Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

Ravens and Writing Desks -- Or Just Plain Nonsense

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” This is a question that doesn’t qualify to be a question, like art that doesn’t qualify as art. Did you think I was a Dadaist? I may be old, but not that old. I wasn’t around as a painter in 1916. If I were, you would have something to be scared of just by the sight of me.

Since such a question that can only be asked by a Mad Hatter, Alice gave the best answer, in a scolding sort of way. "I think you might do something better with the time than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers."

Or yours truly who loves quotes could say, “Quoth the raven nevermore!” and with that, I would brazenly imitate Poe who wrote on both of them (raven and desk, that is), which this idea of Poe’s “writing on both of them” I also stole from the internet.

On the other hand, I like to have fun with nonsense, any time. So, I am going to challenge me by attempting to answer this question by logging off the web.

The raven is like the writing desk because of the dark color of ink and wood, unless we writers write in colored fonts and make the ravens turn colorful, like a Picasso of riddles taking liberties.

Picasso or Poe? I guess I must like P names, but never mind that because a sudden thought occurred to me. It has to be crap which must bind the writing desk to the raven as two unlikely lovers. The writing desk can frustrate us with its existence, expecting us to write. We push ourselves, and what comes out is crap, or at that moment it looks like crap to us. Then, we go out for some fresh air, and a raven on the fly leaves its crappy offerings on our heads.

Nonsense! I can’t believe I just wrote nonsense more nonsensical than the Mad Hatter’s question. To appease myself, let me just separate this question into its components. A raven and a writing desk. Like two characters, a protagonist and an antagonist.

Raven, the protagonist, is a large black bird that likes to show off its acrobatic skills especially during mating, and it doesn’t mind garbage as it sometimes dines on it. It also adapts to any climate, just like a motivated hero who goes after conflict with dark magical powers; therefore, a raven must be a writer, any kind of writer, but more like an incompetent one who dines on writes garbage while attempting to pen a steamy romance novel. No wonder ravens’ croaking sounds remind me of my own voice when I sing.

The antagonist is not any old desk, but a writing desk. Such name calling! What else can anyone do with any desk but write on it?

Before dirty minds come up with raunchy answers to the innocent question I just asked, let me say that these kinds of desks belong only to us, writers. Don’t we writers know that our desks antagonize us, especially when the page or the screen goes blank on us? It is, therefore, the act of writing that provides the kinship between a raven and the writing desk.

Case closed.

At least for me…For now.

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Prompt: Why is a raven like a writing desk? I love when the Mad Hatter asks Alice this question. There is no right answer. Just an opinion question.