creative writing, short story

Today, in the creative writing seminar, I read out the first draft of a short story which I'd come up with in the holidays.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the usual chuntering had stopped. Everyone enjoyed it, appreciating the way it grew darker as it progressed. I felt like a real writer :)

Yes, there are flaws; an anachronistic glitch was pointed out to me, I need to upgrade video to dvd! But they genuinely liked it - yay!!!!

Here it is, so you can share it too - let me know what you think .......

Box of Secrets

My box of secrets lies under my bed. It is huge and heavy. It’s a travelling trunk that belonged to my Grandfather in the 1920s. He used to travel around the world for his newspaper column, so it’s a little tatty, but I’ve had it since I was two, and I can’t imagine ever not having it. The big, brass lock is engraved with his initials; CAD, Charles Arthur Dobson. My name is Charlie Dobson, I was named after Granddad. The big, brass key is heavy. I keep it hidden behind my Biggles books on the top shelf of my bookcase in the corner of my room.

It was given to me to keep my Duplo, then Lego, in when I was small, to stop my bedroom floor being covered in small plastic pieces. I grew out of Lego long ago, but the chest has stayed. Now I keep my secrets in it. We all have secrets, don’t we? Things we’d rather other people didn’t know. I’ll tell you a few of mine. I know you won’t divulge them to anyone else. You’d better not.

When I was eight I was run over by a car. I was in hospital for six weeks with my leg pinned together. No football for me that summer. Once I came out of hospital people noticed that I wasn’t acting the same as I had before I’d been knocked down. I was snappy, and would fly off at the slightest thing. I even hit my mum one day; she’d said ‘No.’ when I asked to watch a video.

‘But why, Mum? There’s nothing on TV.’

‘I think you should go in the garden for a while and get some fresh air, love. You might not be able to play football, but there’s a lot of other things to do.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, there’s the hoop-la in the shed. There’s the darts board on the back of the garage door, you’ve always loved playing darts. You could try your bike. The doctor said you could do most things now, as long as you don’t overdo it at first.’

‘But I want to watch the video, Mum. I don’t want to go outside.’

‘I said “no”, Charlie. That’s the end of the matter. Please go outside and get some fresh air. If you don’t want to play, then take a book outside. I’m going to vacuum the house, and I don’t want to be vaccing around you. Off you go, please.’

Next thing I knew, Mum was on the floor, a red river gushing from her nose.

‘Mum, are you ok? I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry. Mum, Mum? Wake up, Mum!’ I grabbed the tea-towel and held it to her nose. I felt awful. I could see drops of water on her t-shirt; that’s when I realised I was crying.

I was so relieved when she started to move, and her eyes opened. ‘Oh, Mum, thank goodness you’re alright. I’m so sorry, Mum. I don’t know what happened. Your nose is bleeding. Are you ok? I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok, Charlie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ She said, but she didn’t look it.

Her face was so white you could see all the freckles that normally are hidden by her tan. And the blood! I felt sick, now, there was so much of it. I just stayed crouching there, until she started to get up. Then I leapt up, and helped her. She was a bit unsteady, and I pulled one of the stools from under the breakfast bar for her to sit on.

‘What shall I do, Mum? Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ That’s what adults always do, isn’t it, when something’s gone wrong? Make a cup of tea.

‘Yes, please, love. That would be nice.’ She said. ‘Come here, though, first.’

I turned back to her, and walked over. She pulled me to her and gave me a hug. ‘Don’t worry, son, you didn’t mean it. I know that. Make me a cuppa, and get yourself a glass of orange. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, so we’ll have a little chat and a drink. Okay?’

I nodded, and went to switch the kettle on. I put a tea bag in a mug for Mum, then opened the fridge to get some juice. By the time the switch clicked off I’d poured it out, and got the milk ready. I made it quite strong, just how she likes it, and took it into the lounge, where Mum was sitting. She’d been and changed her t-shirt, and washed her face, so she didn’t look as bad, but her nose was swollen and bruised. I sat down next to her, I felt like a little child.

‘Charlie, love, since you came out of hospital you’ve been finding it really difficult to control your temper, haven’t you?’

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak, I felt like crying again, and boys don’t cry.

‘Well, I spoke to Dr. James yesterday, and he’s arranged for you to see someone who’s going to talk to you, and explain how to manage better. Then you won’t hit out at people, or be so cross when little things go wrong.’ She smiled at me to show that she wasn’t angry with me. ‘You know how sometimes, when soldiers come back from the war zones, like in Afghanistan, they suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? Well, the accident has affected you in the same way. The counsellor will explain it better than I can, but apparently, after an accident that wasn’t your fault, it’s quite common to feel like you do. I’m taking you to see her tomorrow morning. Her name is Angela. Okay, honey?’

‘Yes, okay. I’m really sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to hit you.’

‘I know, sweetie, I know. It’s okay. Dr. James says Angela knows all sort of tricks you’ll be able to use to help get back to normal. Let’s enjoy our drinks, shall we? Then I think we’ll both sit and watch a video together. How’s that?’

‘Yes, great. Can I have a biscuit?’

Mum nodded, and I ran off to get the biscuit tin.

Angela, my counsellor, explained all about “traumatic shock”, and said that what I was going through was common. It was more like an illness, not me being naughty. But she also explained that it was up to me to conquer it. Nobody else could do it, but she would work with me, until we’d found the best way for me. She called it ‘Anger Management’, and I saw Angela twice a week for the first month, then once a month for a while, then again after six months, and she said I was fine.

The best way we found for me to stop exploding when things went wrong was to write down whatever it was that had annoyed me; fold the paper up into a tiny ball, then bury it in the garden when I got home. Once it was buried, I had to recognise that it had gone, and was over with. I had to forget it and move on. Mum gave me a section of garden where I could bury my notes, and that’s what I did. At first. After a while, I was just burying pieces of blank paper; my real notes I locked away in my trunk. I also locked away my log of the retribution I’d taken against anyone who annoyed me.

Take Brian, for instance. He kicked a muddy football at me one rainy day in September. He kicked it at me, not to me, and my new coat was filthy. I asked to be excused during the afternoon lesson, and took his new jacket and stuffed it into one of the cisterns in the girl’s toilets. It wasn’t discovered for ages, not until someone complained about the toilet not flushing very well.

Then there was Arshid. He knocked over my Coke©, then laughed. That pissed me off, so later, when nobody was about, I peed into his glass of orange juice. I could hardly keep from laughing when he drank it later! Keeping my “Retribution Record”, as I called it, really helped. I never lash out at people now, no matter how mad I feel at the time. I heard somewhere that “revenge is a dish best eaten cold”. I know what it means now. Sometimes it takes weeks for me to find the perfect opportunity to take revenge, but that’s fine, it’s all the sweeter for the waiting.

If I can, I take something to remind me of my revenge; like a souvenir you’d bring back from a holiday. It might be a button, like the one off Brian’s coat, the lace from a football boot, taken so that Bobby couldn’t play in the school match final. They’re all locked away with my log book. I got that idea from an episode of one of the CSI series, where the murderer kept souvenirs of all his victims. Sometimes there’s nothing I can take to remind me, so I make a more detailed entry in my Retribution Record; I can relive it better, then, when I want to sit and gloat.

So, now you know my secret hiding place and some of my secrets. You’d better remember my name; and if we meet, be careful not to upset me. I always take retribution. Be warned!

boasting, my words were chosen

The Path
Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
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Suggested prompt...
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Offer your creativity in any way you are inspired today by this delightful photograph.

I wrote the following simple words for this photo post:

We all follow a path. Old, young, rich, poor, black, white, whole or damaged.

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Whichever path we take is the right path for us, there is no other.

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Sometimes we walk in brightness and light and all goes well. Sometimes we walk in shadow, and things seem hard.

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In the dark times remember the light, it's still there - we need light to cause shadows.

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Walk onward to find the light ahead, draw strength from the light you left behind.

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Whe your path runs in the light, store some up for the dark times you hit, then you'll never run out.

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This path is your path, make it a good one :)

street shows in Manchester

How I wish I'd remembered to take my camera with me on Saturday when we went along to Piccadily Gardens in Manchester for the free street shows!! Wow, did we see some wonderful things!

What caught my eye on the leaflet was a performance including two of the original guys who ran up, down, over etc buildings in Paris. I remember seeing them on tv somw time ago, and being amazed at their agility and nerve. So they were my main incentive to pack up a picnic and head over to the big city.

We arrived in plenty of time for the stated 1pm start time, and settled down with the picnic rug on an area of free grass. As we ate our avocado salads we watched people appearing, setting out their accoutrements, and generally busying themselves. The Troll's Kitchen was behind us, offering various unsavoury items, and boasting shelves of jars which would have been quite at home in your friendly neighbourhood witch's lkitchen, you know, eye of newt, that sort of thing. The "chefs" later appeared in their oversize floppy hats, and the children seemed to be quite happy to mix things up in large bowls.

Across from us was what looked like a sturdy child's climbing frame, with some steps and a few platforms. This was the substitute buildings for the group to climb on, jump from, dance around, pose on, etc. As well as the two guys from Paris, there were, to the best of my recollection, two female dancers, a break dancer extraordinaire, and another very acrobatic man with exceptional abilities to maintain a pose.

The music track failed on the first show, but worked successfully on their second appearance, and greatly enhanced the show. Their agility was amazing, and the event was well choreographed by one of the young ladies. Clearly we enjoyed it, as we watched it twice! A few lucky members of the audience were able to take part in workshops after each performance - how I wish I was 30 years younger!!

I'd go to watch them again, and would love to see the team actually doing the street running which would seem to have inspired the act.

Another performance which we thoroughly enjoyed, and also watched twice, was the moveable feast. The team of four, two male, two female, worked in a compact area around a dinner table with 6 seats - complete with glass chandelier! The table was moved along like a gigantic wheelbarrow, with two long handles which disappeared into one side when they had arrived at their pitch, with the assistance of a strong young man picked from the audience!

A lovely young lady in sexy black evening dress informed us that she would teach us some dinner party etiquette. She took an empty wooden picture frame, and held it against random males in the audience, naming them as earlier husbands, or partners. The last one was asked to remain the portrait for the act, and David held this vital role in our second viewing - he will sign autographs on request!!

After locating her portrait, she then rang a bell, the doorbell, and again walked round the audience to find her dinner guest, after setting the music track in operation. A young man in blue anorak was dragged forward, and seated at the head of the tablle. He seemed quite embarrassed, but remained seated. Our hostess wanted to demonstrate how a dinner guest should deal with olives, and offered a bowl to her guest. He mumbled that he didn't acually like olives, which our hostess announced loudly to the rest of us, then said "Tough Titties!", and re-offered the olives to the poor young man.

As he went to take one, she frowned and shook her head, he then tried a different approach, which was also rejected, even picking up a fork met with her smiling disapproval. She waggled her tongue, indicating that he should take one with his mouth. This he reluctantly did. Now the problem was, to spit or swallow? He spat, and was clouted with the silver salver - wrong decision!!

Then the music became louder, he leapt up, stripped off his anorak, revealing himself as one of the acting troupe. He donned an eveing waistcoat which was hanging on one of the chairs, and the party began.

I won't tell you any more - it would spoil it if you were to come across it anywhere on your travels. I will say, don't miss it, they were very good.

We also watched a mime act set in a railway station, complete with steam train, yes, really (well, alright, steam train effects if I must be totally honest). It was lovely to see small children and adults watching the same show with evident enjoyment - and as it was mime, all nationalities could appreciate it too, a great idea.

When we though it was all over, we discovered a couple of amazingly strong, acrobatic young people giving a demonstration in another part of the area, so that was a bonus. I always wonder at the strength and hours of practise that go into these acts. I could never support my own weight on one hand, let alone be balancing on just one hand of my partner as I did so!! Very impressive.

All in all we had a lovely afternoon, and it made a great change. Let's hope there's another such event soon:)

back to uni

Today I saw many faces and had to raid my memory banks to retrieve the names that matched them - a bit like a child playing matching pairs with playing cards, you know, where they are all upside down, and you turn up two cards, if they match you get to keep them, if not they are turned upside down again. Keep going, remembering where all of them are until you've bagged the lot. Remember now? I think we used to call it Pelmanism, but don't quote me on that one.

So, it was a bit like that. Faces I hadn't seen since uni finished at the end of April, trying to put the correct names to them. I'm so bad at remembering! Goodness knows how I've managed to get to the start of my third, and final, year there. It's not as if I don't like the people, but their names just disappear. If you don't use it, you lose it, so they say, and that seems to be the case with names.

I'm the same with street names, names of towns and cities, countries, you name it (sorry, unintentional, honest!), and I can forget it. This at least proves that it's nothing personal, doesn't it? Yes, good, glad we're agreed. Please remember we had this conversation if I ever meet you for a second time, and can't remember your name. It will save any embarassment :)

So, there we all were, a bunch of second and third year students, hanging on every word our esteemed lecturers uttered. Well, not quite, obviously, we're students. One guy turned up only following a prompt from a student (yes, I know, they get paid to turn up, we just go out of duty), and the other was standing in for an absentee and simply went through parts of the handbook on screen.

But at least I got to look at the faces, and try to remember some names. Actually, it was good to catch up with some people and find out what had gone on over the sumer break, and discuss what was about to happen over our final year.

It's so hard to believe that this is it. The third and final year. I'm so lucky to have been able to persuade them to take an aged female like me on to the BA course, and to have proved myself capable of completing the workload. If any of my lecturers are reading this "thank you" for your input, and for helping to make the last couple of years so enjoyable.

So now the work really begins. I have a new lecturer to get to know next week. I've heard that she's successful and lovely, so I'm looking forward to it. She will be helping me to write for children.

I'm also looking forward to seeing Dinesh again, and discovering the gems he has to divulge this semester to improve my prose writing skills.

I've been very fortunate with my lecturers over the last two years. It makes a huge difference to have an approachable, knowledgeable member of staff in front of you. I've appreciated what I've learned from each of them, and know that I've improved as I've gone along, thanks, in part, to their valuable feedback.

If any of you are about to embark on a degree course, and would like a little advice, mine would be very simple.

1) Enjoy it - you're there for 3 years, select modules which interest you, it's your degree!
2) Read the tutor's comments on your essays etc. They're written to help you, and if you look on them that way, instead of thinking "Oh, they don't know what they're talking about, that was a good essay.", they become a useful tool to help you improve.
3) Take advantage of every course going that might help you - advice on writing a good essay, advice on time-management etc. A couple of hours or so spent on those are worth it, they'll help for then next 3 years!
4) Make sure you use the correct citation style from the beginning, that way you don't have to re-learn anything later.
5) Use your first year to lay down the skills you'll need in those vital final years. Much better to use this time to build up your confidence. Make your mistakes now, whilst it doesn't affect your degree marks!
6) Talk to your lecturer, or personal tutor if you're uncertain about something academic. It's a part of their job to help you. They are one of the best resourses the uni has to offer, it makes sense to avail yourself of them. You're paying for it, after all.
7) Aim high from the outset. If you don't achieve what you've aimed for, at least you'll still be quite high. If you aim for a 2:2 and don't achieve it you'll be miserable, and if you do achieve it, you'll wonder just what you might have done if you'd aimed just that little bit higher!
8) Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy.
9) Enjoy it some more; it's a great opportunity you're giving yourself.

boasting

This is more boasting - just another story with a twist in the tale!

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Street Food
Photo by Kane HsiehVisit his blog - Crimson-G-B~Suggested prompt...~Write a poem or story that has a street vendor in it.
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Monday to Friday he gathers his stock. Saturday he sets up his stall in the "Epicurean World" Street Market.

Monday to Friday he visits flats in slums. Dirt-filled parvements, cracked and unkempt beneath his boots. Landlords who take cash from their tenants, but give little in return.

He answers the desperate pleas of the slum dwellers 'This place is crawling with roaches. Please come and get rid of them.'

Like a magician in reverse, he magics away their problem. Leaving with a bulging, wriggling sack.

At home, he lights the gas under the pot of oil every night. As the smoke begins to rise he tips in the contents of the sack. The hiss, and bubbling soon subsides. He fishes out the contents, and sprinkles them with seasoned salt. Soon, his cotton-lined baskets are full.

Saturday morning, bright and early, he sets out his stall. He has an awning to protect his wares. He whisks the covers off his baskets, and awaits the eager buyers.

Freshly fried cockroaches. One man's problem, another man's delicacy.

christine

boasting, my words were chosen

This is the photo and suggested prompt on the Pictures, Poetry and Prose site on Sept. 4th, followed by my little effort, which was chosen (admittedly from a small selection) - we take crumbs where we may! :)

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing~Suggested prompt...~
Offer your writing at the beach today.
A story set at the beach, a memoir about a trip as a child to the beach,
a poem for a cute lifeguard, anything your like, do get creative.________________________

OK kids, are you listening? Today I want you to find the colour red. Do you remember what it looks like? Remember the coral we saw this morning? With the anenomes all over? Yes, of course you do. Well, they were red.

Now, spread out, no getting in each other's way, there's no need for that. I don't want any squabbling about who did, or didn't manage it. I'll be above you, watching.

The one who gets most hits gets first choice of the fish shpper, later. OK, ready to go? Remember, extra points if you get front and back of the same person, and you lose points if you don't hit the red.

Spread those wings. Ready, steady, fly!

christine

I wanted to write something unexpected, and taking a bird's eye view, and playing with their thoughts was what popped into my mind. I hope it raised a smile :)

creating a bereavement card, what to say

There are some cards that are not easy to make, and sympathy cards must be at the top of the list. After all, the card you send will intrude into another person's life at a sad time.

I've just made this one for an older lady whose husband died after a long illness. He'd not been home for 9 months, but went from hospital to nursing home.

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I know that she has strong religious beliefs, whereas I do not. This makes the wording inside tricky: I have no wish to ignore her beliefs, nor to offend by anything I say. I decided that to offer sympathy for her loss, whilst being glad that he no longer suffered would be appropriate.

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I found a card blank with a neutral, leafy background which has a lace effect border in sombre shades down the opening edge. I backed the aperture with a piece of black embossed paper. I centralised a clear gel "blessing" sticker on the paper, and found a couple of simple white lily embellishments which I placed at opposite corners.

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I cut a length of black grosgrain ribbon and stuck it down the left hand side with two pieices of double sided foam adhesive, leaving a small gap near the top. I threaded a smaller piece of ribbon through the gap in the foam tape, and knotted it on top, as you can see in the detail photo. Somehow this is less fussy and twee than a bow, and more appropriate for a sympathy card, I think.

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Inside I stuck a piece of plain white paper over the back of the front to hide the trimmings. I then created a white paper inner, and put an adhesive "corner" on the outer two corners, just to tie in with the floral adhesives on the front, in black and creams.

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It's simple, and I know she will appreciate the thought. By the way, sorry the photos are slightly bluish - believe it or not, the wall behind the card is off white,, and not blue, and the card base is white. The camera was clearly "off colour" (sorry, that was cringe-making, wasn't it?).