Today the prompt for writing came from The Best Game Ever.
Yes, that is actually the title of the game: The Best Game Ever. At least in our family. For as long as I can remember, we've played this game around just about every full Murfin clan holiday table. It's one of those often leaves us all, young and old, peeling with laughter.
Here’s how to play:
1. Everybody gets one sheet of paper.
2. At the same time, each player writes a phrase at the very top of the sheet, leaving the rest of the page blank. You can write any phrase but the game gets far more interesting depending on how obscure these first phrases.
3. When everyone has written their phrase, each player passes their sheet of paper to the right. When players receive their neighbor's phrase, they must draw the phrase.
4. Once each player has made their drawing, the paper is folded so that only the drawing is invisible. Drawings are passed to the right. When players receive their neighbor's drawing, they interpret that drawing into a phrase then fold over the paper again so that only your new phrase is showing.
5. Play continues in this manner alternating between passing a phrase or a drawing on until the initial phrases have passed through all players.
6. The best part of The Best Game Ever comes at the end: players unfold their sheets of paper and then share the transformation of the original sentence into something other than what it was. Usually. For very good artists and writers there are occasions when the phrase comes back written and drawn exactly as the original.
After we played this game around the breakfast table at the Tigh-na-Fraouch B & B -- joined by our lovely hostess Heather -- each writers chose one of the phrases on their Best Game Ever sheet to take with them on the walk and to integrate into a poem, story, memoir, essay, or whatever writing, long or shot, the day might inspire.
It was a good and meaty distraction from yet another VERY WET day. I am surprised that the Scots don't look more pruney and waterlogged and feel more weather-worn and cranky. (This from a woman who left drizzly Seattle thinking it was too gray in winter). Instead most locals we've run into are rosy and jolly and unphased by "the mist." I haven't met a wily smiling kilt-wearing Chippendales model ala Jamie Fraser as yet, but the three kilts-clad gents I have met were cherry-cheeked and quite affable.
Dwelling on discomfort does not make it go away. Best to look for the ray of sunshine that is always present even in the overcast. Today's ray was in the fact that the wind which accompanied the downpour was at our back most of the way and strong enough to literally blow us forward when the rocky route grew tiresome.
The writers took it slow, but when we arrived at Bridge of Orchy we were greeted by a warm hotel, a lovely scone, and a pot of Earl Gray, a nice preface for a evening of writing and relaxing. Bridge of Orchy was build in the mid-1700s and was part of a strategy by the English government to mollify the enraged and defeated Highland Scots after the bloody Battle of Culloden claimed thousands of Highland clansmen and solidified British rule. The village sits in the shadows of several mountains and the bridge built over the River Orchy here was part of a system of military roads that led more easily up from the Scottish Lowlands into the wilderness surrounding Highland regions. If you haven't gathered from previous posts, I am, indeed, a shameless Outlanders fan, a series in which the Battle of Culloden places a central role.
We landed in the beautiful Bridge of Orchy Hotel, an historic building with a truly caring staff. Our evening writing session offered another wonderful version of The Best Game Ever, this one for writers. Here’s how to play this group writing version:
1. Write a single line across the top of a blank sheet of paper about something from your day. Make it as descriptive as you can without going into a second line.
2. Pass the paper to the right. When you receive the line from your neighbor write a new sentence in response to the line that they wrote.
3. Then fold their line over. And pass your sentence on to the next person.
5. Write a response to the line that you were given.
6. Continue in this way until you receive back the paper that you started with.
7. Open up the papers and read the beautiful poetry that comes from people going the same direction but having unique and individual responses to others' words.
Some poems from this session:
A
The ram does not bother about the rain
It is his natural element
This wet sponging
On his matted back
If he could
He would go deeper
Wetter
Further back still
To the womb
To take hold
Of the every day
Socks in need of mending
Tacos to make
The laundry
The ennui
The day to day
Being
Sodden and chilled, I looked up to see wisdom lighting the hills
Wisdom from the hills is more forgiving than this chill in me
My scarf wrapped 'round my head, a warming turban
Protecting me from the whipping wind
The trees gave me shelter; and my jacket took the rest
Filled me with me and the beauty of all that went before
B
Clear of trees, the landscape cleared my mind
The eager rain washed clear my heart
My soul was light and full of joy
And this hillside full or reflected light like leafy heather
Filling my lungs with wet air and my mouth with dry hope
Desiring nothing but trout, mouth open, I gulped the air
C
The crackling fire is warm and outside is rainy and windy
And I still feel the chill of the wet in collar and down my back
I welcome it all -- that chill, this wet, the wild fire inside
Consumed, then ashen, dry but drear, awake o' heart!
Awake! Awake! Heart of gold, open
And all tomorrows will be gilded fires of today
D
Keats said he went into the hazelwood because a fire was in his head
a fire was in his head so he went into the hazelwood
the woods were cooling; that quiet rain soothed his head
the mind grew still as the body followed
grew still, yes, b there was life there, love and light
and it will away be there
E
The path led down to a wall of black stones and turned towards the light
Where it became illuminated into gray, kissed by an angel
The angel became a way to know both body and will
His wings to ache, his halo to lift the spirit
His lifted face, light cast on all below
They, who received, love from that light and Joy
F
Sodden and chilled, I looked up to see wisdom lighting the hills
Wisdom from the hills is more forgiving than this chill in me
My scarf wrapped 'round my head, a warming turban
Protecting me from the whipping wind
The trees gave me shelter; and my jacket took the rest
Filled me with me and the beauty of all that went before
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