Wednesday, August 14

Secret Subject Swap Reveal - 1

Astute and observant regular readers would have noticed a little badge appear in my side bar the other week.

In case you missed it it looks a little like this

Ok so it looks a lot like that, because that is it.

Secret Subject Swap is the brain child of Emily who can be found here and here. She asked myself and a bunch of other uber cool bloggers, (a full list is at the end of the post) if we were interested in setting some secret writing prompts for each other and all publishing on the same day. Given my desire to challenge myself as a writer whenever possible I jumped at the chance. Plus I am always a fan of anything secret, but who isn't?

So today is the day on which we are all to unveil our secret prompts. Mine was given to me by the ever lovely Josefa from always Josefa

Image from here
Painted by Craig Orback

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”

This quote was said by Ernest Hemingway in reference to Scott Fitzgerald. I encourage you to interpret, write, prose, describe or philosophise in any way you like as a response to this quote.

Deep huh?

Now full credit to Josefa because she gave me this some what complex prompt with plenty of time to think it all over and come up with something truly wonderful. Which I promise I had every intention of doing. Honest, I did.

When I first read it I was totally excited because I thought it was just the excuse I was looking for to re-read The Great Gatsby. I fondly recall devouring the pages back when I was a university student. With the recent release of the latest movie version I had been thinking of doing so anyway but had just not quite got around to it. Surprisingly, or not, I still haven't managed to pull it off the book shelf.

Nor did I get around to researching what else old Ernest had to say. Or anyone else for that matter. Technically I could get up and turn the internet on and have a look now but I lost interest at the getting up part. It is the end of another long day after all. Plus with the internet on I am not likely to be able to resist the time void that is Facebook (but please come and like my page). Tragic I know but in my defence I have been resisting the temptations of evil ALL. DAY. LONG.

I have however pondered greatly on how Josefa came across the quote and what prompted her to pass it on to me. Did she simply Google butterfly and go from there? I mean that makes sense because I like butterflies (but again who doesn't?) Or is there more to it than that? Was it perhaps a prompt that she herself was given at some point in time. Such a crafter writer as her is bound to have completed at least a course or two at some point. 

Needless to say I then question all that I am. Wonder whether the prompt I passed onto Ashely cut the mustard. Did she struggle with it as much as I with mine? Did she curse me and my stupid prompt like I may or may not have? Was it completely off the mark and not what was expected? Should I even be a part of such a group?

Nothing like a dose of self doubt to get the creative juices flowing. Or not.

The distracted procrastinator in me then kicks in and the original train of thought is completely gone and long forgotten. My post still a blank canvas and my mind in much the same state.

I go back and read the quote again. For the umpteenth time I might add. Desperate to try and find something, anything that I make into a worthy post and hold onto the hope there is a chance for me and this writing gig.

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.”


I can't help but wonder if my own wings are perhaps a little damaged. Only if they are, I hope the dust can once again be brushed on to them and I can go back to it being effortless. Life in general of late has been far from effortless, but that is not what I want to get caught up in now.Right now I want to get caught up on dissecting all the different ways Hemmingway's words could be interpreted regarding his friend. 

But alas 'tis now late and this post long enough for now.

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Other Secret Subject Swappers include