Dublin, Ireland, June 2008

We made it to the weekend! Here is a writing prompt, inspired by my former professor Joy Katz, to get your creative juices flowing and start off your weekend writing.

Write a love/hate letter to an inanimate object or a place.

Need more direction? Try following these guidelines: 20 lines long; each line must contain some form of salutation or repeating phrase: “the way you,” or “Hate you, ________,” or “dear;” one list of five objects; two sentences or phrases uttered by someone else — that you make up. In other words, you will invent weird and scintillating dialogue.

Need an example? Below is a poem from my thesis that follows at least some of these guidelines. It has been edited to make it SFW.

A slightly terrifying stock image of a (POEM SPOILER ALERT) toothbrush

Open Letter to His Toothbrush

To Whom it May Concern:

you reach for me every time I wash my hands, my face, my teeth, my feet after work,

water burning hot, running cold passion, or adjusting itself.

You usually just sit there, reminding me he’s probably not coming back.

Your bristles stare at me, your body teases me, but Dear Toothbrush,

stop screaming,

It’s your fault he’s not here to use me.

You glow in the Soothing Jasmine and Kiwi scented night light, watching me.

I’ve always been so careful with you while you balance on the ceramic. I don’t want to splash shower water on you or knock you into the dirt crack between the tub and sink.

Put your money where your mouth is! Since you spend so much on making sure you get what you deserve, we felt it was important to ask if your toothbrush is a TVP Dental B. If it isn’t, here’s what you’ve been missing:

late night zombie flicks, holding my hand in the museum, half-priced books, my DVD copy of the Virgin Suicides, a broken hair clip, postcards from the Atchafalaya, fortune cookie lottery numbers, caulking the shower.

To Whom It May Concern:

I want to say you only have a few days left. Your place is in the trashcan, lined with a blue grocery bag, but if I keep you, he might come back.

One morning, eyes blurring and burning, I reach for you again. This time is different, because I don’t care anymore how you scream at me. I’m looking my new TVP Dental B.

I hope you enjoy your new home with all the other dead toothbrushes

Best Wishes.

Venice, Italy, August 2008

Happy writing! And have a happy weekend.