Getting Creative

One of my goals from a previous post was to sign up for a creative writing course.  This is what came of it:

Tonight was the first in a six week course (actually the second as I missed the first).  We had five minutes to write.  The prompt was a picture of a hammock and trees with snow covering them.

Staring out the back window he longed for summer when the hammock was bathed in sun and curved under the weight of his lover as she slept dappled in a kaleidoscope of ever changing greens while the leaves overhead swayed in the warm breeze.  Now only the bare branches were left.  Stripped of all their life and vitality each encased in a layer of ice, covered in a peppering of snow.  Only the thin veneer of bark protected the now dormant core.  The hammock, once filled with the slow and steady beat of her life dipped under the weight of the heavy snow.  Only his heart hung heavier at the prospect of never seeing the curve of her shoulder peaking over the upturned fabric.  he knows he has to pull it down before the spring's verdant greens touch the hammock disturbing the grave of his memories.

Thoughts?

The Writing Process

Most people have talent and they use it on command.  My creative writing process is more like a talent that uses me on command.  It goes something like this:

I watch something, see something, read something that makes a few synapses fire at the time but nothing too exciting.  Then a few hours later I lay down and try to sleep.  At which point the synapses decide that this is a fine time to set up shop and go to town.  They zip back and forth creating images and scenarios and ideas.  It's like a country road suddenly flooded with L.A. traffic.  There's no where to go and it needs an outlet somewhere so instead of sleeping I slowly reach critical mass until there's no way sleep can happen.  So I build my own off ramp.  I write until the idea has run itself out.  Sometimes it's an entire short story but most of the time it's a scene or a snapshot.   I check the traffic report.  The new exit has allowed traffic to die down  but it's still pretty busy, I'm already writing and if I try to sleep now I'll get nowhere quickly.  So I write some more.  I write until we're back down to a few stray cars rumbling down the streets at respectable speeds.  I close the ramp and my computer and allow the Sunday traffic to roll through town softly lulling me into sleep.

It's nearly 2am on a work night and all I want to do right now is sleep... doesn't look like it's in the cards for a while.