freyawrightbrough

Sue donated this doodle from a boring work meeting today. Don’t forget to send in your own doodles!

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that we live on a giant sheep walking through space. We get so caught up in our little city lives. Barely anyone ventures into the woolly wild, let alone to the head. 

So I decided to do it. It took me a year to trek there. I had to learn to hunt fleas and funnel the water through the thick wool when it rained. But eventually I got to a clearing, the ground was covered with a short layer of fur and I could see out into space for the first time. I climbed down to the nose and looked into the sheeps eye. To my surprise it seemed to notice me, the world was looking back at me. 

And then it spoke…

“Bahhhhh” it said. 

I could pretend that I innately knew that this was some kind of spiritual message, but I don’t think it was. I think the sheep is just a sheep, and that comforts me somehow.

This week is about doodles. So I’m kicking it off with a drawing I did of myself as a parking inspector a few months ago that I found today.

Your pants as high as

The moral high ground you defend

I will pull them down

I found this in the grass at Brisbane Writers Festival today.

It reminded me that sometimes, speaking is just too scary and you have to write it down instead. It’s part of the reason I like writing. 

Jasmine could speak perfectly well. Though no one ever knew that. She wrote everything. It was easier, slower, more thought out. She didn’t have to see reactions immediately. Most people put up with it as an eccentricity. But they didn’t really get it.

One day she played a game of chess with a woman. The woman tried to strike up conversation but her words fell to the floor with a thud. Jasmine did not dare pick them up. So the only noise was the click of the pieces as they travelled across the board. After their game, Jasmine wrote her a letter. She didn’t usually get replies and if she did they always asked her why writing? Why not speaking? But the woman did reply and there was no mention of talk. Just a time and place for the next game of chess.

They have been writing and playing together for 40 years now, and to this day, they have never heard each others voices. 

I got my first follower from Barcelona yesterday! I was stoked, I jumped around for ages. He sent me a message with some very nice things about my TEDx talk and then said this:

Oh, and I’d like to challenge you, too, if you’ll accept it. 4 years ago I used to visit Sants Station, a very big Station here in Barcelona (Spain) and invent stories about the passersby that caught my attention. Once I saw this old woman with an open umbrella INSIDE the station!!, but I couldn’t come up with a story for her. Any idea why she did not fold her umbrella when she entered the station? Oh, I almost forget! The umbrella’s color matched the color of her hair: liliac

I immediately remembered the opening night of the Brisbane Writers Festival which I attended the other night. Among the speeches was a Maori song, which acknowledged everyone’s ancestors (the idea being everyone carries them with them wherever they go). It was a lovely image so this is my answer to your challenge Adrián. 

She saw family trees everywhere. They sprouted out of your head, gaining branches through the generations and weighing on your neck. Branches would creak under the weight of past ancestors. No one else ever seemed to hear it but her. It was a shame, because other people’s family were often encouraging and their living relative would walk around without ever hearing it. Unfortunately her ancestors were loud, opinionated and rarely supported her choices. They especially hated her lilac hair. At first she wore just wore earplugs to block out their chatter but they’d just throw ghostly leaves at her all day. So now she never takes down her umbrella if she can help it. It blocks their distractions, screens her from obligation, and best of all, it allows her to be herself.

This month will be all about reflection, yesterday I said I wanted people to send in doodles but today is a special occasion- My TEDx talk just went live on youtube and I couldn’t think of anything more reflective than to watch it.

It was a weird out of body experience which involved a lot of cringing. The most enjoyable bit is the laughter- I remember being stunned at the time that the audience was laughing. I hadn’t really accounted for it while practicing to a wall at home. Proof that I made some people laugh is really nice- making people laugh is one of my favourite things ever. It’s so satisfying- whenever I make people laugh my brain says “hah! I made you have good emotions out loud!”

“You look perfect”

“The princess’ taste is impeccable”

“What a glorious idea”

Everyone was nice to the princess

It was became hard to tell

What was sincere?

But a laugh

A laugh can’t hide

When it explodes

Snorting

Choking

Shrieking

That was the good stuff

And she could weasle it out of anyone

She’d strike at any time

The barrier would come crashing down

They’d see each other for the first time

Person to person

And life would solidify for the princess

Become real in that moment

The archeologists thought the ancient city worshipped art. But the people didn’t even have a word for art. They didn’t have any words at all. Their art was their language. They inked their thoughts onto every surface, and always understood each other. 

At work my boss and I have been drawing little cartoons of the printing computer and graphics computer talking and sticking it on the monitor. We never tell each other we’ve updated the drawings, we just add bits on when we notice it- slowly advancing the story. It’s just a small thing that amuses us, but it has reminded me of the connections I enjoy- and that a conversation can be had without words. So for the next week I’d love to do some drawings. Please send in your scribbles and I will write a story!

The other day I wrote a story for Amanda who I met at #unleashed14. She commented on my story yesterday saying:

“Freya, this just made my day.
Sincerely,
‘Bright, kind writer and journalist’ x”

It made me realise that this is my favourite thing. When someone enjoys this project- it doesn’t matter if they are the only reader that day- or they never think of it again- as long as they enjoy it in that moment- a moment of connection. I’ll certainly miss the way this project forces me to make these connections- particularly with strangers like Amanda. Without this project I would never speak to strangers the way I do now. It’s made me think of this silly story today:

You there

With the eyes scanning the screen

Lets sync our brains

Think about a life sized map

Covering the globe

Now think about Bert Newton’s face

Floating like a moon

Now imagine the universe

Stars going on forever

and ever

keep going

It’s so big that whatever we’re imagining right now isn’t even big enough.

Now replace all the stars with Bert Newton

Infinite Bert

Now stop

Shake it out

Let all the little Berts pop out existence

All’s black and empty

Now walk up to me

Can you see me?

I’m walking toward you through the emptiness

Lets shake hands

Not so tight

Better

Syncing complete

Last night I was talking to Briohny and Anna at Roving Conspiracy. We were having a conversation about how Briohny has a visceral repulsion from velvet and microfiber. She says “it feels like a million beetle legs catching on your skin.” Anna then suggested that as a story prompt. As they spoke I wondered what would happen at the end of this challenge? It’s been so nice having people constantly suggesting things and collaborating with me on a daily basis- I wonder if I’ll be able to achieve the same thing when I finish this challenge? Here’s today’s story:

There were no humans left. What was the point of living out my days with no one to talk to, no one to hold me, no one to laugh with? I leapt, falling easily through the thin cold air. I could hear it whistling in my ear, and something else too, a kind of buzzing. Then something was slowed my progress toward the earth. I felt like a bug caught in an enormous sticky web.

Legs were grabbing at every inch of my skin. Millions of microscopic sticky hairs grasping at me and hooking into my pores. I could hear their wings beating in unison.

It turns out beetles are conservationists. They didn’t think there were any humans left until they found me. Now they’ve built me a little town enclosure and many work night and day taking samples from me to see if they can save my species. I’m not sure they’ll succeed but I’ve got what I wanted. Now I have millions friends to talk to, and laugh with, though I’m not keen on their sticky, hairy beetle hugs.  

As I flew home from Unleashed today I began to think about the end of this challenge. I am beginning to feel like I wont exist without it. 

“…and so you can begin your journey home,” says the King. “Thankyou for saving our grey city.”

The knight stands up and went to saddle her horse. 

“Hey,” says the knight, “you there, telling the story.”

I look around my empty room then back at my computer screen. My characters usually didn’t speak to me like this.

“What happens to me at the end?” she asks.

“Huh” I reply. 

“What happens to me when you stop writing? Do I stop existing?”

“I guess so,” I say. 

“Well I don’t want to,” she says. “You’ll have to keep writing. It doesn’t have to be much, just occasionally write a sentence or two about me relaxing on a beach somewhere. As long as you keep me alive.”

I think about this. She had a fair point. 

“Deal” I say. 

She bows low to show her gratitude.