Yesterday, I went into the office for a team meeting. We have these once a month, and members of our team will present a general business topic. This month, the presentation centered around “change.”
Generally, I’m great when it comes to change. I love getting put into new situations, and I’ll try anything just about once. I really enjoy getting special projects, and I thrive under pressure when I get called to do something out of my norm. As they talked about the ways different people handle variations in their routine and schedule, I felt very comfortable. “I’m just fine with this,” I said to myself. “Throw anything at me. I can handle it. Nooooo problem.”
After the presentation, we were given an exercise to do as a group. We divided up into teams of 3-4 people. Each circle had a notebook and pen. The task was simple: write a story.
Ah, I said to myself. Finally, something I can really do.
So, working with my teammates, we started writing a narrative about two people who lived in a house with a cat. Just as we brought in the narrative hook – the fact that one of these people wanted (dun dun dun!) a dog – one of the facilitators took our notebook away. Then, they split up our team. Then, they gave us another notebook.
This was not what I signed up for.
While I knew it was all in good fun and that it was supposed to be a learning experience, I started getting very tense! When we were talking about change, the idea was supposed to be in relation to easy things — like work. Work is easy. It shouldn’t be about art. Especially my art.
By the second and third point the notebook got taken away, I was getting vocal.
“Loud” might even be a better word for it.
After the exercise was over, though, it really got me to thinking. Sure, it’s easy to look at the terms you hear at a job – time management, change, stress, communication – and feel like you can “master” how they apply in a cubicle, but what about when those things factor into things that are important to you? Like your writing or relationships or family? There may come a time when you can’t just yell about it…
One idea I had to challenge myself as a writer was to start doing 15 Minute Fiction writing. I made up the following rules:
1. I had to use a prompt from a book. I could only use one. No fair skipping around. For tonight, I used today’s date from “A Writer’s Book of Days” by Judy Reeves.
2. 15 minutes. No more, no less. I had to keep typing so long as the clock was ticking.
3. I then had to share it here, with all you lovelies. No matter how bad it might be.
This was a lot of fun, but it definitely embodied the challenge of change. Let me know what you think! If you try it, let me know!
The prompt was just, “Once, when no one was looking…” I went crazy with it.
Once, when no one was looking, Wednesday took a vacation.
Tuesday happened. It was very pleasant and breezy, a nice reprieve from the rainy gloom of Monday. Everyone was getting into the swing of the week, committing to their duties, feeling like they had recovered from the weekend. Seats were a bit warmer, more comfortable. It was the way every week should be.
But when the sun was setting, Wednesday decided that maybe the weekend would be nice to see for once. So as everyone went to sleep that night, Wednesday chased the sun around once and they laughed as Thursday blinked into existence.
It’s surprising, what can happen on a Wednesday. It’s the apex of the rollercoaster drop, it’s the main course of the week, it’s the bridge in the song you love. And when Wednesday skipped out on everyone, people felt it.
Wednesday was sitting with Saturday and Sunday, enjoying cocktails, when the complaints started coming in. People felt cheated, like someone had taken the filling out of their cake, the fortune out of their cookie.
“Why should I feel bad?” Wednesday mused. “Everyone’s always talk about how great the weekend is. Nobody says, ‘I can’t wait to make plans for Wednesday!’ Have you ever heard someone say, ‘I love to be out on the town Wednesday night’? Because I haven’t.”
“That’s because you’re reliable,” Saturday replied, checking the agenda book sitting on the table. Every weekend was booked solid. “Folks out there are desparate for the weekend because they feel like their time is going to be stolen from them.”
“Their precious free time,” Sunday added, taking a long pull of a martini.
“And everybody hates Monday. Tuesday and Thursday are just place markers,” Saturday went on. “Don’t tell them I said that.”
“It’s really sad. I wouldn’t want to be either of the T’s,” Sunday said, head shaking at the thought.
“But you, dear,” said Saturday, mojito in hand. “You’re Wednesday. Right in the middle. You fill the world with hope for something better coming, like the worst is behind them.”
Sunday patted Wednesday’s shoulder, nodding sagely in agreement.
“I suppose,” said Wednesday, finishing a Mai Tai. “Well, I guess that’s settled, then. No more vacations for me.”
“Or any of us. Not for a long, long time, I reckon,” Sunday agreed.
And as quickly as the ruckus over the loss of Wednesday had started, it was over. Thursday took its place in line and come the following week, Wednesday walked in, please and content.