Since food is an essential part of life, naturally it would play a role in creativity. Flavours can take your palate on a tour of the world and diverse human cultures. It can also bring back the comforts and pleasures of special occasions from one's past. Although I've written in many environments and had the privileged of sampling a wide variety of food, a few particular dishes come to mind for me in relation to my craft
My fondest memories of writing are out under a walnut tree in the backyard of where I grew up, the wind rustling through the branches above, ants cautiously exploring the tarp I'd place over the grass. With sunlight filtering through the leaves, a novel and notebook by my side, I would sit, think and write. Since this is my most vivid memory of a writing spot, I associate the foods of summer with my overall creativity.

On the farm we ate a diverse number of fruits and vegetables in the height of the growing season. My favourites were spinach, strawberries, asparagus, zucchini, squash and tomatoes. My preferred summer dishes were cool and consisted of these key ingredients. Examples are tomato sandwiches with pesto, mayo and red onion; zucchini fried with butter and garlic; asparagus steamed with butter and lemon juice; squash baked and either scooped from the skin or eaten skin and all. Finally, spinach and strawberries I would pick straight from the garden and munch like a famished rabbit.

As we gradually move into spring, thoughts of homegrown food and the tasty meals made with them become more prominent in my mind. Below is a short passage I wrote about a book-lover and aspiring chef who open a cafe together. Thus far, this is the only part of the story that exists but, perhaps as my appreciation for the connection between food and literature expands, I may nurture the concept into fruition.



I’d failed to anticipate the results of serving poached eggs with Hamlet. We’d had a gang of University students in on break and each had left their own breakfast contribution smeared across the pages of my Classics. That was when I began laminating works - until Carol pointed out it would be easier to make eating and reading separate activities. So we split the café in two and hoped the appeal would remain. Carol and I put together a Literary Luncheon menu combining unique, worldly dishes with recommended literature on the side. I tacked inspirational food-related versus on the boards, under the glass table protectors, in dinner rolls and servers’ button holes. The adventure nearly killed us.

This past month has been one of transition. I'm moving into a bigger, more comfortable space. As a result, I have been sorting through stuff from my childhood and school days. Pieces of poems, stories and art can be found scattered in the backs of notebooks, pages and even in the margins of assignments. Their reoccurring presence reminds me that writing is in my blood. Despite the constant distractions of mundane life, the impulse to explore alternate realities while experimenting with concepts and words is one that will continue throughout my life.

One of my favourite classes in high school was, unsurprisingly, Writer's Craft. As I encounter creative expositions from this and other classes, I've been typing them up to enable easier access. What I loved most about Writer's Craft is that I learned about different styles of prose and poetry, then got to try my hand at writing them. When you're feeling creatively stagnant, this is one of the best exercises you can undertake. A fresh perspective on style and substance often jump-starts your imagination.

Not everything you write will be great, or even good, but the act of practice is critical to continued improvement of any skill. Knowing that does not always make it easier to achieve yet, as I settle into a new place and new job, I try to make a point of at least interacting with an old product of my creativity. Below are several short pieces from Writer's Craft. I hope you enjoy them.


Apostrophe
Mother why do you stutter in your linen and your lace?
Of all the ladies in court your gold glimmers gayest
Yet in the night you cry and moan,
Jewels tinkling against your soul
For father whose riches did not save him
From ravaging worms and rot.


Metaphors
Beneath the wind-struck pines lay raped spider threads, their moist exteriors twinkling like new spun
glass against charred logs; tiny beacons in a chalkboard void.

Marian was a minivan. A four-seater with extended trunk space practically sprouting gadgets. After climbing inside you relished the security and comfort of her leather seat-belts and furry recliners. The ride was smooth and memorable, lazy country classics lulling you into a contented doze. You’d reach your destination feeling renewed, your hands moving to release the protective strap. And you’d realise there was no way out of her lap. You find yourself in for a much longer ride…

Monday mornings move with the drudgery of a slug, slow yet determined, leaving a trail of sticky goo in their past. By the end of the day, the slug has become a leech and the doctors fuss over who left it too long on the open wound.



Examination Tasks
Outwit the terrorists by installing fifty meters of candy floss into flight docking areas.

Dissect an amoeba. When done, reverse the first step.

Provide specific examples relating to the Beaver's role in the Canadian economy.

Kraft dinner was created by the FBI to implant tracking devices. Justify.