Playing Tales from the Poor House

Last night, for the fourth time, I gave a group of ten or so MFAs a prompt.  We wrote for an hour.  Revised for half an hour.  Then recorded stories (or poems) live.  Because this is for a radio show that is intended to be both an experiment and entertaining, I instructed the writers to go for funny over good (whatever that means).  There were tales of Keebler Elves lodged in human belly buttons, Britney Spears in biker bars, double-meat sandwich stalkers, and bagged cats dropped in deep holes.  Good stuff.   I’m not sure any of the work merits serious consideration beyond a laugh.  But, that’s totally fine.  It was a joyful several hours.  I have all kinds of more serious notions this morning, too.  There are things I want to do, ideas bubbling.  And I remembered something I promise to remember but  most often forget: play for writers is hugely important.  We were all giggling like school kids last night.

An hour later we were laughing

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