Tag Archives: nonfiction

Creative Writing: “Put Your Feet Up”

Here’s a creative writing piece I wrote over at TypeTrigger last week. I’m not sure how to classify it, exactly. It’s somewhere in between fiction and nonfiction. I just took the prompt, which was “put your feet up“, let my mind wander, and waited to see what would come out.


Put Your Feet Up

Whenever I need to have a good think I lie down backwards on my bed, with my feet propped up against the wall, let the blood pour down into my brain, close my eyes, and just wander around for a while inside my head.

It’s tough slogging, I find, navigating my neuron clusters with all that blood flowing, but it’s far more interesting than going in when it’s dry, when my brain’s like a desert, with just a couple of lonely cactus-like ideas growing here and there. When my feet are up and the rivers are flowing the vegetation gets much more lively.

The first few exploring sessions I embarked on while the blood was in my head, I went in barefoot and was forced to stick to the shoreline, wondering what those big ideas were that I could see off in the distance. Lately, though, I’ve been bringing a good pair of boots along, so I’m able to go inland, where a lot of the grey matter is. Ideas grow like weeds in the grey matter, if they’re being watered well.

One time I tried building a raft and floating down one of my arterial channels. I thought it might bring me somewhere important, where I was storing a really great, unique idea, but I must’ve gotten caught in a current of some sort, because I eventually found myself floating around near the tip of my tongue. It took me hours to find my way back out.

One day I’m going to find that big idea, and then I’ll cultivate it, fertilizing and pruning and taking cuttings so I can plant more big ideas just like it in my back garden.

Until then, I’ll lie here with my feet up, and off I’ll go, exploring.

Under an Umbrella of Leaky Foliage

Over at TypeTrigger, I almost exclusively write fiction, but the prompt “an umbrella” reminded me of the hiking trip most of my family went on several years ago, to a place called Cape Scott.

The trip was supposed to last for four days, three nights, but we got rained out and opted to scrap our final night and trudge on out of there. The hike out was brutal. It took us almost 8 hours to do 17 km, over submerged boardwalks and through two-foot-deep mud puddles. It was awful. It was amazing.

This short nonfiction piece is about that day. For added context, this happened after my brother, my sister, and I had decided to move faster and go ahead of the group. We thought moving faster would keep us warmer. We didn’t think about what sitting down and waiting for them to catch up would be like, though…


They shared a soggy space on the edge of trail, under an umbrella of leaky foliage, counting to see whose nose got dripped on more and shivering in sync.

“D-Do you r-remember w-what ‘warm’ is like?” chattered Tim.

Catherine tried to laugh, but it didn’t work.

“We should n-never have g-gone ahead,” said Jordan from between clenched teeth. “B-Better to s-stick with the g-group and g-go s-slow than have to s-stop and w-wait.”

“Th-they’ll c-catch up,” said Tim. “N-not m-much l-longer.”

They heard a rustling from down the trail and looked up hopefully. A doe and two fauns stepped gingerly into the open. The animals looked miserable.

Drip. Drip.

Jordan said, “T-Two hundred.”

Catherine tried to laugh, but it didn’t work.


These pictures are from the trip: