Our Animal Selves
Check out "The Bestiary of Bad Kisses" by Ashley Jones.
http://www.southernhumanitiesreview.com/bestiary-of-bad-kisses-by-ashley-jones.html
Now take 2-3 animal cards and consider these prompts:
ONE: Create a fictional character (human) who has the characteristics of one of these animals. Now this character meets a person who has the characteristics of a second animal. Create a scene of interaction.
TWO: Write from the point of view of one of these animals. How might they be different from the way humans typically see them?
THREE: Imagine a human is actively becoming that animal. Whether it takes place gradually or suddenly, and whether there’s a reason given for why this is happening, that’s up to you; mainly, write about that transformation.
FOUR: Write in first person from the point of view of a human who believes they are this animal, regardless of whether this is actually happening or not (or remains ambiguous).
FIVE: Create “The Bestiary of Uni,” describing the students, faculty, and administrators as different animals.
SIX: Come up with your own animal-related prompt. (Post it in the comments.)
You can begin the writing process in your writing notebook, but the goal is ultimately to share a short piece of writing (poetry, prose, or play) on this blog. It does not need to be finished; in fact, it can work as a "teaser" prompt for others to use.
Teaser prompt (3 or 4)
ReplyDelete(he's meant to turn into a moose, but if his personality fits something else it can be another animal)
Father has lived a quiet life.
Since he was a child, he has not spoken much. He never liked to draw attention to himself. His fashion matched his dull, unfocused countenance all through middle school, high school, and his daily job working at a Dollar General. Father had a family with one child, a son, whom he barely spoke to.
One day, father wakes up with four hairy legs. That’s the first thing he notices when he opens his eyes. Then he noticed...
...that he had a headache. Not his typical migraine; this felt like two spots of pressure on either side of his skull, like he'd grown horns. He HAD grown horns. He knew it even before he moved his hand up to feel his head -- which was good, because he didn't have hands anymore. His five fingers had fused into two, the nails grown completely over them, and it was impossible for him to raise his -- was it still an arm? -- to touch his head.
DeleteI am sick, Father thought calmly. That is all. I will get some aspirin.
He lumbered into the bathroom, but his son was there, brushing his teeth. Their eyes met in the mirror over the sink...
Everyone always asks about the scar on my face. And nobody ever believes my story when I tell it.
ReplyDeleteIt was just like any other day really, except I felt different when I woke up. I didn’t know what it was, or why I felt the way I did. It just felt… different. I sat up and stretched awake, yawning. My face itched. I scratched it, leaving a searing pain across my face. I screamed when I saw the blood on my hands. And my hands. They were not my hands anymore. I wanted to run and call for my mom, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I had become a sloth.
FIVE: Create “The Bestiary of Uni,” describing the students, faculty, and administrators as different animals.
ReplyDeleteI. The Fledgling
Stick-like, with wide curious eyes, the fledgling sparrow cranes his neck over my shoulder to glance at my laptop. He ruffles his feathers, his fingers twitching—once, twice, three times—trying to rid them of an imaginary dust. His limbs are draped in a long, boxy jacket three sizes too large for him. He is drowning in it. I want to tug the jacket at his shoulders and remind him, gently, to fix his posture, but I know then he’d give the impression of a little toddler whose mother has dressed him in a collared shirt with a clip-on tie slightly askew. After all, it’s partly true.
He gives me a timid high-five and hops away. Someday, I hope he learns to comb his hair.
II. The Mouse
I ask her for yesterday’s biology notes. I can see them—she has them right in front of her, functions of lymph and epidermis, diagrams sketched in a nervous, hasty scrawl. She looks back at me distrustfully, runs a hand through her lank brown hair. Everyone around her is a cat with watchful eyes, waiting to skewer her on a single sharpened claw.
She weighs her risk. She takes the bait.
She slides her notebook to me across the desk, glancing away before I can thank her. I copy quickly, before she decides that I must owe her a piece of cheese in return.
She brings this fear upon herself.
III. The Flamingo
DeleteHer leg has been broken for almost a year now.
She always brings a friend into the elevator with her, and we always hope to be chosen.
She is graceful and beautiful, even with her one leg.
For anyone else it may be inconvenient, but for her it is effortless.
Teaser Prompt 4
ReplyDelete(Leopards seem arrogant so I tried making the character think he’s the best)
My friends are actually really bad at hunting, orrr I could just be really good because I’m a leopard; but that’s besides the point. Anywayyssss so we were looking for lizards because why not, they’re cool. And no matter what my friends did they could never catch them. Probably because they are too slow and they're always talking. I, on the other hand, was able to blend in and sneak attack, swift and fast. Even when they hid in trees it wasn’t a problem for me because I can climb them too. That, and I also know when to stop talking...
A very slow start of prompt 3:
ReplyDeleteI was greeted with a seemingly never-ending void of tall, thick stocks of green fiber. My family had been growing bamboo for generations; what once was a patch of small rods just barely sticking up above the ground had become a substantially vast forest of lengthy shoots, reaching for the sky. As I walked along the border of the forest, I found a broken stalk, leaning out of line as if it were being asked to be removed. So I did.
I carried the stalk of bamboo to a nearby tree, sitting underneath the cool shade as I leaned my back against the trunk. It was a rather warm day, and all of a sudden I felt too comfortable to even think about getting back up.
I brought the stalk up to my nose. I sniffed it. I never thought I would find the scent of bamboo so intriguingly good.
Of course, some of the stalks from the forest were harvested by my family to be added inside steamed buns or stir-fry dishes. But raw bamboo was new.
I couldn’t help the urge to lick the stalk. It tasted a bit chalky. Maybe if I try chewing a little piece-
Without further thought, I immediately bit a chunk off of the thick rod of fibers. What I thought would be unfeasible for me to bite off suddenly seemed so effortless. I started chewing on the coarse piece of bamboo, finding that it surprisingly tasted much better than expected. I let the ends of my lips curl up into a smile. It was then when I realized my mouth felt weird. I put my hand up to my mouth to feel for anything, but was met with a fuzzy feeling on my lips. I looked down at my hand.
I wanted to jump up and scream but my body wasn’t letting me..