Report from the Front-line (Acadiana Wordlab 8-31-13)

On Saturday, August 31st, I presented a workshop at Acadiana Wordlab, which is a literary drafting workshop directed by poet Jonathan Penton, Editor in Chief of Unlikely Stories. This was the second time I was a presenter and I was very excited for the opportunity. When planning the presentation, I wanted to aim for the “heart of the matter” and present something “meaty” and challenging to the writers that would be conducive to creative breakthrough. Apparently that was the right thing to do, because as evidenced by the examples of raw writing produced by participants, some brave, necessary, and inspired writing occurred.

I am sharing the prompts that I presented to the group and also the poem with which I began the presentation. The poem, “What We Carry” struck me as a good example to use as a prompt, as the lines could be interpreted individually since it is an “image list,” and because, as I said at Wordlab, everything we carry, even the smallest thing, has weight.

The seriousness of the business we are in was apparent by the tone of many of the pieces. I was struck by the imaginativeness and near creative ferociousness of much of the writing. I asked participants to relinquish their burdens to the page. That is not an easy thing to do and I don’t know how deep our writers went, but I was struck by how brave everyone was and by the level of trust which has deepened among many regular attendants of Wordlab.

Through the process of creative experiment/ group writing the participants made the active choice to begin new artifices. I believe we are ultimately transformed on a multiplicity of levels in striking and valuable ways through this process, and for this reason I am grateful to be an Acadiana Wordlab participant, and occasional presenter.

More information on Acadiana Wordlab, its meeting schedule and opportunities to be a participant or presenter can be found here:

Thanks to Jonathan and all of the participants for your trust and courage.

I am sharing this poem and the prompts as an educational offering. If you choose to use them for yourself, have fun. If you choose to present them to a class, please credit me. If you would like me to present a workshop to a group, I can be contacted at


broken bottles
and rusted things

gasoline-soaked rags
a knife wet with blood

the tail feather
of a rooster

sewing needles
a burnt match

a fistful of sins

the stain of roses
a storm of horses

letters from the dead

all in solemnity
all in solemnity

embodied in the sunken hull—
itself, an ocean

Clare L. Martin


What do the dead speak? What murmurs under water, or sputters from a mouth full of dirt? What name is on their lips? What resonance in their bones permeates our conscious living? I am the dead. I am in them. I dream their lilting, cold bodies, the slack musculature, and the worm-heaven of their putrefied skulls. Sing to me of the dead, their wishes and their folly. Sing to me their misery and what is seen through their maimed glares. The dead linger here and we must hear them. The dead have something to say. What is it?


Recall one object/thing in your bedroom. It could be a memento, a gift, something you mean to discard but have not, even the covering of dust on the furniture. Describe it in detail. Describe it with love or hate. What is its significance or insignificance to you? What will you do with/to it in the future?


Write a letter to a part of your body. It could be a love letter, a Dear John, an apology, or a revelation of a secret.


You are given a magic seed. The seed can grow into anything—what is this seed and what will it become? How will you cultivate it? Does this seed change your existence?


Imagine a mist. Imagine it clouding your sight, leaving your skin wet, filling your lungs. Something emerges from the mist. What is it? What does it mean to you?


Before your death, before your last breath, you are given one wish. What is this wish? You may or may not choose to write what this wish is. Consider the implications of your death and the lasting effect of your wish.


Write about something that you wish to forget. Explore the emotions of the experience and why you want to forget this experience so desperately. End your piece with one sentence stating one thing you desperately need/want to remember.

Clare L. Martin

4 thoughts on “Report from the Front-line (Acadiana Wordlab 8-31-13)

  1. Clare, this was just one workshop? I could write for days on these prompts. I wish I had come. So many things to do, so little time… Thanks for this post. I can feel like I was somewhat there…virtually. Your poems are beautiful and haunting. I miss you.

  2. This was one workshop. I started with the poem and we wrote for a section of time. Then, I asked the writers to choose one of the prompts and we wrote for another bit. We had enough time so we did one more writing jaunt. It was almost exhausting but very productive!! We went for a beer after!!

  3. Pingback: What We See | Reflections on the Teche

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