Eisenhower locomotive continues as key driver for museum
View published article on the Press Times website: Eisenhower locomotive continues as key driver for museum – Press Times
Writing with Your Senses
When you’re writing a story, it’s easy to make everything up. For example, I could write a story about bears living in an underwater cave off the coast of Australia. Have I ever seen bears living underwater near Australia? No, but I could imagine what that would be like. It can be very difficult to convince your reader that a situation like that is possible though. To make it seem more realistic and improve the worldbuilding of a fictional story, you can include real details that you’ve noticed in your own life. It’s easy to practice being more aware of your surroundings. Let’s try it out right now.
Alright, it’s time to put down the iPad and head outside or stay where you are but avoid any distractions. Find some paper or a notebook along with a pen or pencil. Don’t think about the story you want to write. Be in the present and pay attention to everything around you. Use your five senses (sight, touch, smell, taste, hearing) to record what’s around you. Write down everything and try to be as detailed as possible. Don’t just write that you see a dog. What color is the dog? Is the dog energetic or calm? Can you hear the dog’s breathing or is it barking? What does the dog smell like? Don’t taste the dog; that would be weird. Sometimes you can’t use all of your senses on a singular object. You can taste ice cream, but it doesn’t smell like much. Take at least 10 minutes to record things around you.
Now that you have a list of observations, you can use these details in the stories that you write. They don’t have to be used to describe the same objects that they do in real life. Going back to the underwater bear example, the description of how a dog sounds when they pant could be applied to the bears after a long swim in the warm water. It’s these little pieces of reality that breathe life into your fictional writing. If you’d like to take this exercise even further, you could carry a small notebook with you to quickly write down any observations that catch your attention throughout the day. Keep writing and keep paying attention and you’ll do just fine.
Scene from a Work in Progress
(Received 2nd place award for SNC Literary Awards 2024)
“First, choose how much clay you want to use. Take the wire tool and slice it through the clay like butter.” I wrapped the wire tight around my fingers, almost cutting off my circulation. I watched while he stood behind her, pressing against her shoulders and back, placing his hands on top of hers. It’s the same way I showed him once, only the roles were reserved. I’ll pretend this wire is sliding through your neck instead. I could feel my eyebrows meeting each other. The wrinkle in my forehead followed their lead.
“Now that you have your clay, smack it into a rough ball shape.” I hit it harder and harder with the sturdy part of my palm. If only this was his head. I took a lot more clay than I usually do during these types of tutorials. Thankfully, they didn’t follow my lead just like he never did. My eyes rolled and I let out a sigh.
“We’ll move on over to our wheels.” I guided them away from the canvas-covered tables and gestured to them to pick a wheel. When we were all seated, I started the real demonstration. “Alright, take your ball of clay and slam it down in the center of your wheel. Not too hard though. We don’t want a pancake; we want more of a mound.” I did mine first with a thwack and the other two did the same or at least close enough to what I showed. “Are you both right-handed?”
“Yep!” the girl chirped. Her voice was irritatedly high. It made me wince a little bit. It probably showed all over my scrunched up face, but they were too busy staring at each other to notice.
“Then, make sure your wheel is spinning counterclockwise. There’s a switch on the side if you need to change the direction.” I reached over and flipped the switch. Good thing Mom taught me how to throw right-handed too. “We’ll get into centering now. Brace your arms against your legs. Firmly place your left hand against the side of the clay and lock your right hand on top. Like this.” This is way too much clay. During my attempt, I threw it off center even more. The entire wheel began to shake. She had a concerned and confused look on her face and he wasn’t even paying attention of course.
The wheel sounded like it was about to take off. My hands were too wet and then too dry. I kept getting caught in the clay. I was beginning to sweat at how difficult it was becoming to control the clay. I swore under my breath, stopped the wheel, and addressed the damage. It appears that my clay was not suctioned to the bat at all. It had shifted from the center by at least an inch. I huffed and dragged the clay back to the center to try again.
“Um, Laine, are you sure you’ve got it?” Oh, now you finally look at me. Great.
“Yeah, I’ve got it. It’s just been a while since I’ve thrown this much clay.” I was out of breath. The amount of clay that came off in my hands and placed on the rim of the wheel definitely helped bring it down to a more reasonable size; however, I had a feeling it was not going to go well while bringing up the walls. “You can start centering your own clay.” I blew a curl of hair out of my face. I continued to fight the massive mound of clay on my wheel. Come on, you’re making me look bad here. All I had to do was get it centered. The faster I could do that, the quicker I could get them out of here.
After what seemed like ages, I finally got my clay centered. Who cares if it’s half the size it was originally? I don’t. What I do care about is how handsy Mr. Loverboy gets. He was reenacting the scene from Ghost in order to “help” her center. He was not helping at all, but they were giggling quite a bit. I decided to remind them that I was there.
“I have more than one wheel, might as well use it.” He quickly got up and moved his stool back to his wheel. He stared at me with blank eyes. I used to be able to read him so well.
“Sorry about that, I was just trying to help her center it,” he coughed out sheepishly like a kid being caught with cookie theft.
“That’s why I’m here.” I left my wheel spinning as I made my way over to her small lump of clay sticking out unevenly on one side. “Place your hands like this.” I arranged my hands in mid-air pretending that they were surrounding clay. She tried her best to copy me. “Nope, not like that.” I cupped her hands, putting them in the right spot. “Now push your hands together while keeping your thumbs locked.” I squeezed the mini sponge over her hands so that the water would prevent the clay from getting caught on her hands. “There you go. You’ve got it. Gently let go.”
She lifted her hands and let out a breath she probably didn’t realize she was holding in. Her eyes lit up and a smile highlighting the gap in her front teeth took up the majority of her face. “Ahhhhhh!” she squealed, “I did it!”
“Alright, yep, you did but that’s only the first step. You still have to open it, bring up the walls to form a cylinder, and make whatever shape you want out of it if you get that far.”
“Oh.” Her smile dropped.
“It’s okay babe. You can do it.” Babe?!? More like barf. I never let him call me that. “Up top.” He held up his clay covered hand waiting for her to high-five him. The slip was dripping down his arm. She raised her hand up too.
“No, don—” I was too late. Their slip covered hands hit against each other sending clay everywhere. Some splattered across the floor and unfortunately a glob of it hit my face. It landed right in my eye, dripping down like I was crying clay. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happened. Crying clay seems normal with how often I’m in Mom’s studio and how much of this stuff I’ve accidentally ingested.
He was horrified when he realized what happened, jaw dropped and saw a ghost type of horrified. I could tell my head was about to blow off, but I held it all in as I attempted to be the professional that I most definitely was not. He started getting up, searching for something to either shield himself from my rage or wipe the clay off my face. It’s hard to tell with him.
“I think your session is up,” I said calmly, keeping my voice even and clear. There were still technically twenty minutes left, but I’ve had enough.
“Yep, I think so too.” He muttered, pulling the girl to her feet while frantically trying to clean up. He left the wheels as they were but washed up his hands and hung their aprons back up on the line of hooks. I continued to stand in front of them frozen in place, steaming with anger and trying not to let them know that.
“Oh, and Franklin, it’ll be better for both of us if you don’t come back here.” I hope that sends shivers down his spine and an urge to run as far away from me as possible.
“What does she mean by that?” the girl squawked at him. Guess he didn’t tell her I’m his ex.
“I’ll tell you later Angie. Let’s go.” He whispered to her, grabbing her hand, and leading her out. The bell on the door jingled as they left. Such a sweet sound to my ears that bell was.
I started to clean everything up other than my wheel. I’d let some of this anger out on that mound of clay later. Right now I need a bit of nothingness. At least he can’t manipulate me like clay any longer. I’ve finally cut him off, giving him a clear sign that I’m no longer his. I’ve shaped myself and I’m bone dry waiting to be bisqued and glazed into a beautiful new version of myself. Best of luck to him and his bird girlfriend.