Every item has a set purpose. Sometimes that purpose is merely entertainment or wonder. Other times the purpose is intrinsic and habitual.
But what happens when an item is re-purposed?
When wire snips are used as fingernail clippers? Irons to remove carpet stains? Mirrors as dry erase boards?
photo credit: TravelingLao via photopin cc
Suddenly everything changes.
The rules, expectations, and understandings are reformed. Like a child experiencing snow for the first time, the item is filled with wonder.
Wunderkammer
A Wunderkammer, also known as a Wonder Room or Cabinet of Curiosities, is a space filled with items of unknown purposes.
Ariel from The Little Mermaid sang “Part of Your World” in hers.
You probably have one (except you call yours a “Junk Drawer”).
It's one step before the garbage can where you temporarily store stuff you're not really sure what it is.
What if you let your creativity run in that first moment when you pick up something and turn it over trying to brainstorm what it could possibly be?
What would the world look like if we viewed commonplace items as if encountering them for the first time?
How would a character react to seeing a stapler? A steamroller? A rotary phone?
Have you ever re-purposed an everyday item?
PRACTICE
Let's get creative. Think Wall-E throwing away a diamond ring and saving a spork. Take your character into a Wunderkammer and let him or her re-purpose an everyday item. Post it in the practice so we can see what everyone else came up with and be sure to comment on a few other practices.
In desperation he raced into the nearest doorway. They were hot on his heels. He looked around and saw an old chest of drawers. With all his strength he just managed to jam it against the door. The pounding on the door was insistent, threatening. He examined the room in more detail seeking inspiration. He had to get away, but how? Then he saw it, lying on the bed. It looked like a dead body, but the lower half was missing. Realising it to be a mannequin, he went to remove it when he had the idea. Why not wear it like a suit of armour? First he cut off the lower covering with his pen knife, then with difficulty managed to pull the upper body over his own. He examined the head. He had to cut off the lower part of the jaw then with great effort just managed to pull it over his own head. He opened the door and stepped out into the street. The assembled gang drew back, not sure what to make of him. Then he heard a muttered curse. He ran for his life. He had gained a few precious moments and it was just enough. As he ran he wrenched off the head and threw it at his pursuers. It was an effective missile and struck the nearest of his attackers in the face, causing him to slow down. Several rocks thudded against his body but the armour of the mannequin protected him well. He soon made the safety of the well lit main road. He encountered a few strange looks as he made his way home but he didn’t care. His armour had protected him well and he intended to keep it for remembrance.
Great re-purposing! One small suggestion, you use the word “managed” three times in the first half of the essay all in the same grammatical context: “with all his strength he just managed”, “with difficulty managed”, and “with great effort just managed”. Maybe you could find a different way to express one or two of these by using a different word. I might suggest “with all his strength he jammed it against the door” and “with great effort he struggled to pull it over his own head.” Another approach would be to change the prepositional phrase in one or two of the instances so that you aren’t starting the phrase with your preposition and your adverb and following with your subject and verb. For example “using all his strength he just managed” or “he jammed it against the door with all his strength.” Just examples, you know how you want your own work to read. Otherwise I found it a very entertaining piece. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for that Jay, I notice I also used “protected him well” twice at the end. I’ll need to be more careful in future. I enjoyed this exercise.
Like it.. it’s really curious how you used a simple mannequin!! great idea
How creative! I love it. I will probably never see a mannequin the same way.
This must be how they made all those mannequins come to life in that Dr. Who episode.
Tommy squinted and peered through the window, but he could see nothing. He steadied himself by holding onto the windowsill with his right hand while polishing the glass with the left sleeve of his jacket. Squinted. Now he could just barely make out Sybil in the room, sitting on the bed with her cellphone. Most likely texting someone. Her long black hair hung over her ear as she concentrated on the phone. Her leg was curled under her, and Tommy groped subconsciously at the glass as if he could touch her leg. But he would not say he was obsessed. Hanging on the windowsill, just slightly above his normal line of vision, trying to glimpse the woman he loved. Yes she was in high school like he was, but she was still a woman, not a girl. This did not constitute obsession did it?
If Sybil looked toward the window at this moment and saw the fuzzy outline of his face pressed to the window, hair stuck to it in some wild, scary way, would she come to the window and smile at him or run away? He dared not think of the possibilities if she saw him and beckoned him inside. But all he could do was wonder because she did not look up from her phone and she did nothing more interesting than swing her leg a couple of times and scratch her shoulder, and wave her hair from her face. All the same it fascinated him. He ignored the fact that his leg was cramping and he was losing his slippery grip on the sill. Though it was only three feet or so to the lawn beneath, he didn’t want to make any noise should he slip from his precarious perch.
It was twilight. The yard began to take on gray shapes and the sky turned slowly violet. The light in Sybil’s bedroom glowed warmly, the curtain only partially pulled closed. His fingers ached; his foot was jammed against the side of the brick
house. Sybil got up and came toward the window. Had she seen him? It didn’t seem so. No, she was only shutting the curtain. Drat. That would mean no more watching tonight. No more staring with adored gaze at the object of his affection, his words, as recorded in his diary many times over the past few weeks. Sybil put her hand on the curtain then leaned close as though she saw him. Oh no! He scrambled to move his hand and his foot so he could drop to the ground without Sybil seeing him but there was nothing to steady himself on. He fumbled, found the rose trellis, grabbed it, and swung down. The curtains shut, the trellis became a handy ladder, and Tommy dropped to the ground. One more perfect evening
spent with the love of his life.
Wow, what a tale! You’ve done a great job of capturing the guy’s inner thoughts through the voice of a third-person narrator. Bravo!
I agree with what Abigail said. Great characterization, too, we already know a lot about Tommy and a lot of us can relate. Hopefully not to the peeping tom aspect, (Hey, peeping Tommy, I just noticed that) but being in high school and feeling those feelings that strongly. Good practice 🙂
Smile. Glad you caught that! Thank you.
Great job keeping us in his point of view. Thanks for sharing!
When he opened the cafe he employed all the cooking tips he’d learned from his gran, the warmth of hospitality learned from his mother and the shrewd business skills of his father. The way he decorated was influenced by his grandfather however and the words replayed in his head, ‘waste not, want not.’
He smiled visualising Grandad. This man inspired him in so many ways. This man personified grace. He led his life simply, starting his day with boiled eggs and ‘The Daily Light,’ then an extra piece of toast spread thick with ‘Roses Lime Marmalade.’ Grandad’s jam! When breakfast was over he took time to write letters to every one of his grandchildren detailing his responses to blogs they had written. He didn’t ‘get technology’ he said, so he penned them by hand and posted them the traditional way.
More than anything, William wanted the people who came to the cafe to experience the morning like he had done at Grandad’s table. He chose odd pieces of mismatched wedgewood crockery, built tables from recycled timber, found old bentwood chairs on the side of the road and a host of discarded things to furnish the place. Slowly it came together, all the details of the past, refashioned in new ways, recapturing the kitchen of his childhood.
Over the bench where coffee was made, William hung three globes on long wires. Then he converted jars of ‘Roses Lime Marmalade’ into shades. The light refracted through the glass casting shadows of fruit against the dim walls of the cafe. ‘A tribute to Grandad,’ William thought to himself. “Waste not, want not,” he laughed and busied himself with the making of coffee.
This is beautiful! You’ve done such a lovely job of getting in the sentiment as well as a touch of humor. Wonderful imagery.
Thank you so much. This is the first time I’ve participated. Trying to challenge myself to write in new ways.
Wonderful! Rose’s Lime Marmalade, is that a real thing? Because it sounds delicious.
It’s a real thing! My father is very British and while this is fiction the descriptions of dad, his character and the marmalade is real. Thanks for commenting.
I love that Granddad handwrites blog comments. That’s great! I have a few friends who “don’t get technology” so they email me comments instead but I’ve never gotten a handwritten one. 😉
My children and I find letters from my dad in response to our blogs tucked into books, drawers and cupboards. They are so precious and personal. Sometimes he asks my mum to type responses for him, but we do treasure his snail mail. Thanks Katie. I’ll pop over to your blog!
Lovely short story, Clare. I saw myself sitting in William’s cafe.
Wow.. this is beautiful.. I so want someone to write me a handwritten note right about now!
I love this writing prompt! It’s so unique, and fires the imagination.
Here’s my practice:
We uncovered the first wall in our second week of excavation. For not knowing where we were supposed to dig, or even what we were digging up, that was a surprising stroke of luck. When Barnes made the discovery we all chugged down our morning coffee and grabbed our brushes and tweezers, driving out as fast as possible to the site.
It turned out to be a house, the foundation of which was barely visible after all these centuries. We discovered the outline of four walls. Some were remarkably long for the Entorian period. Could this be from an even earlier time? Possible. We kept searching as the weeks dragged on. Interior rooms came to light, along with bits of broken plastic and metal. Ramsey found a computer chip and we filed it away with the most valuable items.
33 days into the excavation Austin, yelled for me to “come see something.” I abandoned my square foot of ground and went over to where he had just dislodged a strange object. “Is it metal?” I asked. He nodded, turning it over and over in his hands.
The shape was peculiar, a shallow basin several inches wide surmounted by a stumpy pedestal, with a much smaller and deeper basin on top of that. Coming off of the top basin was a slender loop that struck me as a handle of sorts. But a handle for what?
“Whadya figure?”
“Umm, let me get Barnes onto it.” I called Barnes over. He looked annoyed at first, but quickly changed his tune.
“Oh wow. An Unidentified Object. This looks like a handle, doesn’t it? It’s pretty ornate, probably not for everyday use. I’d guess it had some kind of ceremonial application.”
“Religious ceremony perhaps?”
“There’s no reason it couldn’t be. Maybe you were supposed to burn incense in that top cup and carry it around by the handle.”
“Why the lower basin then?” Austin asked.
I spoke up, “It could just be for decoration.”
Barnes nodded. “Yes, that’s true.” I took the UO in my hands and turned it over. “We’ll have to run a chemical analysis, of course. I could be wrong, but this seems to be a container for liquid.”
“Awfully small amount of liquid.”
“But haven’t you seen how some people spill drink out of their teacups and let it cool in the saucer? Maybe this is like a really small teacup and saucer combined.”
“What would you drink with something that small? Lighter fluid?”
I got a brainwave and ran back to my golf cart. It was a quick ride to my trailer and I came back with a small bottle of whisky. “I may have just solved the mystery, gentlemen.” I unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured it into the top basin of the UO (still a little dirty), to screams from the boys.
“Chemical analysis, Jefferson! What about that?”
“Oh, hush, whiny babies.” I gripped the handle and took a sip. “There you go–an Entorian shot glass.”
Waffeneger walked up behind us just then. “Is this a party I didn’t hear about?” He took one look at the object in my hands, still holding a few drops of whisky, and burst out laughing. He literally doubled over, gasping as the rest of us stood in shock. When he surfaced, wiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “Jefferson, what on earth are you doing with that candle holder?”
LOL. UO. I like that. You write very well.
Love it! You had be curious all the way through as to what exactly the UO was. I also love how you made the reveal.
This is really well written… kept me hooked till the very end.. nice one!!
Very clever, I had a little trouble visualising the UO until the very end, then it was clear. Well done.
Thank you so much for the encouragement, everybody 🙂
What a fun exercise. And it opened up a window to my current project. How much do I owe you, Katie? 🙂 Here’s my practice.
Terry closed her front door and stood with her back pressed to it. She exhaled, said to Benny, “What in the heck just happened?” Frowning, she glanced around her post-apocalyptic living room landscaped with boxes. Boxes everywhere, some stacked to the ceiling, and one tower had fallen, splaying clothes and other contents on the barren wooden floor. The only furniture that decorated the room was the hand-me-down loveseat. She poured a glass of wine, set it on the box nearest to the loveseat, sat down and opened the box in front of her. That one happened to be her “memory” box of things Bill had given her. The box she’d decided to throw out once she settled in.
Benny’s paws clicked on the floor. He sat in front of Terry staring, whining. “You don’t need to go outside,” she said. The dog licked its lips. “I know, honey. I haven’t found all your stuff yet. It’s in one of these boxes,” she gestured to the rest of the living room. “Do you know which one?” Benny only whimpered. She pulled a doll out of the box. The stupid thing had been a gift from Bill on their one-year anniversary; cheap, common. He had no taste.
She wrote “Bill” on the doll’s forehead and said to Benny, “Here baby. Chew toy.” She offered it to him, tapped it on his nose. He leaned his head away, eyes wide, sniffing it. “It’s ok,” she said. “Mommy doesn’t want this one anymore.” She placed its hand in Benny’s mouth and jiggled it; Benny finally clamped down. “Good boy!” They began a playful game of tug-o-war and after a moment Terry let him win. She leaned back and sipped her wine. Benny lay on the floor chewing, tearing, and slobbering. Terry watched. “Bill, you bastard.”
A week later Bill died. He’d sent with Terry, by accident, a box containing important papers for one of his clients. She sent it back to him; the box came back to her. “Return to sender.” She called his house; an elderly woman answered the phone.
“No, he no longer lives here,” she said. “I’ve just moved in yesterday.”
Confused, Terry said, “I don’t understand. Why did he move?”
“Terrible thing; he was attacked by a stray dog. Fatal wounds. I heard they found the dog near his body, foaming at the mouth. That poor, poor man. I have the number you can use to reach his next of kin, if you’d like it? Sweetie, are you there?” Terry dropped the phone, mouth open, staring.
I’m so glad it opened up a new aspect of your piece. I also love your practice, although I’m a little disappointed the boxes weren’t re-purposed but mostly because as a kid I had a four-bedroom cardboard box house in my basement and I wanted your character to share in my enjoyment of that. 😉
Aren’t boxes great?!
Oh my! I was looking to see if there might be more. You’ll need to show us where to find the next instalment. My dog would have loved that doll as a chew toy. I really didn’t expect the tragedy that followed!
I’ll keep you posted! There’s a previous installment, but not a subsequent one. If it’s relevant to tomorrow’s practice I’ll put it up.
I liked this. At first I thought it was Benny that attacked him, then recognised the voodoo connection with the doll and the name. Very spooky.
I’m glad you noticed that.
I’m sorry if it’s a bit long but the practice is soooo engaging!! Kudos to Katie Axelson —
“Please don’t!” he pleaded.
“Please don’t throw them!” he cried.
“Please don’t throw away my rocks!” he begged.
His stepmother, feeling sad but nonetheless resolute, snatched the pouch full of rocks (his most prized possession) from his weak grip and swiftly entered & closed her room. Once there, she hid the pouch somewhere deep within her wardrobe and tried to think back to what had sparked this anger for the innocuous rocks.
‘Is it because he loves these rocks so very much and doesn’t love me in the slightest?’ she asked herself.
“I don’t love you! I don’t! I don’t and I never will!” wailed the child’s squeaky voice as he thumped dejectedly at the door. The kid’s strength failed his faculties as grief took its toll, but still he sat at the door, whimpering. Her heart twisted with guilt.
She bounded across the room to the drawer and took “it” out. Quickly pacing towards the door, she opened it with a flourish and dramatically held in front of her a glass marble.The kid looked at it through a curtain of tears.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his palm and looked again. Next, his hand twitched and moved towards the curious object. Taking the marble in his own hands, the kid inspected it from all angles and with each passing second his eyes grew wider with fascination.
Finally, after a few minutes he dragged his eyes away from the alluring marble and looked deep into the teary eyes of his stepmother.
He leaned forward, hugging her tightly, and said “I’m sorry for what I said….
Mom.” he added after a thought.
She went numb. Tears started rolling down as the kid bounded towards the door to show his friends his newly acquired treasure.
It’s not too long! The emotions of this child drew me in. I could see the situation through your words. The ending is powerful and real, like redemption.
Thank you!! means a lot!! 🙂
Wow. What a powerful piece. You had me emotionally engaged all the way long. Be careful with point of view, though. I know this is just practice but readers jump from the kid’s pov to the mom’s and back to the kid’s. In a longer piece that would be hard to follow.
noted and registered.. I’ll try to inculcate that into my practice from the next time..
thanks a lot… :))
This was so much fun. I used this practice on my particular work in progress. Here is my piece:
They gleamed at Ruby in the field of poppies as she made her way along the red brick road. Curious, and in an effort not to crush the abundant gold and
violet poppies, Ruby tiptoed through the field scrutinizing every
step until she reached the glinting object. Closer now, Ruby realized
there was not one, but several lying in a heap on some sort of clasp.
They were bronze and silver, each of a different length, with jagged
edges and firm round heads. Each head contained a hole where a metal
ring slipped through to connect to the clasp. What they were, Ruby
could never guess. She stuck them in the dirt to see what would
happen. Nothing. She pulled them out, darting her eyes to and fro to
make sure the tingly clang they produced as she dropped them in her
hand didn’t draw any unwanted attention.
Feeling certain no one heard, she jangled them some more. The sound sent a thrill through her heart as it bounced around the poppies and disappeared
out into the surrounding air. Ruby put one to her mouth and gave the
tip a taste. It bit her tongue with an electric tinge of something
Ruby couldn’t place. The tinge of blood? No, blood was salty, and
this had no salt to it, but it had the same taste of iron and earth.
Ruby held the jangly pieces in the palm of her hand. She tilted her
hand slightly left and right watching the way the sun played on them.
She lowered her head directly over the mass in her hand and jerked
back as the sun flew off the golden, silver pile and hit her in the
eyes. Blinding! Just the thing Ruby could use if an attack came from
unawares as she traveled the red brick road. Who knows what things
lurked here and there from beyond her path. Ruby’s new treasure of
little oddities would be a perfect weapon. She dropped the clanking
pieces into her pocket and made her way back to the red brick road.
This sort of thing had happened to Jeanne before, but she never expected it.
It was morning. Mornings didn’t begin for her until the third cup of coffee. She was too deep of a sleeper. She needed that time to re-cooperate. The phone was off the hook every night until her third cup of coffee when she was ready to allow the world back in. She needed nothing to distract her as she made her transitions back into the waking realities of normality. Just the warmth of the coffee, the cup as soothing in her hands as it was circulating through her brain and nervous system, rebooting her, its soothing liquid bringing her back into this world. And then she looked, glanced really, a little dreamily still, down into the soft milk-lightened brew she was drinking and saw the face. She almost dropped the cup, but managed to hold it and her gaze steady. The face smiled. “At last we meet,” he said.