Prompt #75
Tell me what to do
Good morning to you, here, reading this.
It took me far too long…
…to realize how little people enjoy unasked-for advice. And it took me even longer to learn that many people don’t really want asked-for advice, either. It seems almost no one wants to be told what to do. And what a shame that is, since I know exactly what everyone should be doing at all times!
Here’s a story for you. Two weeks before I was to marry the man I was married to for a quarter century, my mother decided she couldn’t live without letting me know her thoughts. “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” she said to me, over the phone.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that moment.
But enough about me.
What IS okay is to give yourself advice. It’s how we get through life, of course. Here’s a LINK to a poem by Louise Erdrich called “Advice to Myself.” The first lines are here:
Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Here’s what Erdrich had to say about this poem:
…this poem was written as a help—as a helper for myself. I offer it here for anyone who needs a similar sort of reference. Something that will get you past all the things that need to be done, that don’t really need to be done, right now. Get you past, get you to your real, true task in life, which is to be more aware. To be in touch with the great movements of the universe. To be in touch with the sacred. With the profound. With the idiotic. With the sensual.
(Erdrich wrote a second poem called “Advice to Myself #2: Resistance” which you can find HERE.)
There’s another piece of writing—this one very well-known and often anthologized—that offers up some life advice: “Girl” by Jamaica Kincaid, which can be found online HERE. I advise you to read it. (Chances are excellent you’ve read it many times before. It always hits, thought, right?)
TODAY’S PROMPT
Write a story in which a character either gives or receives some advice.
The advice can be asked for or not! Either way, the advice is at the heart of your story.
Feel free to write a poem in the manner of Erdrich. Or to simply write a paragraph that isn’t necessarily a story.
As always, 400 words max to post in the Comments.
Parting Words
All epiphanies are not alike.
Some are quiet,
some are loud,
some whisper over time;
some evolve,
from self-love,
some turn upon a dime.
Others are less revelation
than determination.
In that very vein,
I’d like to announce,
I made up my mind
not too long ago
that when it comes to dying,
hell no, I will not go.
The fear of shrugging off
this mortal coil
had simply been too taxing.
It pecked at me incessantly,
stopped me from relaxing.
I had no choice but to decide
I will not die
I will not die.
After this assertion,
my infectious laugh returned,
my psyche unburdened.
I intended to enjoy
the spring in my step
for many years more,
but then one night last winter –
quite some time before
I ever thought he’d visit --
Death came knocking at my door.
Somehow I knew
the trick to buying time
was to not take his hand
as he extended it.
Instead I read my tome
in the form of this poem,
urging his recusal
on the grounds of my refusal.
I braced myself for mockery
but he smiled philosophically.
“I rarely take requests,
but this one I’ll consider.
As you no doubt suspect,
this is no small ask.
Immortality entails
undertaking certain tasks.”
I will skip the explanation
of our negotiation.
Suffice to say,
when offered his position,
I did not resist temptation.
He handed me his scythe,
and then removed his cloak.
I should have known
it would fit me bespoke.
The power drained from him
and filled me to the brim.
I doubt I’ll ever see
as much relief as he
showed in his eyes just then.
For he would be my first
to usher from this earth.
“Advice?” I asked.
“Perhaps an epitaph?”
He pondered for a moment
then offered up these words:
“Do your work with kindness.
It’s men who make death cruel.”
"Hey! Long time no see!"
My heart sank.
"Oh, yes, Norman!" I said with a thin smile. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"
"So! What's the story?"
"Oh, you know. One thing and another."
"We moved over to Brightholme last year. Needed a bigger place."
"That must be nice for you." I was about to ask how his awful wife was, but I couldn't for the life of me remember her name. "Brightholme, eh?"
"Four kids now. All boys. Fills up a house for you. But we've got six bedrooms and I had one of them turned into a Games Room."
"Table tennis?"
That stopped him for a second, at least. Only a second. "A couple of big hi-def screens with ultra-fast Nvidia chips down below with some AI whipped in. Less than that, you'll get nowhere with boys these days."
So much for our shared love of table tennis at high school. I wouldn't want his kind of computer gaming rig, even if I could afford it. And I couldn't say he was wrong about kids. Jenny and I didn't need a big place. There was something about miscarriages that depressed the hell out of a woman. And even a man.
"So! What are you up to?"
"You mean jobwise?" Of course he did.
"I changed companies and moved up. You shouldn't stick around, in my view. Keep moving. Where was it you were back when we saw each other last?"
"Oh, I haven't changed libraries." Do I tell him I'm assistant chief librarian now? Why bother?
Norman chuckled. "Well, it's not up to me to give you advice, but think about moving on and up, huh?"
"I promise you I'll treasure that up in my breast, Norman. If you'll just keep this in mind: next time you see me coming, cross over to the other side of the street."
I walked on before the look on his face made me burst out laughing.