“Creativity is our most powerful tool to shape the world we want to live in.” — Isra Hirsi

Lit Salon Offers a Parlor Game Party Favor + Story Challenge Salon Replay!

Writing can be lonely, but a genuine creative community can soften the isolation. It can lift us up while propelling us forward by providing inspiration, support, and a sense of belonging.

As Neil Gaiman said, “The world always seems brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before.” We certainly felt that at our Live Story Challenge Salon on Saturday.

In a community of creatives, ideas are sparked, nurtured, and refined through collaboration and shared experiences. This boosts our courage to persist, to innovate, and to create works that reflect the intersection of our own imaginations and our collective dreaming.

It’s so beautiful.

And we played around with that alchemical collective consciousness with a question-and-answer parlor game that produced hilarious nonsense and strangely breathtaking truths.

So, in the spirit of continuing our celebration, today’s Lit Salon (aka this post!) is a lightly edited version of the results of our collective parlor game, which Billie and I pieced together from the snippets of randomly matched re-pairings of why/because couplets written by Salon participants during the gathering, then shared by them (at our request) in the comments section on Saturday’s Salon post.

You may have seen another example of what can come of this game when I posted the results from playing it with my class at Stillwater Prison last fall—but, in case you missed it, here it is again (along with a brief explanation of one way to play the game).

Thank you again for a marvelous time and for making the world brighter than before. We look forward to more gatherings during the upcoming Visceral Self intensive!

Love,
Jeannine & Billie

You Are Hungry for Sunshine & Sugar

a lightly edited collage of a parlor game

Why do I keep dreaming of car and train schedules and obstacles between New York City and New Jersey? Because you are so hungry for sunshine and sugar.

And why did I wait 45 years to start writing again? Because you couldn’t feel my lips anymore, my kiss didn’t startle you awake. And you can’t quit chocolate, by the way, because silence is a bed of sweet watermelons.

And why do the owls no longer visit? Because you haven’t fulfilled your dreams.

I love you though. Why? Because otherwise, there would be no hope. After all, the ocean is beautiful and also dangerous when wind blows over the wall, and skunks travel solo because they need to become who they’re intended to be.

Why did it take me six years to write my memoir? Because it’s the perfect texture—slightly resistant around the edges, but caramelized, with just the right give in the middle. Also, it’s easy to break off and eat in bite-sized morsels.

Then why was I so nervous to read today? Because the night’s silence crackles with static only you can hear. And why am I holding myself back? Because fear is an angry octopus with the memory of an elephant. I am so confusingly complicated. Only because you do not believe.

You know, you don’t kiss me between the eyes anymore, like you did after you died. That’s because wings, hearts are broken. I hear voices, though. Yes, because I am always there. I feel like I'm in trouble when you call my name. Because no one thought to know you when you were becoming yourself.

Why are we still at the ocean? Because beauty and risk reflect each other. And innocents must pay the price for another’s quest? Yes, because—in order to not stink—they’d have to stay 10 feet apart, anyway.

Look how the grass is so dull yellow-brown at this time of year. That’s to remind you of the sweet part of childhood. Speaking of which, why are muffin tops the best part of the muffin? They are for people who can appreciate them.

And now my patio is suddenly full of grasshoppers. That’s because aggressors see only the path for their own desires.

Why did I survive, then?

Because you were afraid no one would meet you at the station.

Well, it’s cold.

Sometimes, breaking is beautiful too.