When you're an actor, typecasting can be a bit of a pain. Maybe you're tired of playing all those lovable ponies and just want someone to realize your potential as a truly terrifying centaur. Or maybe you're the bumbling scientist type who just once wants to play Frankenfurter in Rocky Horror. I mean, he's a scientist....of sorts...right?
But sometimes typecasting can work for you. Someone just posted the perfect job for you. It's not just in your field, it's as though the job was specifically designed for you.
Write a resume you would turn in if you were applying for the job of being yourself.
Every couple of years, I hear a variation on the myth that due to bikini waxes and modern grooming techniques, crabs (aka pubic lice) are going extinct.
Write the tale of the final surviving crab and how he plans to keep his species moving forward.
I've not attached any pictures because I respect you.
In the Boston area, the poets have a tradition of Weird Thanksgiving, where a bunch of poets, and friends of poets, and acquaintances of poets, and acquaintances of friends of people who once saw a poet cross the street and refrained from running them over (mostly), get together and eat some traditional and non-traditional holiday fare.
The prompt for the Cantab regulars this week was to imagine a scenario in which they brought The Cantab poetry scene home for Thanksgiving. You may choose to imagine your own poetry scene, or your fantasy football league, or your foot fetish appreciation club. Whatever your embarrassing vice, what happens when you bring a community of like minded people home to meet your family. Bonus points if everyone survives until the tryptophan kicks in or if no one does.
While I was working as a barrista in Boston proper a few years ago, the owner of a nearby restaurant approached me about working for one of his new ventures. Forgetting the fact that his then-current venture: a fast sushi restaurant was the only failing storefront in a hospital food court, he lost my interest when he announced that it was a toilet themed restaurant, much like one he'd visited in Japan.
As terrible as it seemed, it CAN'T be the worst possible theme restaurant. Can it?
Write about your experience about eating in a (please please please) fictional themed restaurant. The weirder, the better.
I was preparing to run a workshop on ways to translate political beliefs into our own personal language when I went to my bookshelf. I was hoping to find two poets with differing opinions on a very specific political event. So, not poems about The Civil Rights Movement, but poems about The Martin Luther King assassination. Not a poem about protesting, but poems about Tiananmen Square.
I couldn't find two authors with different views speaking to precisely the same political event.
While I did end up coming up with a solution in time for my workshop, it got me thinking; what else isn't my bookshelf talking about?
Take one or more books from your poetry collection and ask the book a question you don't think its author is qualified to answer, and use a line or two to answer a specific question.
For example, don't ask Robert Frost to tell you about New England, or Maya Angelou to tell you about birds. Ask Kevin Young why the Red Sox haven't renamed Yawkey Way, or ask Anne Carson why your car wouldn't start this morning.
If you're having trouble coming up with a poet to pair with your question, you can always go with Jorie Graham, whose poetry is like a Magic Fucken 8-Ball of "Huh?"
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