The other thing is, in a photograph, you get what you see, but you don’t get what you don’t see.

In other words, in yesterday’s post, if that were a photograph (and I know I have photos of the kitchen circa 1998), you wouldn’t get the sounds of the car outside. You wouldn’t get the history of the table that Brian and I painted, and you wouldn’t get the Rampalski’s house across the street (they have long moved away). You wouldn’t get Travis’ dialogue and my supposed verbal abuse (according to Brian). You only get what you see. And most likely it wouldn’t be a panoramic vision.

So right now, where you sit, create a written photograph. Look up from your computer, and straight ahead, what do you see? If all you see is a wall, turn your head a bit. Now what do you see? Or take your pen and paper and go into another room. Go on the front porch. Look out a window. If someone’s sleeping, go into their room and take a written photo.

I try to take my own advice. So here’s mine:

…

Our younger cat, Rosie, sits on the table beside the front window and sticks her head through the curtains, looking outside at the dark morning sky. It is 6:39 and the sky is periwinkle, with swaths of white. It looks like rain. Through another window a branches stir.

I pull back. The 25-gallon aquarium that sits in the fireplace–the house filled with smoke when during our last few fires so our aquarium took up permanent residence there–sounds like a tiny stream, reminds me of Vermont and the last place I lived there, with the creek behind it. In the winter the creek would freeze over and in the spring you would hear loud thuds and creaks as the ice flows broke apart and the water rushed downstream.

Travis likes noise. He doesn’t like it to be too quiet. He misses the sound of the aquarium in his room and at night turns on a miniature electric volcano, for the sound, as he goes to sleep. He blames his desire for sound on me. He says it’s because I vacuumed when he was a baby, getting him used to sound so he could sleep anywhere and not need quiet, as I usually do unless I’m exhausted.

Now Rosie turns this way and washes herself, sitting back like a cartoon cat, her legs splayed this way and that, her white-tipped paws pointed at me.

….

Creating a written photograph gets you accustomed to paying attention to the details and gets you writing visually and viscerally.

If you feel like it, post your written photo.