Lacking inspiration after a long string of consecutive Sunday playlists, I struggled last week to come up with a theme – or even a good completely random selection of songs. I was unsuccessful, and didn’t post a program on the 12th. This week, I stumbled upon an idea. The concept: make a playlist using a bunch of the 130-character true stories that I’ve written over the past year for the daily Creative Nonfiction contest on Twitter. I barely started when I realized I’d traveled this ground before (I, after all, had written them!) and was bored by it. I decided to give the idea a twist.
Beginning last Monday, I solicited my followers on Twitter to write a tweet inspired by music. The plan: gather a handful of interesting stories by some ridiculously-talented writer folk and apply the original process to one of them. The tweeps were, at first, a little bit shy about participating but, after five days, there were several nicely thought-out vignettes.
The one I chose (and it wasn’t easy) submitted a story that had an irresistible kinetic energy that puts the reader smack in the middle of a packed, steamy club, just within feet of the lip of the stage:
The bass player strums, the crowd presses forward. We are one breathing body, mouthing the words to our favorite song.
The writer of that tweet – Twitter handle: @devakali – has been a prolific Creative Nonfiction tweeter over the last several months, so I only had to go back as far as mid-November to find enough material to inspire a playlist. You’ll see her vivid stories below, preceding the music track from today’s playlist that was inspired by it (or them, as was the case in a couple of instances).
And, if your curiosity has been piqued, go to Twitter and read the wealth of true-life microessays that get submitted daily using the tag #CNFtweet. They run the gamut in content and tone, and you are sure to discover some new favorite writers.
Approximate playing time: 47 minutes.
[audio:Fred_FM_playlist_121910.mp3]
– Nothing says desert holiday like a palm tree wrapped halfway in lights, except maybe a saguaro pinned with plastic snowflakes.
1. “Phoenix City” (1965) by Roland Alphonso & The Soul Brothers
– With no one to cook for this year, her grocery cart is a rudderless boat. A frozen smile for all the clerks, she affects a hurry.
2. “Eleanor Rigby (strings only version)” (1966) by The Beatles
– The desert by full moon reveals itself slowly: as pupils adjust, the branches of palo verde recede from dark fans to long fingers.
3. “The Desert” (1986) by Jonathan Richman
– In summer, she wears sunblock under her eyes, like a football player. In winter she fishes a torn coat out of some forgotten nook.
– The shoulders of our winter coats shush and whisper against each other in conspiracies of static over the space of empty bus seats.
4. “Winter Coat” (1991) by Paul Kelly
– They move across the sky as almost-one, bird-shaped cutouts in violet sky. In the feathered grasses below we wait and watch.
5. “Birds Fly Backwards” (2001) by Ed Harcourt
– Crisped sage, caramel apples: fragrances of abundance warm us, feel like the days before care weighed us down like freighters.
6. “Shine On, Harvest Moon” (1931) by The Boswell Sisters
7. “Intermission” (2002) by Peter Bruntnell
– I stare at the screen: daydream through an embargo to a man with a cigar stub bouncing in his mouth as he counts crocodile teeth.
– Like elephant seals on a warm agatey beach, we bask in the glow of the TV, arms across swollen bellies, twitching whiskers, full.
8. “Television Man” (1985) by Talking Heads
– He left cairns behind all over the house, little mountains of every small thing I had given him. Cards, mix-tapes, notes: stacked.
9. “Box Full of Letters” (1995) by Wilco
– We were taught to carefully toe over the chunks of fossil-rich tuff and listen: a whispered ripping sound meant Black Widows.
10. “Boris the Spider” (1966) by The Who
– A rosy arc of moon hangs over the dull town like a judgment, like a merciful guillotine about to swing loose.
11. “Hangman” (2007) by The Redwalls
– We are not good at missing people. When a chair at the table goes empty, we fill it, quickly, with some orphan, misfit, or dog.
12. “Empty Chairs” (1971) by Don McLean
– He left cairns behind all over the house, little mountains of every small thing I had given him. Cards, mix-tapes, notes: stacked.
13. “All the Things” (1970) by The Byrds
– My grandma knows integrity, crouched down behind the car in her nightie, kissing her wrist to call grosbeaks, neighbors be damned.
14. “My Grandmother” (1997) by Archie Roach
[Written to Alice in Acton, Indiana. Return addressed: Richard, Ward 43, U.S.N.H., St. Albans, L.I., N.Y. Postmarked at Jamaica, N.Y., on 4 Apr 1946 at 1:30 P.M.]
April 5 [sic], 1946
Hello Sweetheart,
As I told you in yesterday’s letter, I was going to check on the survey. Well, I did. The report on my chest x-Ray was back and I am O.K. as far as it is concerned. But they hadn’t typed my survey up yet. I’m rushing them all I can. Maybe I can get the papers down to the record office today. Once they get down there, there isn’t much I can do but wait until they get them all fixed up. I can’t rush them any.
I had a visitor yesterday afternoon. Do you know who it was? Mrs. C—-. She certainly surprised me. You told me over the phone last Sunday night that they were up here, didn’t you? Anyway, I had forgotten all about it and she really surprised me.
Well Sweetheart, you should get my BIG letter today. Would it be all right, under the circumstances, if I came home this month in stead of waiting till the 2nd-6th of May? You suggested those dates in your letter but I just don’t think I’ll be able to wait around here until then. The heck with it – I’m coming home as soon as I can. Do you still want to know what the score is on the convelescent furloughs?
With Uncle Art and your mother both sending me Post Cards, I have more than I’ll write in a year. So I’m going to start sending back a few in each letter. Don’t misinterpret that. I still want letters from you – not Post Cards. I should write them but I’m waiting to hear from you and find out if you are going to tell everybody about my getting out in April in stead of September. I received a long letter from Uncle Art and he asked me a million questions that I can’t answer until you tell what information you are going to let out. The last card I wrote him, I told him that the rest of the stitches were coming out that day and that then it would just be a matter of time. Here’s what he wrote back – – – “Now this card says it was wrote the 19th. And I think it is my time for another card and don’t forget to explain this (I am supposed to get the rest of the stitches taken out today (that would be the 19th) Then it will just be a matter of time.) What do you mean by a (matter of time) Would it be such a thing that you may come home soon. No I don’t think there is no such good lulck. Because we are of the opinion that you can’t come home before September. Now listen I know it is hard
[Here, the letter ends.]
This newspaper cartoon was included with the letter:
Sunset at the backyard reception: the margarita fountain gurgles a last glass, the ringbearer flings his pillow into the deep end.
The nice thing about typing the word “biotch” in a public forum is that, when someone calls you on it, you can always say you meant to type “biotech.”
[Written to Alice in Acton, Indiana. Return addressed: Richard, Ward 43, U.S.N.H., St. Albans, L.I., N.Y. Postmarked at Jamaica, N.Y., on 3 Apr 1946 at 1 P.M.]
There were no inserts of any kind inside this envelope.
That song that identifies you will be converted to Muzak 10 months after you die, and will top the 2056 charts in the form of a didgeridoo-theremin duet.
Postcard is untitled on the front.
Printed on back of postcard:
KD-907
Interior of a loose-leaf tobacco warehouse.
C18922
Publishing information: Published by Asheville Post Card Co., Asheville, N.C. Color by Mike Roberts.
The twelve are stranded in the jury room while the dueling lawyers arm-wrestle. Juror #148 suggests a game of Hangman to pass time.
[Written to Alice in Acton, Indiana. Return addressed: Richard, Ward 11, U.S.N.H., St. Albans, L.I., N.Y. No postmark.]
Mar. 29, 1946
Hello Sweetheart,
I don’t think I’m going to like this stationery. Looks like it would make a better blotter. I hit the jack-pot yesterday. I received 4 letters and a card. The card was from Uncle Art, one letter from Bolks, and then yours and Ray’s. Don’t worry about what happened to the original envelope for Ray’s letter. It just so happens that that was it. That’s right. Ray was at the farm when he wrote it. He just sent a note and gave me his address. He must be a civilian now. He gave me his home address.
I called Joe last night to tell him I would definitely be there unless the weather is too bad. He said to tell everybody hello and he asked how every body was at home.
I can’t think this morning. I guess I have too good a case of Spring Fever. I love you Sweetheart. Better close now. I just got the word that I had to be at x-Ray in 10 minutes. I can’t figure it out but I’m anxious to find out what the shoulder blade looks like. I’ll bet it is still cracked pretty badly. Wh Want to bet?
Good-night Sweetheart
I love you with all my heart
Pleasant dreams
Goodnight Sweetheart
x x
‘Nite
I love you
