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Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Writing Prompt: 9/9/10 Ode to Delicious Things

By Marilyn Friedman

Do you want to feel delicious? Spend some time with your muse! Write that book, short story, or screenplay that you've always dreamed of finishing. Here are some ways to make your creative dreams come true:

2 nights/2 days of relaxation, top notch writing classes, one-on-one consultations, gourmet food, and fun!

Call 323-333-2954 to sign up for the retreat or classes before they are full!

Writing Prompt: This writing prompt is inspired by my weekend in Seattle where I ate many delicious things including the best clam chowder in the world!

Make a list of 5 things that you think are delicious. Pick one item off of your list and spend 10 minutes writing a short ode to it. Then post the results in the comments of this blog!

Here are some ideas for what you could write about: what do you specifically love about it? Where do you eat or drink it? Make up a simile for that food--(what is it "like" or "as"?). In the sample poem below, Marge Piercy says that coffee is "dark as the waters flowing out of a spooky swamp." Use Marge Piercy's wonderful poem as inspiration, but your piece can be much shorter!

In Praise of Joe
by Marge Piercy

I love you hot
I love you iced and in a pinch
I will even consume you tepid.

Dark brown as wet bark of an apple tree,
dark as the waters flowing out of a spooky swamp
rich with tannin and smelling of thick life—

but you have your own scent that even
rising as steam kicks my brain into gear.
I drink you rancid out of vending machines,

I drink you at coffee bars for $6 a hit,
I drink you dribbling down my chin from a thermos
in cars, in stadiums, on the moonwashed beach.

Mornings you go off in my mouth like an electric
siren, radiating to my fingertips and toes.
You rattle my spine and buzz in my brain.

Whether latte, cappuccino, black or Greek
you keep me cooking, you keep me on line.
Without you, I would never get out of bed

but spend my life pressing the snooze button.
I would creep through wan days
in the form of a large shiny slug.

You waken in me the gift of speech when I
am dumb as a rock buried in damp earth.
It is you who make me human every dawn.
All my books are written with your ink.

Comment on this blog! Write about something you think is delicious. The best mini-story of August/September will win a free class! All comments will receive likes and remembers from Marilyn.


Victoria said...

Boarding Flight 3 from Los Angles to the Dubai International Airport, we sauntered into out first class pods, handing our bags, Louis Vuitton no less, to the slightly uppity but boasting a professional smile, stewardess…oh I mean flight attendant. Settling in for our 23-hour jaunt across the world, I immediately accepted a second flight attendant’s offering of a glass of Pierrer Jouet champagne in the cutest mini flute. The golden potion slipped down my throat effortlessly; I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and knew I was back in one of my most favorite familiar places. A place where illusion intersects reality and the mind is invited to wander with little interruption. An anonymous place where you are categorized only by the seat you occupy, and maybe the fabric of your clothes or make of your watch.

I always appreciate travelling with him. He knows how to take care of the details and insure you will be taken care of…two things I have been seeking in a man for years. Yes, Mr. Miracle does deliver when it comes to first class. So I cuddled up in my cashmere wrap, sipped a third glass of champagne and waited for lift off. To me that instant when the tires leave the ground and you officially are suspended in air moving towards a new adventure, no matter what the destination…that is a delicious moment to be savored. As fine as a piece of Spanish chocolate and complex as a smoky jazz trio…it's simply delicious!

Writing Pad said...


Oh, that does sound delicious! I want to be there in the plane with the narrator and Mr. Miracle, who is one of my favorite character names.

I love that the champagne is described as a golden potion, I love "where illusion intersects reality", I love cuddling up in the cashmere wrap, and "the instant when the tires leave the ground and you are suspended in air towards a new adventure." Fabulous!


Mary Lorraine said...

The Truffle Shuffle

Most dances start off slow and then begin to go fast
Isn’t the most fun song at a wedding often the one that comes last?
But the Truffle Shuffle is a most delicious dance that I have found
It starts off heart poundingly fast and then suddenly slows down

First I see it on the menu and my eyes grow big and wide
My toothy grinned head bounces from side to side
I sing a little song, telling the table of my love
Wildly gesturing with my hands flying above

The anticipation still soaring, and I can smell the truffle in the air
When the plate is put down my body does a silly jig in my chair
I have to slow down enough to grab a fork and eat it right
The first mouthful a contradiction of rushing and freezing time mid bite

The rich savory sensation fills my mouth and everything slows
My body relaxes and focuses on the taste, my eyes dreamily close
I am barely moving and can hardly remember my name
The Truffle Shuffle is one delicious dance for which I have no shame

Lizzie said...

It always feels like its gone before I know it came. With Fall comes rusty leaves, wispy hair, a scarf or two, and pumpkin everything.

When I was a kid, Dad used to make home-made pumpkin pies out of real pumpkin filling. That midnight sneak-a-bite turned into a 2-month long obsession that started October 1st and ended after Thanksgiving.

The only problem is that now, Pumpkin season has bled into September and December. And Pumpkin spiced lattes from Starbucks and Pumpkin muffins (for breakfast, mind you) are bleeding onto my thighs at a very rapid pace.

See, the thing about Pumpkin is not that its just a squash. Yes, it tends to be healthy. But its the cinnamon, the nutmeg, the allspice that are the warming qualities.

The combo of all the spices with the delectable pumpkin is not something that can be replicated with an acorn squash or even a butternut squash. I mean, who ever heart of butternut squash lattes?

Alas, pumpkin season is here. I will carve faces and eat crunchy, baked seeds. I'll wait patiently for my moderate (this year) once-a-week latte, and I will openly eat those homemade pumpkin pies whenever I can-- midnight or noon.

Writing Pad said...

In Praise of Pike Place Chowder

Oh luxurious soup of velvet
cream, you warm me
ever so gently
from throat to belly
on a windy Seattle day.

You are a thing of culinary
beauty, a sourdough dome overflowing
with waterfalls of liquid pearl,
a doughy treasure chest filled
with sparkling sea jewels.

What a pleasure it is to coat my tongue
in your milky broth, to nibble
on your pillowy lobes of potato
and clam, to soak my mouth
in your smoky juice.

And when I think I have devoured
your tastiest bits, you offer me
a slice of your most tender self,
that beret of soft, moist bread
that serves as your lovely lid.

But then the best part comes
with my last dip of dough
into your moat of dairy seafood
delight, I find myself transported
back to a moment when I am six.

I am watching my father eat
his favorite dish on vacation
at Fisherman’s Wharf, he is happy
with a swipe of chowder on his lip,
and I am so happy to be with him.

Isn’t it amazing how one slurp
of soup can take you back 30 years
to a feeling saved on the hard drive
of your taste buds and brain, how one
spoonful of broth can fill you up with such love?


Julie said...

The Time For Soup

The light lays low across the lawn,
darkness comes a whisper more quickly.
A touch of cool to the still-summer air
reminds you to bring a sweater.
The time for soup has come.

Warm and bubbling in a dark pot
on the big, white stove.
One by one, vegetables go in,
swirling in steaming amber broth.
Colors of green, orange and yellow and red
reflect the changing season.

It’s the invitation home after a long day,
warm smells reaching out through the back door.
Cleats clatter, grass still wet and clinging.
Backpacks crumple, pencils strewn,
books abandoned on the desk.

Table set with gleaming round spoons,
nestled in the soft cotton of a napkin.
Heads bow over steaming bowls,
hands wrapped around their warmth.
Glasses gleam in the candle’s glow.

The first bite is too hot, the next just right.
Creamy butter makes pools in the bread
when it dips in, catching the drips.
Conversation swirls around the old oak table,
and the day settles into night. 

Writing Pad said...


Thank you for all of the wonderful writes! I will give you likes and remembers today. I'm so excited that you commented on the blog! :)


Writing Pad said...

Mary Lorraine--I really enjoyed your poem! You had so many fun rhymes and great descriptions of the narrator's delight in eating truffles. I could see and experience the truffles along with her so clearly! I also love "the silly jig in my chair." Great job!


Writing Pad said...


I really enjoyed your piece! I love that Pumpkin Season has bled into September and December and also the narrator's thighs (hilarious!). I love the warming qualities of the allspice, cinammon and nutmeg. And I loved the last paragraph so much :"I will carve faces and eat crunchy, baked seeds. I'll wait patiently for my once-a-week latte, and homemade pumpkin pies."

Fabulous and yummy!


Writing Pad said...


What a lovely poem! I love all of your examples of how the soup is a marker of the season (and the great details in the setting that go with the soup and the season). You had many delicious, beautiful lines like:
"One by one, vegetables go in,
swirling in steaming amber broth.
Table set with gleaming round spoons,
Creamy butter makes pools in the bread"

Yummy! I'm going to have to have some soup for lunch now because I am craving it after reading your poem.


Zoe said...

The Holy Trinity-Cheese, Chocolate, and Salt.

It worked for me in high school, it worked for me in college. It works for me on road trips, it works for me when I am broke. It works for me when I have money, but want simple. Grilled Cheese Sandwich, French Fries, and a Hot Fudge Sundae. The comfort of warm melted cheese, the illicit excitement of French Fries, and the coup de grace that makes life worth living, sweet vanilla ice cream drenched in dark, creamy hot chocolate, with a little whipped cream on top. The Holy Trinity can be obtained at cheap prices with bulk discounted flavored ingredients at coffee shops. I have also enjoyed the Holy Trinity done up foodie style at Campanile. Some restaurants use melted Guittard chocolate instead of Hershey's's always good times. The Holy Trinity is timeless and constant in its ability to provide fortification and reassurance that life is good.

Writing Pad said...

Zoe--I love this piece! I love the "holy trinity" of Grilled Cheese Sandwich, French Fries, and a Hot Fudge Sundae. I love the repetition of "it worked for me"
I love that the narrator enjoys Hershey's syrup AND Guittard chocolate equally and how much happiness the trinity brings the narrator!