An enjoyable little exercise in playfulness:
This is a little exercise in magical realism. With realistic detail, write a scene in which your character has a conversation with a piece of furniture. Assume that the person and the piece of furniture disagree about something.
How much fun is it, to bring inanimate objects to life? It’s a little hard though, not venturing too far into Beauty and the Beast territory. But here goes.
Your Lover, Ricardo
After a long, tiring day, I settled into the big comfy chair, a cup of tea on the table next to me, and opened my book. From behind and above, I heard, “Whatcha reading?”
The tall standing lamp behind the chair was leaning over, trying to get a good look. I held up the novel — on the cover, a shirtless man, hair flowing in the wind, muscles gleaming, and in his arms, a half-naked woman swooned. “Your Lover, Ricardo,” I read out loud. (I wasn’t sure if lamps could read.)
“Oh, no no no. No, that’s awful. You can’t be reading that.” The lamp started hopping to the other end of the room, toward a couple large bookcases. “No, we need to find you another book.”
“But–I want to read this one!” Suddenly not having enough light to read, I had no choice but to follow her. “You see, it’s got this girl, she went on some exotic vacation to get away from her job as a fashion designer and her crappy lawyer boyfriend –”
“Nope, don’t want to hear anymore! It’ll rot my brain, like it’s already rotted yours.” She shone her light on the shelves, skimming titles. “Here!” The light focused on an enormous volume. “This is much better for your brain cells. All kinds of things in here; royalty, love, murder, death, faraway lands, even a little magic. It’s a thousand times better than your novel.”
“Well, duh. It’s The Complete Works of Shakespeare!” I shook my head and grabbed her round the middle. “But I don’t want to think today, I just want to read my silly book. Come on.”
She wrenched away from me.
“Fine. That’s just fine. I’ll just sit over here then.” I sat down in a wooden armchair next to the bookcase.
Her shade narrowed in anger, and she hopped back down to the comfy recliner, yanking her cord out of the socket on the way.
Now plunged in semidarkness, she was giving me no choice. “You want to play like that? Fine. I’m just taking my tea and going to bed.”
I knew without looking that she was drooped in disappointment, watching me climb the stairs. “Have fun! Hope you like it when your FURNITURE IS SMARTER THAN YOU!”
And she slammed the door behind her.