Metaphors and Art

So . . . I’ve been sitting here for the last couple of hours, trying to get this blog post written and (obviously) getting nowhere fast. I guess that should tell you how the writing’s been going, eh? I don’t even have a poetry reading as an excuse, nor have I been reading an excessive amount.

So what have I been doing? Good question.

I’ve been working on a sweater for my granddaughter. I went to an appliqué workshop held by the Stitchery Guild. I wrote (and mailed!) a seven page (typed) letter to my sister. I went to Costco yesterday to pick up this craft case the hubby and I saw when we were there last week and then spent five hours filling it with craft stuff. Today I did laundry, vacuumed, and dusted - and I loathe dusting!

To say this has been a slow week for writing would be an understatement, although I did write a short piece for that weird ass little prompt I’ve had up for the last couple of weeks. And to prove it, here it is:

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

To refresh your memory, the prompt was to use as your first line, Cruelty is a sleeping boy but art was a bleeding man.

Metaphors and Art

“Cruelty is a sleeping boy but art was a bleeding man.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Prudence said. She didn’t know which annoyed her more, Reginald’s lofty attitude or his sweeping, nonsensical rhetoric.

“Of course it makes sense,” he told her with a sniff. “You’re just too dim to understand it.”

“Fine,” Prudence said. “Then explain it to me. How is cruelty a sleeping boy?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

Maybe it was the nasal whine to his voice that bothered her so much, Prudence thought. He spoke like he should have a snooty British accent, or at least be standing with his nose in the air. Oh, wait, he was standing there with his nose in the air.

“Okay,” she said. “Cruelty is a sleeping boy is a metaphor. A pretty odd metaphor, but I’ll give you that. But what about the rest of it? Art is a bleeding man.”

“Art was a bleeding man,” he corrected.

“Fine!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Art was a bleeding man. I suppose you’re going to tell me that’s a metaphor too.”

“Of course not. That would be redundant.”

“Then what is it?”

“It just . . . is,” he said, almost helplessly. “Or was.”

“Was what?” she asked, bewildered.

“Art. Art was a bleeding man. The bleeding man was art.”

“Oh,” she said, understanding at last. “Now it all makes sense.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

Wandering Wizards –
Whistles tunelessly while looking around

Weekly Prompt – 250 words
Short, but nonsensical. :-D

New Prompt
Use this as your first line:
I saw a mad man with a house that Thursday.

Happy Writing!