The writing class was amazing.

The class is called “Intuitive Writing”, and the point is to get you away from your ego, from writing with your head. The teacher says we do so many things, like art and writing and dancing, the way we think they are supposed to be done, instead of doing them the way our souls would have them done. Last night’s class was filled with fun and goofy exercises that got us out of our brains and connected us to the stories that were inside us, just waiting to be let out.

One of the things we did was to pair up with someone and swap notebooks. On the top of a blank page in our partner’s notebook, we were told to write a completely ridiculous made up word, and then give the notebook back. The teacher set a timer and told us to write (and illustrate!) a story that somehow incorporated that word. We were given no time to think or plot or concoct- just told to put our pen to paper and go! People had some great words to work with, like ringodello and tongotat and zbefing. I gave my partner the word spelenko. She gave me zdqwiiixlfmn.

Ahem.

I had no idea where to go with that. But I just started writing, and this is what came out:

Once, a long long time ago, young Charlie Spencer was digging a hole to China under the apple tree in his backyard.

Suddenly, his shovel hit something hard. BANG! Young Charlie was curious. Surely a rock or a tree root wouldn’t have echoed so. BANG! BANG BANG! Young Charlie knelt down in the dirt and reached his bony brown arm deep deep deeeeeep into the hole. His fingers scrabbled through dirt and pebbles and dust until they brushed across something smooth and cold. He felt around for the edges, grabbed ahold tight, and PULLED! Out of the hole flew young Charlie, and he landed- BOOM- hard on his back. On top of his chest he held a box. A rusty box. A heavy box. A box with a broken lock. Young Charlie sat up, held the box firmly between his knees, and slowly screeked open the lid. Inside, the box was filled with rocks. Old rocks, ugly rocks, boring rocks. Young Charlie turned the box upside down and dumped the rocks next to his hole. He was mad. Young Charlie had hoped the box would be full of gold- or at least a bigger shovel. China was waiting- he couldn’t waste any more time! So he kicked the rocks aside- CLANG, BAM, RATTLE- and bent to pick up his old puny trowel.

But then something caught his eye. It was a piece of paper- a rolled up scroll- dusty and dirty and buried under all those rocks from that dumb old box. Young Charlie picked up the scroll, rolled it out flat, blew away some dirt, and read the single word: Zdqwiiixlfmn. Young Charlie was confused. Was it a code? he wondered. A secret password? He couldn’t be sure. He turned the scroll backwards, upside down, and spun it around, but still it made no sense. Young Charlie was mad again. He decided the best use for this stinky old word would be to yell it out loud, like a swear.

“Zdqwiiixlfmn!” he yelled. It felt good. So he yelled it again. “ZDQWIIIXLFMN!” He was starting to feel better. “ZDQWIIIXLFMN!” he screamed- and the scroll in his hand burst into flames! From the flames plumed black smoke. From the smoke rose a great red genie.

“You have summoned the genie of the rusty box filled with rocks by thrice calling my name. I shall grant you three wishes.” Young Charlie was stunned! He couldn’t believe his good fortune!

“But… there’s only one thing I want!” he told the genie.

“What is that my son?”

And that was how, on that day so long ago, under the apple tree in his backyard… young Charlie Spencer finally got his hole to China.

Ok, so obviously the point wasn’t to create some amazing piece of literature, or even a good story. The point was to let something out. We were all so surprised by what had come out of us, without any kind of forethought. It was such a fun exercise that helped us have confidence that all of us, no matter what our education or skill level, had stories inside us just waiting to be set free.

So I thought it might be fun to try something like that here. What I’m going to do is give you a word, one that I totally made up, and you’re going to write me a story. Set yourself a timer for 15 minutes, open up Word or Notepad so you don’t see what other people have done with the word before you write, and just go at it. When you’re done, do not edit it! I don’t want something sensational, I want something crazy and spontaneous that you never knew was in you. Copy your story and paste it here in the comments section. I can’t wait to see what you come up with! Are you ready? Here is your word:

flootarious

Go!