132. Playing in the Sandbox – Scott Frank
For me, writing is a form of play. A game I continue to try and fail to master.
For me, writing is a form of play. A game I continue to try and fail to master. I refer to working out ideas as “playing in the sandbox.” A process of happy digging and discovery without any purpose. This makes for time spent not trying so much, which allows that little kid inside who comes up with all the good stuff to show up and show off. I’ve learned that the more pressure I put on that kid, the lousier the writer. – Scott Frank
Prompt:
Imagine yourself in your childhood backyard, playground, schoolyard—wherever you would play. Write about that place. What toys or tools are you playing with? Are you alone? Is anyone there with you? If so, can you make them talk, but without thinking about it? Does something happen, say, inside the house, or across the yard, or up in the sky? Stop writing the minute it feels like work!
Olivia Thomakos
Location: Zaragoza, Spain
About: I have been writing responses to these journals as a form of therapy. This response is about growing up with my best friend. We have been together since we were four-years-old, and today she is more like a part of my body than a separate entity in my life.
Age: 24
I loved to play in the trees next to my house growing up. I would climb them with Brooke for what felt like hours, but it was probably only 20 or 30 minutes. Still, it was empowering to scrape knees and to grab branches that would sometimes break and fall from under me. I wonder what my parents thought as they looked out the window and saw me way up in the trees. Maybe the trees weren’t as tall as I thought they were. I may have pictured them differently when I was so small. I know it was often hard for me to reach even the lowest branches to pull myself up, but once I started climbing, it was difficult to stop me. The only thing that could bring me down quickly was bark too sappy or a bee hive too close. The buzzing has always been a trigger in my ears.
Brooke and I could talk about anything. She’s always been there. Of course I was close with friends from my school and so was she, but I think the summer kept us together. We were riding bikes, climbing trees, having sleepovers, watching that one cat show at her house or watching SpongeBob or Recess at my house. We made weird foods like the chocolate peanut butter bark for her school project - or was it mine? I think hers… We would pretend to go backward or forward in time by hiding in the side room with the little door attached to her sister’s bedroom. We played with dolls or on her computer. I think it’s funny she just recently noticed her own slight lisp. She has always had it, but I guess you don’t notice these things about yourself until you’re hearing your voice in a video or a voice recording.
I miss those trees. I loved that they hid my house from view while we drove up the hill to my house. And now the side of mi casa is naked, bare, vulnerable. However, new trees have been planted. Fruit trees, I think cherry. Maybe one day my little niece Luna will make her own memories in those trees. Or she will ride her bike to the new development which won’t be so new. Or she will make friends with my neighbor Elliott and meet him in the street so they can play.
It is funny how things change, but children often stay the same - at least in some ways. They all want attention, connection, independence, to play. Then one day you blink, and the trees are gone and the kids are grown and the street is quiet.