Anyone who has ever taken a writing class has been strongly encouraged to do at least one of the following things daily:
- Write down your dreams.
- While out in public, describe your surroundings in a journal.
- While out in public, eavesdrop on a conversation and write it down, word for word.
- For half an hour, don't stop writing. Get all the junk out of your head so you can write the real stuff later.
All good advice. All great brainstorming techniques. I am embarrassed to do most of them most of the time because I will invariably make up stories about the people around me, and if they were to read over my shoulder, I would be devastated.
On my way into work, I was sitting next to a man who was engaging in some such writing exercise. He was writing about me. I was almost flattered, but then again, I was the closest person to the guy. Naturally I read over his shoulder. It said something like:
She was wearing a necklace of yellow beads, a denim skirt, sunglasses. She was likely on her way to work like the rest of us. Reddish hair...she boarded at Roslindale Square. She seemed -
That's all I got! Of course it's nice to know that somebody was looking at me at all, taking note of the details to which I devote so much time in the morning, but I was just getting to the first impressions bit. What vibe do I send out when I'm sitting on the T? That man was going to tell me, however unintentionally, and I was going to know at last if I really look as much like a bitch in public as I feel I do.
As you might have guessed, it was at that point that the bus stopped at Forest Hills and I had no choice but to leave.
