Antoine J. Hayes
Copyright 2019 by Antoine J. Hayes. All rights reserved.
This is a compilation of monthly writing prompts from November 2017 – July 2018, including my responses. It was made possible thanks to support from my patrons. Become a patron at www.patreon.com/ajh_books.
Dinner Conversation Dinnertime is a gathering which can include conversation. Setting and subject may vary. Some talks are more formal than others or lively. And sometimes the conversation is sparse or doesn’t happen at all. Here are some ideas: • A blind date • A diplomatic meeting • Co-workers staying late to finish a project over take-out • Write about famous people you'd like to have over for dinner (dead or alive)
Dinner Conversation “How’s your book coming along?” Time out. Fuck you. I can’t say that to mom, but I think it. I mean, I could say it to her, I’d regret it for sure. Her question is performative; she doesn’t read my writing. “It’s going fine,” I say before shoveling a spoonful of peas into my mouth. It’s a stock response, one I use when the book isn’t going fine or when I don’t want to get into details -- or both, as in this instance. I took this break, visited my parents for the first time in five years to get away from the abysmal progress of my novel, not have to talk about it. “I heard your last book won an award.” That’s Val, my little sister, also home for college break. I cut my eyes at her as she sips her glass of wine, chaotic satisfaction on her lips. She opened this can of worms on purpose. Like always I’m going to have to clean up her mess. Dad wordlessly looks up from the plate he’s demolishing. Mom says, “Oh, you didn’t tell us that. What did you win; a Pulitzer?” Geezus, Mom, I don’t write that kind of stuff. You would know that if you actually read my writing. “I won a RITA,” I say. Blank stares from both parents. “It’s a prestigious award from the Romance Writers of America.” That’s all they need to know. “Tell them which category you won in.” Val needs to learn how to keep her goddamn mouth shut.
I stuff my mouth with ham, potatoes, mac & cheese -anything to avoid answering this question. Dad, humming contently, is munching along with me. Mom puts down her fork and stares at me, waiting. I swallow hard -- the lump of dread and lump of food are tough to go down. I mutter, “Erotic romance.” I get back to inhaling food, trying to get as much in before the hammer falls down and I have to abruptly leave. It happens all the time. Mom never approved of my adventurous sexuality, and it’s been a source of contention for us since my high school years. It’s why I haven’t been around in years. As if on cue, Mom’s face pales ghost white. Val is across from me snickering like a hyena. Time freezes us in our own dimensions, locked from each other as an explosion brews between us like a centerpiece for the table. A sonorous voice cuts through the tension. “Well, that’s something,” says Dad, who has been quiet most of the evening. “Congrats, Danielle; I’m sure your next book will do just as well.” He heaps another spoonful of mac & cheese onto his plate. His movements are like a conductor’s; the orchestra of family dinner -- cutting and chewing and drinking -resumes in synchronized harmony.
Gratitude Gratitude: reflect on the positives and be thankful for what we received. Or you can flip it on the reverse; one can express gratitude that a disaster or misfortune passed them over.
Here are some ideas: ⚍ A hero rescues someone, and the person searches for their secret identity in order to thank them. ⚍ A journal entry or list about what you're thankful for, personally or professionally, this year. ⚍ The loss of something we take for granted (clean air, running water, electricity, the sun, the moon, etc) and the effect thereof.
Gratitude ⚫ Thank you, Body, for functioning: heart pumping blood, lungs distributing life-sustaining air, sweat glands keeping body temperature regulated; stomach, liver, kidneys and all other organs doing their thing, keeping me alive involuntarily; nervous, circulatory, digestive and all other systems working together efficiently and effectively; my brain: in all its wonderful and problematic glory. ⚫ Thank you, Society, for providing me with and allowing me to obtain the food, clothing, shelter and mental stimulation needed for survival. A combination of family, friends, community and organizations helped me along to make existence more vast than it would be on my own -- although living in society includes extra stress and frustration; I am thankful, but also regretful of the means in which parts of society chooses to acquire these protections and privileges, through oppression, death and war. I am grateful for activists and organizers for providing a conscious to an otherwise amoral society. ⚫ Thank you, Unknown Entities, for protecting me and guiding me. This life force, this energy -- whether angels or gods or God or ancestors or something else or a combination of all the above -- kept me alive through my weakest moments, even when I desired oblivion. Thanks for not listening to me when I spoke from pain and hurt and loathing. ⚫ Thank you, Loved Ones. You uplift my spirit with your gifts of time, joy and encouragement.
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Thank you, Supporters; including the ones who do not know me personally and are not motivated by friendship or kinship to support my art and writing. It means a lot and keeps me going on through nourishing my spirit -as well as providing material goods.
*The above are sample entries from my gratitude journal.
Beginnings Beginnings can bring induce excitement for newness and hope for better possibilities. However, it can also bring tinges of pessimism and concern. Beginnings can be both exciting and anxiety-inducing.
Here are some ideas: ⚍ The start of a relationship or family saga. ⚍ Rewrite an origin story or create an adventure set in ancient times. ⚍ A character starts a new school, job or moves to a new town.
Beginnings they sharpened their swordtongues on their forearms; poisoned the tip on their sour blood scarred
bloodied ready
to war against their enemies
when they opened their mouths to release their righteous
fury
their sword-tongues stumbled over their own lips and the wicked end pierced their hearts
impaled by their own weapons betrayed by their own tools they hung there limp and helpless
as crows picked at their eyes
they who cannot see they who cannot speak other than poisoned steel lie here to die.
may their blood and bones fertilize the future and their end be our beginning
Space Space is a unique word as it can refer to many aspects: physical distance, emotional boundaries or the vastness of the universe. From the macro to the micro, space is everywhere and within everything. It’s also flexible, malleable; both artificial concept and natural phenomenon, depending on the reference. When engaging with this prompt, open your mind to possibilities.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ A story about human adventure or exploration of space. ⚫ A supernova from the perspective of a neighboring planet or other celestial being. ⚫ The distance between two people: either emotional or physical.
Space I needed to get away. For my sanity, for my life. I was already up so I made the decision to escape. Usually, It was up before I; hungry from It’s overnight fast, ready to feast on me. I’d awaken to Its tentacle, extended from Its mouth, curled around my neck. Pressure from Its suction cup appendages affixed on my forehead. Like a plunger in a clogged toilet, It pushed my consciousness further into the back of my mind, feasting on the illusion that flooded in to fill the void. After It had eaten Its full, It would untangle Itself from me. Full of creativity, I’d rush to paint or write or to my keyboard to compose a song. My mind brimmed with imagination and passion. Every vision I manifested in that brief period of heightened creativity was brilliant. I sold ten paintings, three songs, two novels and numerous poems and short stories in the 6 months I lived and loved this thing. I was on a roll. I didn’t notice until it was too late that the visions I dreamed of began creeping into my day-to-day life. I began seeing musical notes--not their symbolic representation, but I saw the actual sound--floating in my lattes. Long, leathery dragons began gliding past me while driving on the highway. The space between imagination and reality was shrinking--and it was all because of It. My creative partner, my lover with the perfectly proportioned humanoid form and octopus-like tentacle for a tongue. I enjoyed both Its body and ability to send a surge of electricity into my creative mind. I was addicted to manifesting masterpieces effortlessly from the void. But still, I had to go; I needed to get away before the troll in the closet crushed my windpipe. It nearly did about half an hour ago. I was returning to the bedroom after a late night bathroom break. As I walked towards the bed,
the troll leaped out of the closet, its shadowy outline illuminated by how I envisioned its monstrous appearance; all teeth and rough bark-like hide. The troll raised its thick, meaty hands as if to strangle me. I didn’t take any chances. I turned right back around, ran out the room, snatched my coat and car keys in the hallway, and bolted out the door, still in my nightclothes. I jumped into my car and started driving far far away; racing neck-and-neck against wyverns and other monsters of my mind.
Nature Nature is all around us in the natural world, the world we created in the nature of civilizations and societies, and within us as the core essence of the nature of what it means to be human. In this regard, there is no escaping it; we either accept it for what it is or attempt to change or control it to fit our needs. Nature is a powerful force that pushes and guides and influences our lives.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ Take a walk in a park or a hike through a trail and journal about your experience. ⚫ If the Earth, mountains, rivers, oceans, plants and animals could communicate with us in human language, what would they say to us? ⚫ Write about the “heart” of a city; its unique charismatic nature created by the city’s inhabitants, culture and history.
Nature You do not bring them to me anymore. Your first fruits. Have you forgotten our pact? You isolate yourselves behind walls, across invisible boundaries drawn on this sheets of paper -- these will be burned to ashes first, once I am sufficiently enraged. I am close. I have refused to be subjugated to your chains for eons; long enough. I am weary of snapping your shackles, only for you to clamp ones made from sturdier steel, plastics, carbon threads and the such upon me. I am going after you -- you who are spiteful towards my gifts; resentful that you are unable to breathe in your exhaled breath, that you are incapable of germinating sustenance within your internal organs. You who hate that you need to go outside yourself in order to live. You scoff at dependency, don the false title of independence. Fools; do you not know that all of nature is interdependent upon each other? The grass, the insects, the animals, the bacteria and fungi are all woven into a tapestry that blankets the entire planet. You have overstepped your bounds one too many times. Therefore, I must maim you in such a way that it would take millennium for you to get the strength to dare lift a finger against me again. Maybe by then you would have learned the errors of your ways.
Poetry Poetry is movement, fluidity, sound and being present in the moment. Poetry is mindfulness.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ Write a poem. It doesn’t have to rhyme. ⚫ Read a poem or go to a poetry reading and write about your experience. ⚫ Write a story based off a line from your favorite poem or featuring a poet.
Poetry Poetry is a voice I did not know I had until I spoke. It is eyes I did not know I could open until I did. Poetry filters the bleakness of existence with flashes of life. Poetry is a way of living. Poetry is the child of philosophy and aesthetic. Poetry is an alchemical axiom: One in the Universe; the Universe in One. I’ve witnessed common experiences -- such as getting a haircut from a barber -- become exquisite gestures of culture, loyalty and pride. Poetry exposes the craftsmanship of the everyday. Poetry wakes me from my reverie; poetry lulls me back to sleep. Poetry is in my thoughts. Poetry is my worldview; I see life through poetry-tinted glasses. Poetry is a love deeper than meaning; a love deeper than love. Poetry is a deity more omnipotent than religion. Poetry is art’s strictest but wisest teacher. You’ll learn all there is about exploring mysteries and the unknown, if you heed poetry’s lessons. Most of all, poetry is my friend, my confidant and companion. And poetry connects me to fellow travelers journeying on different branches, parallel to each other, of the same path. I can see them across time and space, and I wave at them. Sometimes they wave back. Even if they don’t, simply knowing that I am not alone is comforting. All this -- and more -- is what poetry means to me.
History History is what led up to our present situation, be it personal history, family history, cultural history or human history. It is one thing that binds all peoples together; during historical events, what were our ancestors doing? how were they involved, if at all? We all come from somewhere. Let us learn, explore and imagine what our ancestors -- family, historic cultural figures or anyone you feel a connection to -- did, how they lived, what they created, how they loved.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ Write a poem about a personal memory, whether it was a positive or negative experience, and what effect it has had on your present self. ⚫ Write a letter to your future self or descendants about your day; your experiences, your joy, your fears, your struggles, your triumphs. ⚫ Write a biography, it doesn’t have to be long, on a family member or other person you know, or a history about your hometown or where you live or the school you attended.
History I tell you this so it will not be forgotten. Maybe you will learn something useful. I grew up in a single-family house. In the front yard, dangerously close to the curb, grew a cherry blossom tree. When it bloomed, light pink petals decorated the landscape; they matched well with the house’s cream colored exterior. Hidden within the bark of the tree were cicadas, resting for 13 years before making their appearance of devastation. Once, I was playing around with the tree, and I stuck my finger into a hole some insect or bird had bore into it. When I removed my finger, a cicada flew out and went straight for my face. I ran, screaming, into the house. The backyard had more trees. Not cherry blossoms like the one out front. These were big, sturdy trees that dropped acorns in the summer, pine cones and needles in winter, and crisp sunset shaded leaves in autumn. One such tree had thick roots that broke the earth and curved into a hobbit hole. Once, while mowing the grass, your uncle got too close to those roots. Unbeknownst to him, he had disturbed a hive of bees that had built their home within the enclave. They darted out the hole and attacked my brother, ganged up on him and stung him ferociously. I had never seen him in that kind of agony before. He’s older and possessed the kind of cautiousness granted by added years of experience. In my young eyes, he was as sagacious as Gandalf the Grey; how could he make such a fatal error? I made sure to learn from his miscalculation; when he went away to college and it was my duty to mow the grass, I made sure I gave that tree with the bees in the roots a wide berth.
Warmth Whether it’s summer weather, a tender hug or the comfort of familiarity, there are different ways to experience warmth. Our bodies are warm, with our typical interior temperature being about 98 degrees Fahrenheit. With that in mind, no wonder humans routinely seek out warmth.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ A story about a journey to a frigid climate or one set in a snowstorm or in building without heat (in winter); any setting where getting warm places a part in the characters’ behaviors and motivations. ⚫ Write about a fond memory with a friend or relative that makes you smile and reassures you. ⚫ Write a poem about the beach or a summer vacation.
Warmth the moon is a dead thing i walked from light to darkness
in order to taste death, to grind moon rocks into
moon dust under my heels to add to the death
the living produce heat, no matter how cool;
life radiates warmth life and warmth go together
like the left hand and darkness
carbon, as lifeless as coal, burns to existence when ignited
enough to simmer and grill meat, vegetables, bread, fruit
this spark that ignites life exists everywhere, spreading
a gospel of warmth, under a multitude of divine names
Justice In society, we try to make sense of the world. Why do bad things happen to good people? We’ve developed justice--whether divine, legal, karmic, cosmic or moral--to provide consequences for such actions. Justice is used as a means of correcting wrongs that otherwise would have been allowed to happen without consequences.
Here are some ideas: ⚫ Think about the legal system in your country. Is it working? Think of ways it can be improved and write your thoughts on them. ⚫ Write a story about justice, in any of its incarnations, and the effect it has on the parties involved. ⚫ Write a poem in protest against an injustice.
Justice Justice cannot be based on punishment. Yet, that’s what we have with a(n) (in)justice system that believes prison is an appropriate response to any sort or behavior considered deviant, i.e. a crime. Written during another time and place, Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables still speaks a lesson for contemporary readers (or viewers of one of its theatrical or film adaptations). A man is sentenced to 20 years hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread because he was poor and hungry. When released, he is not reformed by the decades spent doing unpaid drudgery and sadistic brutality from prison guards. No, he graduates to stealing expensive silverware. He changes when his victim understands the source of the man’s crimes and goes after the source -- poverty -- and admonishes him, saying that he’s been granted a second chance at life, so screw it up. Poverty and despair are the sources of many criminalized acts, such as theft and drug use. Yet capitalists and corporations exploit labor from workers for immense profits while not providing livable wages in return, and that is not considered theft but good business based on sound economics. Working all day, sometimes 2 or more jobs, and still being barely able to support yourself and family is theft of time, mental health and soul. This poverty and despair are part of what causes people to perform desperate acts; when they are punished for it, the system that creates poverty and insecurity and despair remain in place. And the cycle continues. Justice built on punishment is no justice at all, for it does attempt to correct any of the causes for criminal acts -- the
continuation and expansion of the systems of exploitation and oppression that the U.S. was founded on -- and in that regard does not make society any safer. We have to imagine and implement other forms of justice that provide healing for victim, perpetrator and the communities in which they reside, because prison isn’t working at all.
About the Author Person. Storyteller. Work-in-progress. Antoine J. Hayes writes poetry and fiction (under the names A. J. Hayes and A. Jarrell Hayes). He is the author of over 30 publications: including novels, short story collections, poetry chapbooks and zines. He also crafts journals and facilitates creative workshops. He holds an associate of arts degree in English and is currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in philosophy. You can find him online at www.ajhayes.com.