This week’s writing assignment was to create a poem or fictional story using one of the writing techniques we learned. For my writing I decided to do a fictional story using the Exquisite Corpse technique. I didn’t want to use a random sentence for this, so I decide to use different lyric excerpts from some of my favorite oldies. I first had chat GPT generate a poem using the lyrics, after it had generated a poem, I asked it to use the poem to write a fictional story based on any frequent themes that appeared in the lyrics. The theme that appeared was one of deep, love, and a sense of yearning or solitude that comes with it.
In the city that never sleeps, there was a room on West End Avenue that seemed untouched by time. The walls were adorned with wood panels, and the floor creaked with stories that spanned decades. The room belonged to Thomas, a man whose heart was as worn as the leather-bound books that filled his shelves. Thomas was a writer, but his true masterpiece was the life he had penned in letters never sent, addressed to a woman named Elise. Their story was one of those fleeting New York romances that burned too bright and too fast, leaving ashes that Thomas tried to resurrect every night in his blue-velvet-draped room.
The room bore witness to his solitude, a solitary rose often resting in a vase, a symbol of the days of wine and roses that they had shared. Tonight, like many nights before, Thomas sat by his mahogany desk, the glow of a solitary lamp casting shadows across the pages that held his unspoken words. It was on one such night that Thomas decided to break the cycle of longing. He took out a crisp sheet of paper and began to write not another letter to Elise, but the beginnings of a story—a story of a love lost and the life that continued thereafter.
Thomas began his tale with the night he met Elise. It was at a jazz club downtown, where the air was thick with the smoky essence of dreams and desires. She was there alone, her eyes reflecting the soul of Billie Holiday as she sang of lost love. Thomas was captivated, not just by her beauty, but by the sadness that seemed to envelop her like a shawl. He wrote of their conversation, of the way her laughter seemed to fill the void in his life, of the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the room. He wrote of the blue velvet dress she wore, of the rose he tucked behind her ear, and of the promise of forever that seemed so tangible in the haze of cigarette smoke and the melody of jazz.
As weeks turned into months, Thomas and Elise wove a tapestry of memories, each more vivid than the last. But just as quickly as she had entered his life, Elise drifted away. She left the city for a life that didn’t include him, leaving behind only a note that read, “In another life, perhaps.” Thomas’s story unfolded on the pages, a cathartic release of words that had been trapped in his heart. He wrote of the days that followed, of the wine that didn’t taste as sweet, of the roses that wilted too fast, of the solitude that was his only company.
His story wasn’t just about loss, it was about the resilience of the human spirit, about finding beauty in the midst of pain. He wrote of the nights he spent walking the streets of Manhattan, of the strangers who became friends, of the words that flowed from his soul onto paper. As he neared the end of his tale, Thomas realized that his story was also one of hope. He had loved and lost, yes, but he had also lived. The memories of Elise were etched in his heart, but they no longer shackled him.
The final chapter of his story brought Thomas back to the present, to the room that had seen him at his lowest and was now witnessing his rebirth. He wrote of the dream he once had, a dream that was no longer his reality but still a part of who he was. Thomas placed the last period on the page and leaned back in his chair. The moon shone through the window, casting a serene glow on his face. He was alone, but not lonely. The night was still, but his heart was at peace.
He may never smile quite the same as he did with Elise, but he would smile again. He had captured his story, not just in the letters never sent but in a story that others could hold. A story of a love that was sincere, forever in its moment, and eternal in its impact. And somewhere in the night, as the city that never sleeps buzzed with life, Thomas knew that Elise was out there, living her story. He hoped that one day their tales might intertwine again, not as lovers, but as two souls who had shared something irreplaceable.
Thomas closed the cover of his manuscript, titled “In the Still of the Night.” He would send it out to publishers, not knowing where it would lead. But for the first time in a long time, he was excited for the future. The room on West End Avenue was silent as Thomas turned off the lamp and headed to bed. In his dreams, he danced with Elise one last time, to the tune of the pied pipers, under the stars, in a world where the days of wine and roses lasted forever.