Ray Bradbury’s 1951 story The Pedestrian takes place in A.D. 2053, now only 35 years in the future. This short story moves at the speed of walking by foot. Bradbury’s slow pacing immerses the reader in the urban landscape. In the quiet night we can almost hear the river that used to run where there are only highways now.
When a police car stops the pedestrian, the meditative cadence of the story shifts suddenly. After a short exchange, the ominous reality becomes apparent. In Bradbury’s future, to be on foot is to be suspect.
The Latin phrase solvitur ambulando translates as, “it will be solved by walking.” Often when we are stuck in our writing–unsure how to create compassion for our unlikely hero or too close to our revisions to see them clearly–a walk can put us on the path to answering these questions. A good walk offers fresh air, deep breathing, and a change in perspective.
Take a walk this week. Be alert to the spark of inspiration, but don’t overthink. Let the walk solve the problem. We’d love to hear, in a sci-fi style poem, where your rambles take you!
And if your writing would benefit from a wider view and an outside perspective, Editor TLC may be of interest. It’s the chance to write in community with a prompt and thoughtful questions about building compassion. Then the loving editors here at Tweetspeak will give your work tender attention.
Our first meeting will be on June 19th at 8 pm Eastern. Come learn how you can join in this lively gathering!
Photo by David, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Kortney Garrison.
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- Poetry Prompt: Fireworks, Sparkles & Speckles - July 2, 2018
- Writing Prompt: Science Fiction and Ecopoetry - June 25, 2018
- Poetry Prompt: Science Fiction with Ray Bradbury - June 18, 2018
Rick Maxson says
The Dissolution of the Familiar
Occasionally the beasts run by,
stopping to stare before the brambles,
their mouths carrion-full, their eyes bright.
The rivers sound in the caverns
underground, the xedofr cocks her head
and listens, her webbing spreads.
In distance the mountains show us
Nevers road, granite and snow
have turned to clouds, cut by wings.
It is said of rivers and mountains,
they were clear and green—a romance—
breathe in the tawny air that eats
the leaves behind your house,
walk midnight alone if you dare,
with its sounds, decay and leayer.
A branch falls and a world wilts with it.
Lichen shine green in blanching moonlight
making rounds on this reef of road.
A wild cry oozes through the darkness
like a sea wave smooths a rocky shore.
We are not alone. We have never been.
Kortney Garrison says
This piece feels utterly rooted to the known world, and yet completely foreign. I love that opening line–so mater of fact, so unsettling.