Note: This philosophical short story was written for students in grades 8+ and adults. The English level is upper-intermediate/advanced (C1). It is a six-minute read.
The Creative Genius
By Matthew Barton
Chaise had always wanted to be on a game show. She’d seen them on TV at her grandparents’ house. Some were about answering geography questions, solving word puzzles, or even guessing the price of a refrigerator. Bored one day, she found herself motivated to apply for one. After a quick online search, she came across a show called Slozzle. Despite its name, it was a lot like Pictionary. A player gets a list of random words that they draw for their partner, who has to guess them. Of course there’s a time limit, and the words gradually get harder to illustrate.
On the next day, poof, a congratulatory e-mail appeared in her inbox announcing that she and a partner (she chose her boyfriend, Basil) were selected from hundreds of applicants. Four weeks later, they were on stage.
Her first word was sword—easy to draw without much creativity.
#2: taxi cab—a car with a little box on the roof was good enough.
#3: Thanksgiving—a table with a turkey on it and a bunch of other plates was all Basil needed.
#4: tap dancing. This one was tougher. She resisted the urge to tap her feet. She drew a stickman dancing around music notes, and Basil got the second word. She drew a little stick in his hands, but he didn’t quite get it. Finally she drew a tap/faucet-looking thing, and Basil was able to put it together with some time remaining.
#5: level. This is when things fell apart. First, she drew a flat line, but that was no use. Then one of those ruler things with the air bubble to show if a surface is flat. That didn’t work. Nothing came to her. Then BZZT—an automated voice announced, “You’ve been SLOZZLED!” A bucket full of blue slime dropped on her head. Time was up.
Chaise was a little disappointed in her performance. She knew she had it in her to do better. Basil did quite well on his turn. Together, they got 28 points, which meant $5,500. Best of all, they were invited to come back next week to compete again. She spent the rest of the night washing the slime out of her hair, and the rest of the week Slozzling at home.
• • • •
Week two came. They felt confident. Basil went first. Together they solved six words, which was pretty good. Chaise was up next. She felt a little off. For whatever reason, her nose was running. She didn’t have a handkerchief and didn’t want to snort out loud, so she wiped it a few times on her sleeve on camera.
The first word: spring. Ugh. How could she express a season? THINK THINK. Her mind was a dark void. From it a picture flashed: a sunny scene with trees growing small leaves. She drew it, but it elicited “countryside” and “forest” from Basil. Hmph. The next idea was to add flowers. It didn’t help. Butterfly! Before she could draw one, the buzzer rang. She got slozzled again. The slime was orange this time.
Their score wasn’t high enough for them to continue. They got to keep their winnings though ($8,100), which was a positive. As a negative, it took her an hour to get the slime out of her hair, again.
At home, she got the impression that Basil was upset. He asked, “What was up with your nose? Do you have a cold or something?” She explained that she might’ve had an allergic reaction to some scent on the set. She had no idea.
He continued, “And in the game, why didn’t you just draw a coiled spring? Like one in a mattress?”
Again, she didn’t know why. She guessed it was for the same reason she didn’t invent Velcro or Post-it-Notes or write world-famous poetry: She just didn’t. She felt a little ashamed of her performance. But at the same time wondered… did it make sense to feel bad or for her boyfriend to blame her for what happened? Could she have behaved differently than she did?
It was an odd question to consider. It hurt her brain a little to think about it. It seemed that she didn’t really produce her ideas; rather, she discovered them. She was no more responsible for producing a good (or bad) idea than she was for producing the hair on her head, or better yet, the mucus in her nose. She definitely didn’t feel guilty for having a runny nose.
• • • •
She and Basil eventually broke up. She was surprised at how little it upset her. Back in her regular life, she needed a job. Browsing aimlessly online, she stumbled upon an ad for a writer at Armpit magazine. She’d never written for a publication before but sent in an application anyway. Lo and behold, she received a response a day later and lined up an interview.
Four days later, she found herself in a conference room for an interview. After small talk, they asked about her experience writing (not a lot), and her education (partially-completed undergraduate degree), as expected. Then came a question out of left field:
“If you were a dessert, what type would you be and why?”
“What kind of question was this?”, she wondered. She assumed they were testing her creativity. She rarely ate dessert. The thought of a coiled spring popped into her mind. She pushed it out. Then she remembered seeing a lady carrying a box of macarons on the street this morning. Those were the small colorful sweets from France that look like mini-hamburgers.
“A box of macarons… one with assorted flavors.”
“Why?”
“Firstly, …. because of the varied colors of my work. It can be plain vanilla and focus on just the facts. It can be… raspberry flavored, combining a sweet attractive taste with a bit of acidity that can be sharp, biting, and critical. Macarons are also perfect for sharing, like my work… on social media. Finally, they’re gluten-free, so they don’t leave the audience feeling gassy or… constipated.”
She didn’t know exactly what she meant at the end, but she knew it was funny. She even surprised herself a little. And her nose didn't drip one bit. She waited.
The hiring manager burst out laughing, and everyone followed. “Bravo!” “That’s the best answer we’ve heard yet!” “How creative and original!” “Brilliant!”
It seemed like macarons were exactly what Armpit needed. They hired her on the spot. Chaise felt proud of her performance.
The chief editor wanted her to start right away. She said, “For your first article, give us some of that raspberry flavor. Send me a few unique topics by morning. Welcome aboard. It’s great to have someone creative on the team. You’ll do great. I get the feeling you’re some kind of creative genius.”
Chaise didn’t know what to say. “Thanks for the compliment,” she responded. As she left the office, her pride slowly began to fade. She wondered if the feeling was just as misplaced as the shame she’d had after Slozzle. She gulped, ran her hand through her hair, and left the building. She felt a surge of worry that she was in over her head.
Then she stopped walking and let the thought pass through her. “I’ll make my own luck,” she resolved. She turned and went to buy herself a box of macarons. As she walked, she paid attention to all the people she passed on the street.
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