Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: dailyprompt

light and darkness//the authority of shadows

Daily writing prompt
On what subject(s) are you an authority?

Felix was an authority on the subtle language of shadows. In a world obsessed with light, Felix saw the beauty in the dark spaces that others overlooked. His apartment was filled with sketches of the interplay between light and dark, delicate shades of grey meticulously rendered with charcoal and ink.

Felix’s expertise was not in the common understanding of shadow as merely the absence of light. No, he was a connoisseur of the infinite gradations, the whispered secrets of the dusk, and the profound silence of twilight. He could decipher the mood of a room by the angle of its shadows, predicting human behavior with uncanny accuracy.

In his small studio, Felix conducted his studies. He had an array of lamps and candles, their light sources adjustable to the millimeter. A mannequin stood in the center, draped in various fabrics to observe how different materials absorbed and cast shadows. Every evening, Felix would manipulate the lights, sketching the resulting patterns and noting how the shadows shifted with the faintest change in position.

One day, an art collector named Veronica Sterling visited his studio. She had heard whispers of Felix’s unique talent and was curious to see his work. As she entered, she noticed the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. Felix greeted her with a nod, gesturing to a chair placed in the middle of the room.

“Please, sit,” he said, adjusting the lamp slightly. Veronica complied, feeling a mix of intrigue and skepticism. Felix began to speak, his voice soft but resonant.

“Shadows reveal what light conceals. They are the true storytellers,” he said, moving around her. “Let me show you.”

He adjusted the lamp, and the room transformed. Shadows danced on the walls, creating intricate patterns that seemed to breathe with life. Veronica watched in amazement as Felix manipulated the light, making the shadows shift and swirl. It was as if the room itself was alive, telling a story through the play of light and dark.

Felix explained the nuances of each shadow, pointing out details that Veronica would have never noticed. “This one here,” he said, indicating a long, slender shadow, “it’s a melancholic whisper, a remnant of a forgotten sorrow.” He moved the lamp again, and the shadow changed shape. “And now, it’s a secret, hidden but yearning to be discovered.”

Veronica was mesmerized. She had never seen shadows in such a way, had never considered their depths and complexities. Felix’s mastery was undeniable, his understanding profound.

As she left his studio, Veronica felt as though she had been given a glimpse into another world, one where shadows spoke and light listened. And in that dimly lit studio, he had shown her the beauty of the unseen, the poetry of the dark.

teach or taught

Daily writing prompt
What makes a teacher great?

I would not pretend to be an expert at determining what makes a teacher good, great, or bad. All I can speak to is my personal experiences and the teachers that I liked the most and the ones that made me want to learn more. But I also recognize that they might not be the best sorts of teachers for every student, since I would imagine a teacher’s success would also partially depend on their students.

But the best teachers I had tended to always have a handful of things in common. The first being passion. I always got the impression that the teacher wanted to be there despite the fact that there were any number of kids that did not. And that sort of energy was always infectious. I feel like when a teacher was low energy and blasé about what they were teaching, then it would rub off on me. That’s probably why I did really poorly in geometry. Our teacher, Mr. Carson, came off as very dispassionate. He sort of ran through lectures without giving any good explanations, and by the end of each class, I had more questions than answers. Mr. Carson was so unapproachable that I tended not to ask any questions.

In contrast, my eleventh-grade biology teacher, Ms. Robbins, was a whirlwind of enthusiasm. She would leap around the room, demonstrating mitosis with oversized foam cells and narrating each stage with the excitement of a sports commentator. Her energy was infectious. Even students who hated science found themselves drawn in by her passion. She made us feel that what we were learning was not just important, but thrilling.

Another quality that stands out is empathy. The best teachers I encountered understood that students are not just receptacles for information, but individuals with their own struggles, fears, and dreams. They took the time to get to know us, to understand our backgrounds, and to tailor their teaching to our needs. For example, Mr. Thomas, my high school history teacher, had a knack for weaving stories into his lessons, making historical events come alive. He understood that not all of us found dates and events compelling, so he brought history to life through the lens of human experience, connecting past to present in a way that felt immediate and relevant. He once spent an entire class re-enacting the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, assigning roles to each student and guiding us through the complex negotiations. It was unforgettable and made the intricacies of history stick.

Good teachers also have a certain flexibility. They are willing to adapt their teaching methods to better suit the needs of their students. This doesn’t mean abandoning the curriculum but rather finding innovative ways to present the material. Mrs. Hernandez, my eleventh-grade English teacher, introduced us to Shakespeare not through dry recitation, but through performance. We would act out scenes, discuss the motivations of characters as if they were people we knew, and even write modern-day adaptations of the plays. I remember our class’s modern adaptation of “Romeo and Juliet,” set in rival tech companies. Her approach made Shakespeare accessible and even fun, something I never thought possible before her class.

Patience is another essential trait. Learning is not a linear process, and good teachers understand that students learn at different paces and in different ways. They are patient with those who struggle and find ways to support them without making them feel inferior. Mr. Patel, my chemistry teacher, would spend extra hours after school to help students who were having a hard time. He never showed frustration, only a calm determination to ensure that everyone had the opportunity to succeed. I remember one time when I was struggling with stoichiometry. He patiently walked me through the concepts step by step until it finally clicked. That kind of dedication made a huge difference.

Lastly, good teachers inspire. They ignite a curiosity and a love for learning that extends beyond the classroom. They encourage students to think critically, to question, and to explore. My middle school science teacher, Mrs. Owens, did just that. She had this way of presenting scientific concepts not as dry facts, but as mysteries waiting to be solved. One memorable experiment involved creating a small ecosystem in a bottle, where we could observe the water cycle, plant growth, and even the decomposition process over several weeks. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and it made me want to learn more, to dive deeper into subjects I had never considered interesting before.

While I can’t claim to have a definitive answer to what makes a teacher great, my personal experiences have shown me that the best teachers share certain qualities: passion, empathy, flexibility, patience, and the ability to inspire. These traits create an environment where students feel valued, understood, and motivated to learn. And while every student is different and may respond to different teaching styles, these qualities seem to be a common thread among the teachers who made the most impact on me.

call it a day

Daily writing prompt
What are your daily habits?

My morning starts with the ritual of reading. There’s something about the stillness of early hours that makes words somewhat meditative. Whether it’s the latest novel I’m engrossed in or an article on economic trends, this time sets the tone for my day. Then, it’s off to work, where the first order of business is plotting out a strategy for any potential futures trades. It’s like a game of high-stakes chess with the market, requiring foresight and precision.

Roasting coffee is more than just a task; it’s a passion. The scent of beans turning from green to brown is both grounding and invigorating. When I’m not roasting, I read. It’s my fallback activity, a constant companion that fills the gaps between tasks. Occasionally, I manage to write—notes, ideas, or sometimes, just thoughts—if I’m not too distracted by the endless stream of information that modern life brings.

Lunchtime is a chess match with a side of food. The mental exercise is as satisfying as the meal, providing a refreshing break from work. My afternoons include a walk with my wife, a time to reconnect and unwind, even if just for a few minutes. It’s a small but significant part of my routine.

After work, the drive home is a transition period, a bridge between the structured demands of my job and the freedom of my personal time. Evenings are varied; I might dive into a video game, immersing myself in a virtual world, or sew if I have an Etsy order to fulfill. There’s a meditative quality to sewing, the repetitive motion of needle and thread creating something tangible and unique.

Stretching is my way of signaling the end of the day. It’s a practice that keeps my body flexible and my mind calm, a final act of self-care before sleep. And then, with the day’s activities behind me, I fall asleep, ready to start the cycle anew.

There’s obviously some variations to my day-to-day, but for the most part, it follows the above schedule. Though it’s not entirely inclusive of everything I do habitually. There’s the boring bodily maintenance routines that I imagine most everyone does, like brushing my teeth, showering, shaving, and washing my hands, etc., though not always in that order, and some of them I do throughout the day.

These habits, mundane as they might seem, provide structure and a sense of purpose. They are the threads that weave the fabric of my days, creating a pattern that is uniquely mine. While there are always variations—unexpected tasks, spontaneous outings, the occasional deviation from the norm—these routines anchor me, offering a semblance of order in an often chaotic world.