Lately I've been writing these short short vignettes (Woolf called them "sketches) from my dreams. The "Longing" post is an example of one of these; I plan on compiling them all under the title Upon Waking, because they are written when the dream is fresh, after I have just opened my eyes. Surprisingly these pieces come out nearly whole. This genre is new to me, and I didn't think I had the type of brain to write them. I'm more equipped mentally for the long haul and weaving long yarns of prose. But I've learned that my creativity is adaptive; as a mother and a professor, I don't have the luxury of delving into long pieces. In fact, sadly, I have hardly any time to write at all. But I can manage 10 or 15 minutes upon waking, before the kids barge into our room wanting bweakfast. And I feel somewhat creatively satiated, knowing that I at least tried to get something down, and reassured that my mind can still dwell in a creative space, albeit a brusque one.
Here's a very short piece called "Camel Toe."
Camel Toe
She is a Vegas dancer in a corporate cafeteria dressed like an angel. Her chest is crisscrossed in diamonds and her bodysuit is nylon nude. She regards a man on his knees--Rob Lowe--who is in a comic role, begging some upright gentleman to take pity on him. If there is a laugh track, it's subtle or perhaps understood. The angel takes the arm of the upright gentleman and the two walk away; her wings nearly take out the Exit sign over the doorway while people go about their business, unfazed. There is more laughter. I turn to a second observer who could be my husband. "You can see her camel toe," I say. "Is that allowed?"
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