A Leaf on Cute

Write one leaf about something you consider “cute.”

So many things are cute without our knowing why: life's tiny details filling us with senseless love and joy. The smell of birthday candle in a group of friends. The glow of a child's face and the whiskers of the neighbor's cat.

Cute is the way the love of my life will hold a spoon or a paintbrush, fingers bent just so. His knobby knuckles clenched in consternation and eyebrows furrowed. The admirable never-ending clash of frustration and willpower. Knowing that he always tries his best.

Cute is the way my roommate talks through a mouth of toothpaste--cheeks puffy with foam, the mischievous way she sprawls on a couch. And the day it suddenly becomes okay to rest my head on her shoulder during a movie.

Cute is when a friend leaves for a faraway place, and secretly you hold on to the hope that you will see each other again soon, because somehow you can't imagine life without her and so you won't even try.

A Leaf on Barbs

Write one leaf about stepping on a barb.

When I stepped on a barb, I thought about you.
You, you, you! And all the beautiful things that you do.

A Leaf on Company

Write one leaf about sleeping on the floor.

The thing I love about cats is how casually they appear on your doorstep: no shame, no apologies, no excuses. You're cool, I'm cool and I'm crashing on your couch.

People? Not so much. We pander around for acceptance, trying to earn our stays. We are full of "No thank you"s and "I really shouldn't"s. When bad news strikes and you just want a voice on the phone, you pause before you hit up your best friend on speed dial and you ask yourself, "Will I bother her?--No, worse. Will I annoy her?"

But these are the things that make us close. Me sleeping on your floor, us talking about the Yankees and the shape of our legs. The restaurant I practically had to force you into, the dish you nearly threw up, the look your mom gave us when we got home and still wanted cookies.

So come, come, come. Come sleep on my floor.

But bring wine.

A Leaf on Usage

itsmorethanyouaskedfor asked: This blog made a sleepover party really fun and hilarious as well as emotional. We went through the prompts and each wrote a different one and shared it. Some of them were poems, Some were stories, Some were drawings where we had to share a story as we drew.(Because not all of us were writers). We took it and turned it into one of our favorite past times.

Also, thank you for saving me from writer's block. This blog inspires me.

Great news! This is like a complete answer to the previous question: “Can Write One Leaf be used for poetry?” And if Write One Leaf can be used as the basis of a sleepover party creativity game, then it can be used for almost anything.

Write one leaf inventing a new use for Write One Leaf.

Use Write One Leaf like the 48 Hour Film Project. But instead of having all the elements at once, write a few lines of dialogue each day based on the prompt. Continue to do this until you have completed your script. Be open to unexpected plot twists. Then film the project.

A Leaf on Appreciation

four-and-twenty-blackbirds asked: Can Write One Leaf be used for poetry?

I should hope so. The limits to how Write One Leaf can be used are based solely on the limits of the human imagination.

Write one leaf about the limits of the human imagination.

Before Marina taught me to play the guitar, I never noticed strumming or the timing of lyrics or even the difference between a clean note and a not-so-clean one. I loved music, but I enjoyed it passively the way a person enjoys a television show. Looking back I feel so handicapped, roadblocked by the unwitting lack of knowledge. I wish I had learned to appreciate sounds more or that I had train myself to listen more closely to the nuances. All those different strumming techniques, all the changing beats, all the ways to grip the strings. I wonder what else I've missed and how I've limited myself simply by not trying to learn something. How much brilliance slipped right under my nose, how many moments of inspiration and instruction I must have missed. I suddenly realize that I know so much less than I could possibly imagine. But in a good, hungry way rather than a lost and lonely way. There is so much I want to know.

A Leaf on Fragility

mallowtreat asked: Hay WOL I was wondering you have any tips for making poetry flow better?

Assuming this is a desirable thing to do (and there are those who would likely argue that it isn’t), the best way I’ve found for making any piece of writing “flow” better is to read it aloud. If it isn’t working, you’ll hear it. The voice inside your head is absolutely not the same as the voice that comes out of your mouth, and almost any piece of writing can benefit from editing while reading aloud.

Blessings and luck.

Write one leaf about reading aloud.

I'm on my bed, curled up with Jonathan Safran Foer. I pull a sheet across my torso and on a whim, I dictate a page. Amused, you read me a manuscript. I dictate another. You act out a comic illustration. I move to page three. I would laugh but the moment is too fragile and I want desperately for you to keep reading.

A Leaf on His Humanity

Write one leaf in the form of a letter to the President.

Dear Mr. President,

I know that you hold the most prestigious position in the nation--the world even--but sometimes I really want to give you a hug and tell you, "I am so sorry you have to do what you do." The truth (and this is precisely the truth people tend to neglect) is that if you weren't such a straight arrow, if you didn't try so hard to do right by the nation, your life would be a heck of a lot easier.

The Republicans hate you. You expected that, but it doesn't quell the frustration. Still, you expected that. What you didn't expect was for your own party, your own supporters to turn their backs so quickly. You spoke of hope and change. But you find that very little of the nation has the patience to dream. People judge you by the state of the nation, regardless of how broken it was to begin with. Yesterday's gains get lost quickly in today's sorrows. They have don't accept that it might get worse before it gets better. They don't want policies that need to be fixed; they want laws to be immediately beneficial. "Steps in the right direction" just don't cut it. They want silver bullets or nothing at all.

It's kind of a shitty thankless job, isn't it? And maybe in those rare quiet moments, you'll find yourself sitting in the Oval Office wonder why the hell you worked so hard to get it. But then you go home to your daughters and your wife and you think about how badly you love them. How much you want to give them everything they deserve and more. You almost go crazy with the wanting. And that gives you the courage and the strength to face the new day.

You try your goddamned best. You try for the people you love, the nation you love, and the idea of love itself. But there are just some obstacles that you can't break down. The political climate, the debt (Jesus Christ, the debt!), the... well, let's stop there.

Mr. President, I just want to tell you that it's okay. It's okay that these bad things happened. It's okay that you can't fix them right now. It's okay. I understand. Sometimes your best just isn't good enough. Sometimes you can only hope that things turn out alright. You're only human. That's okay. That's life. That's how I see it, at least.

I'm sure there are others like me who forgive and accept you. A silent minority, perhaps... but I just want you to know that we're here. That not everyone in the nation sees you as a demon or a tool or something to be cursed at. You've done right by me just by trying as hard as you do and fighting for as long as you have. And so...

Thank you,

A Month