Where are we today?
W
here are we today?
As a teacher, it was my favorite creative writing game. It originated when I worked at a small daily newspaper in Woodbridge, Virginia, while my husband was stationed at Fort Belvoir.
My job was in the advertising department, keying in copy for the design team. Our computers were organized in a circle with some people facing in and others facing out. The work was detailed but not complicated. While I typed and the design team put Adobe Illustrator through its paces, we had time to talk.
The group included a retirement-age woman who weekended at her beach house on Chesapeake Bay, an artisan whose husband and two kids helped her build beautiful wreaths from the willows in her back yard, a shy, 30-something newlywed whose wife seemed equally quiet, and a brainy guy who gigged with his garage band on the weekends.
On a certain day, the shy newlywed had a case of the I-don’t-want-to-be-at-work blues, so he tossed out a question.
“Where would you be,” he asked, “if you could be anywhere but here?”
For the next hour we chimed in with different answers. On the beach, home baking cookies, hiking the Appalachian Trail, skiing fresh powder in Vermont, touring Stonehenge, boarding a steamer to Liverpool, fronting for a swing band.
The morning passed in record time and the game stuck. From that day forward, once our initial projects were sorted and in the pipeline, someone new would sound the all-clear. “OK, where are we today?”
Before long we eliminated inhibiting factors like space and time, and our collaborations evolved into a minor art form. Together, we created some of the most interesting adventures I’ve never been on.
“We’re taking a road trip,” the first person might offer. Then a second would add, “In the hills around Nashville.” And a third would continue, “We’re in a convertible. No, wait—we’re in the pink Cadillac, with Elvis!” And so it went.
We usually stopped for food, maybe fried chicken, with corn on the cob and sweet tea. We sometimes bumped into famous figures from the past, like Genghis Khan (yes, he likes fried chicken as much as the next Mongol warlord) or George Washington, who enjoys space travel but much prefers his home at Mount Vernon.
We produced accurate, timely work, so our department head left us alone with our process. I’m glad she understood. If she had shut us down, I’d never have enjoyed a midnight picnic of Chinese take-out on the beach with everyone’s great-grandparents, after we decided to bring them back for a conversation.
I translated the game for students, using it as an ice breaker of sorts, one that allowed young writers to think about themselves and their classmates in new ways. Nudging for details gave them practice in extending their ideas and building some sensory flesh and bone.
Not surprisingly, many students chose “home in bed” as their favorite destination. Others imagined eating burritos on a beach in Hawaii. Some longed for a quiet mountain cabin, where they could be snowed in with an unlimited supply of books. A few dreamed of racing NASCAR or riding Secretariat.
Parents will be happy to know that students often brought their families along, because they couldn’t imagine a true adventure without them. Together, we felt the cool breeze of a homecoming kickoff, admired the hues of a tropical sunset, and became friends.
Where are you today? If you aren’t sure, find a few friends and start exploring. I’ll see you out there.