Greetings, writers—
My 15-year-old really, really loves a Free Box. We take a lot of neighborhood walks, and on every single one of them I have to beg her not to bring home a possibly-broken blender or an ugly tin canister or some such from whatever box of discarded crap someone’s put out on the sidewalk.
For my birthday she gave me a dozen taper candles—gold, green, and maroon—that she’d found on a corner. One year she gave me a tiny, rusty trophy that says “World’s #1 Mom.” Numerous of her clothing items have come from these boxes, as has a charging tree, a ring light, and countless vases and figurines. When she was out walking by herself the other day, she tried to convince me to let her bring home a used litter box. “It has stairs,” she texted, “and a lid!” She even sent photos. It was clean. And yet. “On no account are you bringing a used cat litter box into my house,” I texted back, although once I did let her bring home a cheese grater, which we absolutely use.
A few months ago she walked in with a yellowed paperback, the name of which I’ve forgotten, and we took turns reading the first few pages aloud. The book opens with a handful of cowboys talking about a dangerous stranger who’s on his way to town. Some of the cowboys want to stand up to him. But one guy is like, No way, haven’t you heart the stories? This dude’s a killer. One of the braver cowboys tells him, “Then you better fork your bronc and fan wind.”
Fork your bronc and fan wind! We felt like this was the most delightful line we’d ever read, though it did take us a half a second to figure out that it meant stick your spurs into your horse’s flank and get the hell out of Dodge.
For two days we said it constantly, and then we went back to telling each other to hurry up the regular way. (Let it be noted that this child has only one pace, which is called It Does Not Matter How Much You Tell Me to Hurry; I Cannot.)
Now the line occurs to me every once in a while, and I always feel a little frisson of something, perhaps akin to what I felt when Garfield said, “Well, shucky darn and slop the chickens!” as an expression of surprise, and it so knocked me sideways (I mean, really, what does it mean?) that fully four decades later this phrase still pops randomly into my head.
A few options for a writing prompt today:
Recall a colorful phrase spoken by one of your relatives, or that you read in a book, and work it into a scene.
Tell about a stranger coming to town.1
One of your characters values an object; another thinks it’s worthless. Write that scene. Bonus points for comedy.
Good Ideas will be taking next week off (there’s no wifi in Moran State Park!).
Happy writing—
Emily
Thanks for reading! If you’d like to support Good Ideas, you can become a paid subscriber, post a comment, or buy me a cup of coffee.💙
An exercise from famed writing teacher John Gardner: “Write the opening of a novel using the authorial-omniscient voice, making the authorial omniscience clear by going into the thoughts of one or more characters after establishing the voice. As subject, use either a trip or the arrival of a stranger (some disruption of order—the usual novel beginning).”
Oh Emily. First this is awesome. I get 2nd dopamine hits from buy nothing so ... I get your daughter’s pull! Lastly. You are going to my favorite place on earth ( that particular island and that lake!) and yes the wi-fi stinks which is great, because you’re going on vacation! Thank you for everything you do!