife or a gun? And I figured since you said we’d be hunting chicks, the gun would be the most appropriate.”
Kent’s eyes bugged out. “What?!”
“Well, chickens are going to be pretty hard to take down with a bow and arrow, and, frankly, the knife sounded like it would get pretty gory, so the gun seemed the best choice.”
“Buddy … are you telling me you came tonight planning on shooting at a bunch of chickens?”
Now it was Cash’s turn to look astounded. “But that’s what you said we’d be doing. I remember distinctly. You said, ‘Hey Cash, wanna go out with me tonight? We’ll hunt us up some chicks.’
Kent just stood there – mouth open, but silent. No words came to his rescue. He’d have to figure out a way to explain to Cash that, evidently, his memory was still a long way from back to normal. Colloquial terminology needed to be the topic of discussion at his next therapy session.