I didn't write anything for this week :-( I was really upset about it as well, the course is only 8 weeks and it would be better to spend 10 mins getting down a few words than nothing. Lesson learnt! A few of us also spent a fair bit of time wandering round the building as our room was changed but there was no notice on old or new room door and reception had no idea what was going on. Don't miss that bit of being at uni!
It was a fun week for homework as well. We each had to describe a room in the mode given. So someone did it as a bug, someone in lyrical prose, someone using no alliteration etc. One guy wrote from the room's pov which I really liked.
Mine was dialogue and I was going to do either a couple being shown round a room by an estate agent and arguing over what the room would be good for, or two ladies escaping from a bat in the house and trying to work out how they were either going to get out of the room or protect themselves.
Wednesday 26 May 2010
Story four: Love
"Hey hon, it's Erica. Guess what? Matt and Meggy just called and they're going to be in town tonight. I've booked L'Anime for dinner and we're all going to meet in Paulo's for cocktails at six. Please say you'll come?"
Josephina looked down and sighed. She should never have picked up the phone, what was she thinking?
"Jose? You still there? C'mon, we can have champagne, we'll all raise a glass. Josephina, we're your friends."
"I know Erica, I'll meet you at L'Anime at seven thirty. Looking forward to it."
Josephina smiled. She was looking forward to it, she hadn’t seen Matt and Meg in months and she loved spending time with Erica. After putting a bottle of bubbly in the fridge she took her time getting ready.
Josephina walked down the stairs carefully, she was a little precarious on stiletto heels and was anticipating her reception. She looked up from the last stair with tilted head. “So?” She stepped into the hall and gave a twirl, the bottom of her red dress flaring out. “What do you think?” Josephina imagined the raised brow and pursed lips as Darren tucked his chin under the forefinger of his left hand. “I don’t know, it’s lacking something,” he said, before producing a box from behind his back. She opened it and gasped in delight to see a diamond pendant. “Oh Darren, it’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed, “please can you help me?” She held her hair back while the necklace was fastened, then closed her eyes and pulled a glowing kiss from her memory. This evening was perfect.
Josephina didn’t always see Darren, but he had never missed their Friday evening drinks. She carried the tray out to the balcony to see Darren staring far out across the ocean. “We should go one day,” he said. “Just keep going forever, I want to know what’s really out there.” Josephina looked at him. “Water, fish. Big fish.” “But the adventure!” he replied. “Imagine every minute as unpredictable. Imagine how alive you’d feel.” Josephina put down her glass and hugged her arms. Why was he spoiling this? Had the car crash been unpredictable enough for him?
She hadn’t intended on making a grand entrance, but as the last to arrive everyone stopped talking and looked up. Erica stood up to give her a hug. “Josephina, I’d like you to meet some of my book group. As we usually meet on a Friday evening I invited everyone along.” “Hi,” Josephina raised her hand awkwardly in greeting. “I’m Josephina.” “Jose!” boomed Matt as he swung her round in a bear hug. “You look fabulous!” “I’m so glad you came out” added Meg. “We’ve been hoping you’d visit and now I can bug you in person.” Josephina sat down between Matt and a slim red haired man with large glasses and freckles. Erica introduced him as Martin, an artist.
“I call myself an artist, but it’s not what pays for the proverbial roof,” Martin confided. “I’m an architect. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, but if I could earn a living from painting that would be my real job. I guess that doesn’t make me the best architect, but if you want a pretty place to live, then I’m your man.” “Martin,” mused Josephina. “You’re not Martin Fellows are you? The man who designed Waterfrets, down near the kite-surfing beach.” “Ah, my masterpiece!” Martin grinned. “Ocean views from all but two windows, I spent weeks figuring out how to do that. I wanted to invite the outside in, I’d love to see what it’s like to live in.” “You’re welcome to come and visit,” invited Josephina. “I would be very interested in any history you have.”
Back at her house, Josephina found a dusty bottle of port under the stairs and poured them both a nightcap. She was expecting to see Darren waiting up for her to ask about her evening, but as they wandered through the house it felt empty. Martin wanted to lean out of every window and check out features she’d never even noticed before. Patterns in the skirting in some of the rooms, extra twirls on selected cornices, bespoke varnishes that he had selected for some of the floors. Martin chatted the whole way round the house, explaining his vision and then interrupting himself as a new room triggered memories. Josephina started to ask the occasional question and was pleased they had started upstairs. She was looking forward to finishing the tour on the balcony now and seeing his reaction to her favourite part of the house.
Josephina looked down and sighed. She should never have picked up the phone, what was she thinking?
"Jose? You still there? C'mon, we can have champagne, we'll all raise a glass. Josephina, we're your friends."
"I know Erica, I'll meet you at L'Anime at seven thirty. Looking forward to it."
Josephina smiled. She was looking forward to it, she hadn’t seen Matt and Meg in months and she loved spending time with Erica. After putting a bottle of bubbly in the fridge she took her time getting ready.
Josephina walked down the stairs carefully, she was a little precarious on stiletto heels and was anticipating her reception. She looked up from the last stair with tilted head. “So?” She stepped into the hall and gave a twirl, the bottom of her red dress flaring out. “What do you think?” Josephina imagined the raised brow and pursed lips as Darren tucked his chin under the forefinger of his left hand. “I don’t know, it’s lacking something,” he said, before producing a box from behind his back. She opened it and gasped in delight to see a diamond pendant. “Oh Darren, it’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed, “please can you help me?” She held her hair back while the necklace was fastened, then closed her eyes and pulled a glowing kiss from her memory. This evening was perfect.
Josephina didn’t always see Darren, but he had never missed their Friday evening drinks. She carried the tray out to the balcony to see Darren staring far out across the ocean. “We should go one day,” he said. “Just keep going forever, I want to know what’s really out there.” Josephina looked at him. “Water, fish. Big fish.” “But the adventure!” he replied. “Imagine every minute as unpredictable. Imagine how alive you’d feel.” Josephina put down her glass and hugged her arms. Why was he spoiling this? Had the car crash been unpredictable enough for him?
She hadn’t intended on making a grand entrance, but as the last to arrive everyone stopped talking and looked up. Erica stood up to give her a hug. “Josephina, I’d like you to meet some of my book group. As we usually meet on a Friday evening I invited everyone along.” “Hi,” Josephina raised her hand awkwardly in greeting. “I’m Josephina.” “Jose!” boomed Matt as he swung her round in a bear hug. “You look fabulous!” “I’m so glad you came out” added Meg. “We’ve been hoping you’d visit and now I can bug you in person.” Josephina sat down between Matt and a slim red haired man with large glasses and freckles. Erica introduced him as Martin, an artist.
“I call myself an artist, but it’s not what pays for the proverbial roof,” Martin confided. “I’m an architect. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, but if I could earn a living from painting that would be my real job. I guess that doesn’t make me the best architect, but if you want a pretty place to live, then I’m your man.” “Martin,” mused Josephina. “You’re not Martin Fellows are you? The man who designed Waterfrets, down near the kite-surfing beach.” “Ah, my masterpiece!” Martin grinned. “Ocean views from all but two windows, I spent weeks figuring out how to do that. I wanted to invite the outside in, I’d love to see what it’s like to live in.” “You’re welcome to come and visit,” invited Josephina. “I would be very interested in any history you have.”
Back at her house, Josephina found a dusty bottle of port under the stairs and poured them both a nightcap. She was expecting to see Darren waiting up for her to ask about her evening, but as they wandered through the house it felt empty. Martin wanted to lean out of every window and check out features she’d never even noticed before. Patterns in the skirting in some of the rooms, extra twirls on selected cornices, bespoke varnishes that he had selected for some of the floors. Martin chatted the whole way round the house, explaining his vision and then interrupting himself as a new room triggered memories. Josephina started to ask the occasional question and was pleased they had started upstairs. She was looking forward to finishing the tour on the balcony now and seeing his reaction to her favourite part of the house.
Week four
This was a great week for stories and I felt we really got to see a lot more of each other. We had happy, sad, insightful, reminiscent, anticipatory, pretty much everything.
I was disappointed with my effort in advance but apart from struggling with the word limit I wasn't quite sure why. From the feedback I realised that there wasn't enough of me in it so it just wasn't authentic enough. Lucky I didn't finish it either as my ending was going to be quite dramatic and at the end Elise said how glad she was that no-one had been melodramatic. Thank goodness for that...
General points:
Be careful with titles - don't get journalistic
Be clear with words that indicate timings, e.g. 'became' 'I never'
Give equal weight to voices
Vulnerability of the author/narrator is very endearing. Laughing at oneself also
A one sided monologue with no response in the first person can throw a line out to the reader by using 'you', often used with dead people, way of continuing a rel that's stopped for some reason e.g. post relationship split up
Homework for this week:
LOVE: FALLING IN, FALLING OUT
750 words MAX
Write about falling in love, being in love, or falling out of it. You don’t have to write the events in chronological order (the sequential order of happening) but in whatever order makes a better story
I was disappointed with my effort in advance but apart from struggling with the word limit I wasn't quite sure why. From the feedback I realised that there wasn't enough of me in it so it just wasn't authentic enough. Lucky I didn't finish it either as my ending was going to be quite dramatic and at the end Elise said how glad she was that no-one had been melodramatic. Thank goodness for that...
General points:
Be careful with titles - don't get journalistic
Be clear with words that indicate timings, e.g. 'became' 'I never'
Give equal weight to voices
Vulnerability of the author/narrator is very endearing. Laughing at oneself also
A one sided monologue with no response in the first person can throw a line out to the reader by using 'you', often used with dead people, way of continuing a rel that's stopped for some reason e.g. post relationship split up
Homework for this week:
LOVE: FALLING IN, FALLING OUT
750 words MAX
Write about falling in love, being in love, or falling out of it. You don’t have to write the events in chronological order (the sequential order of happening) but in whatever order makes a better story
Thursday 6 May 2010
Story three: The Goose
“A goose with a 26in arrow sticking out of its chest landed at just the right place. The wounded bird was picked up by retired vet Bernard Levine in the back yard of his home in Toms River, New Jersey. He performed surgery and took the Canada goose to a bird sanctuary.” Metro 29/04/10
Samantha could feel the burning in the corners of her eyes. This was her last arrow. Although she’d watched the other two she had no expectation of finding them again. The first shot had seemed a dead cert; the geese were flying in a straight line overhead, there were plenty of them and each one provided a plump target. Not even a feather. Admittedly practising with a tree wasn’t the best preparation for hitting a moving target, but it meant she knew the arrow heads were sharp enough and the arrows wouldn’t disintegrate on impact.
With the second shot Sam knew she was trying too hard. This had to work! She was the one who had persuaded Jon to leave and now she had to make everything ok. Sam knew the massive flock was still passing overhead but all she could see was Jon’s pale face. Surely if it mattered enough it would all come together? That’s how it worked in films. She’d imagined the moment; dramatic music, the sad honking of the geese, her standing on the hill with the wind gently curling her hair out behind her, steady hands and eye as she focussed on the smooth flight path and brought down a fat goose before it knew what was happening. In pushing the panic away firmly, her bow arm over straightened and her arrow went wide and low.
Sam lowered her bow as the white and brown of each life saving bird blurred. She’d always been the person with the ideas, but it wasn’t so easy to think when you were wondering where your next meal was coming from. Rabbits were supposed to be two a penny, but there was obviously a knack to the snares and traps of the history books that she didn’t have. She’d tried making a fish net out of ivy, but the fish broke through. Now her brother could barely leave their den and she was sure that if she could just get him something decent to eat he’d be able to fight off whatever he’d picked up. The town they were camped out near now was too small for pilfering, the one time she’d tried she’d been chased for a good couple of miles.
The air was strangely still and Sam realised that while lost in thought the last goose had passed over. She could still hear honking though, maybe she could run and catch up. A couple of miles later she came within sight of the lagoon and stopped dead. The whole area was a roiling carpet of geese. Perfect! Much more like a tree. Sam took her time on her stance and narrowed her focus until she could see just one white breast. The arrow flew home as she released her breath. With a deafening blast the goose teleported 20 feet into the air, closely followed by the entire flock. Sam blinked away tears for the umpteenth time that day and set off in pursuit. Surely it couldn’t fly far?
Bernard patrolled the immaculate vegetable garden trying to summon a weed to pull. He looked out over the striped lawn and considered whether he could brush shapes into it. Margaret would have laughed, her happy peal engendering ever more outlandish plans to entertain her. He sighed, no-one would care either way now. Sudden barking broke his reverie, “What’s up Jake?” he called down the garden. Bernard peered down the lawn to Jake rushing back and forth in front of a bush, barking loudly. As Bernard approached he could see a large goose on its back with its head flopping down the side of the bush and a large arrow sticking straight up into the air. “Quiet now Jake,” he murmured as he studied the bird. There, a tiny tremor. Bernard rushed inside, grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and a big bunch of keys from the pot by the door. “Stay here boy” he commanded as he wrapped the goose and set off down the street.
Samantha watched as her goose was carried away. She wasn’t sure why she was still following this fated bird but she might as well see this through now. The man stopped in front of a large house with opaque windows, unlocked the door and disappeared. As Sam got closer she could make out the ‘veterinarian’ sign. Unbelievable, all of that work to shoot a goose and now someone was going to save it? Weren’t she and her brother more important than a goose? She stood at the side of the door and quickly glanced round. Empty, he must be in a side room. Medicine! She thought suddenly. There must be a whole room of it in there. She gave an experimental twist to the handle and the door swung inwards. Inside, the door to the pharmaceuticals stood invitingly open and Sam was quick to start scanning the shelves.
“What! What are you doing?” bellowed Bernard. Sam dropped most of her cache as she jumped back. “Drugs is it? Well you won’t find much here.” Bernard continued as he stooped to pick up a couple of the packets, expecting to see danilon or phenylbutazone. “Penicillin?” he stopped and stared at her in surprise. “You know you can’t get high on penicillin, right? What else have you got?” Sam risked a glance sideways, there was no other way out. “It’s all penicillin.” She rasped as she edged towards the door. “I didn’t know how much I’d need.” Bernard took a step back and looked her up and down; thin, dirty clothes, clean but bedraggled. “What do you need it for? The hospital will give you some for free.” His voice sounded kind and Sam surprised herself by blurting out “We’re not going back. My brother’s sick but it’s better than being there.”
Bernard rested his hand on the sideboard and tried not to think how much Sam’s auburn hair reminded him of his Margaret. He needed to call the police and let them deal with it, but thought of the long empty evening ahead, just him and Jake, and a goose who needed to be kept sedated. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll drive.” Sam trailed behind him clutching the penicillin, sure she should protest but not wanting to lose her precious hoard. Bernard started to whistle as he compiled a shopping list in his head.
Samantha could feel the burning in the corners of her eyes. This was her last arrow. Although she’d watched the other two she had no expectation of finding them again. The first shot had seemed a dead cert; the geese were flying in a straight line overhead, there were plenty of them and each one provided a plump target. Not even a feather. Admittedly practising with a tree wasn’t the best preparation for hitting a moving target, but it meant she knew the arrow heads were sharp enough and the arrows wouldn’t disintegrate on impact.
With the second shot Sam knew she was trying too hard. This had to work! She was the one who had persuaded Jon to leave and now she had to make everything ok. Sam knew the massive flock was still passing overhead but all she could see was Jon’s pale face. Surely if it mattered enough it would all come together? That’s how it worked in films. She’d imagined the moment; dramatic music, the sad honking of the geese, her standing on the hill with the wind gently curling her hair out behind her, steady hands and eye as she focussed on the smooth flight path and brought down a fat goose before it knew what was happening. In pushing the panic away firmly, her bow arm over straightened and her arrow went wide and low.
Sam lowered her bow as the white and brown of each life saving bird blurred. She’d always been the person with the ideas, but it wasn’t so easy to think when you were wondering where your next meal was coming from. Rabbits were supposed to be two a penny, but there was obviously a knack to the snares and traps of the history books that she didn’t have. She’d tried making a fish net out of ivy, but the fish broke through. Now her brother could barely leave their den and she was sure that if she could just get him something decent to eat he’d be able to fight off whatever he’d picked up. The town they were camped out near now was too small for pilfering, the one time she’d tried she’d been chased for a good couple of miles.
The air was strangely still and Sam realised that while lost in thought the last goose had passed over. She could still hear honking though, maybe she could run and catch up. A couple of miles later she came within sight of the lagoon and stopped dead. The whole area was a roiling carpet of geese. Perfect! Much more like a tree. Sam took her time on her stance and narrowed her focus until she could see just one white breast. The arrow flew home as she released her breath. With a deafening blast the goose teleported 20 feet into the air, closely followed by the entire flock. Sam blinked away tears for the umpteenth time that day and set off in pursuit. Surely it couldn’t fly far?
Bernard patrolled the immaculate vegetable garden trying to summon a weed to pull. He looked out over the striped lawn and considered whether he could brush shapes into it. Margaret would have laughed, her happy peal engendering ever more outlandish plans to entertain her. He sighed, no-one would care either way now. Sudden barking broke his reverie, “What’s up Jake?” he called down the garden. Bernard peered down the lawn to Jake rushing back and forth in front of a bush, barking loudly. As Bernard approached he could see a large goose on its back with its head flopping down the side of the bush and a large arrow sticking straight up into the air. “Quiet now Jake,” he murmured as he studied the bird. There, a tiny tremor. Bernard rushed inside, grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and a big bunch of keys from the pot by the door. “Stay here boy” he commanded as he wrapped the goose and set off down the street.
Samantha watched as her goose was carried away. She wasn’t sure why she was still following this fated bird but she might as well see this through now. The man stopped in front of a large house with opaque windows, unlocked the door and disappeared. As Sam got closer she could make out the ‘veterinarian’ sign. Unbelievable, all of that work to shoot a goose and now someone was going to save it? Weren’t she and her brother more important than a goose? She stood at the side of the door and quickly glanced round. Empty, he must be in a side room. Medicine! She thought suddenly. There must be a whole room of it in there. She gave an experimental twist to the handle and the door swung inwards. Inside, the door to the pharmaceuticals stood invitingly open and Sam was quick to start scanning the shelves.
“What! What are you doing?” bellowed Bernard. Sam dropped most of her cache as she jumped back. “Drugs is it? Well you won’t find much here.” Bernard continued as he stooped to pick up a couple of the packets, expecting to see danilon or phenylbutazone. “Penicillin?” he stopped and stared at her in surprise. “You know you can’t get high on penicillin, right? What else have you got?” Sam risked a glance sideways, there was no other way out. “It’s all penicillin.” She rasped as she edged towards the door. “I didn’t know how much I’d need.” Bernard took a step back and looked her up and down; thin, dirty clothes, clean but bedraggled. “What do you need it for? The hospital will give you some for free.” His voice sounded kind and Sam surprised herself by blurting out “We’re not going back. My brother’s sick but it’s better than being there.”
Bernard rested his hand on the sideboard and tried not to think how much Sam’s auburn hair reminded him of his Margaret. He needed to call the police and let them deal with it, but thought of the long empty evening ahead, just him and Jake, and a goose who needed to be kept sedated. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll drive.” Sam trailed behind him clutching the penicillin, sure she should protest but not wanting to lose her precious hoard. Bernard started to whistle as he compiled a shopping list in his head.
Week three
This week nearly everyone was late! A couple of people had kindly organised drinks but I wasn't able to go in the end, hopefully next week.
------------------
Homework:
Over the next week, choose a newspaper or magazine article that makes an impact on you. It can be a frivolous little bulletin from page XX or a major feature. The article can be about anything, but it should tell a factual story with a beginning, middle and end.
Use the article as the basis for a fictional story of your own, but don't feel constrained by its 'truth'. You might imagine a story which led up to (or followed on from) the reported event. You might like to write from the perspective of one of the characters involved. Or explore someone's point of view at the story's edges: perhaps a neighbour, a postman, a stranger... We might read the story in a diary, or 'overhear' it in a prison or at the hairdresser's. It can be hilarious, tragic, disturbing, satirical, contemplative...
Whatever you decide to do with it, please:
1 write a story, not a description
2 edit to 500 - 1000 words
3 summarise the article in 25 words or less
4 bring a copy of the article and your own story next week
--------------------
The next day I picked up a Metro on the way in to work, and unsurprisingly chose the random strange news article to write about. The basis of the story came into my head straight away but I had the lurgy all of that week and over the weekend and I find it very difficult to think when I'm being pathetic. It took a long time to bring it together in my head, on paper and on screen. I discarded the entire back plot in the end to keep the story focussed. Thank goodness for word limits or everyone would have been bored by the escape effort and the journey from rummaging through bins to living in the wild.
Notes from the class:
If in 3rd person, keep the same 'voice', so if hovering by his head and describing what he's thinking, don't suddenly switch to observations of him or authorial mode.
e.g. narrators in films now are clearly placed - person/gender/place in the story. Used to be the 'voice of God'.
If you really think through a character before you start then the adjectives etc. will come out right
The plan is the scaffolding, don't need to follow it to the letter, it's there to help you get started
Voice often needs to be balanced - if have 3 voices, give them equal time
Use the voice to get the readers on the side of each one
If going to change tenses later, then set the scene early on to avoid confusion
Adverbs can slow down the action
Make sure names aren't even remotely similar e.g. 'Joe' 'Jake', 'Bill' 'Will'
------------------
Homework:
Over the next week, choose a newspaper or magazine article that makes an impact on you. It can be a frivolous little bulletin from page XX or a major feature. The article can be about anything, but it should tell a factual story with a beginning, middle and end.
Use the article as the basis for a fictional story of your own, but don't feel constrained by its 'truth'. You might imagine a story which led up to (or followed on from) the reported event. You might like to write from the perspective of one of the characters involved. Or explore someone's point of view at the story's edges: perhaps a neighbour, a postman, a stranger... We might read the story in a diary, or 'overhear' it in a prison or at the hairdresser's. It can be hilarious, tragic, disturbing, satirical, contemplative...
Whatever you decide to do with it, please:
1 write a story, not a description
2 edit to 500 - 1000 words
3 summarise the article in 25 words or less
4 bring a copy of the article and your own story next week
--------------------
The next day I picked up a Metro on the way in to work, and unsurprisingly chose the random strange news article to write about. The basis of the story came into my head straight away but I had the lurgy all of that week and over the weekend and I find it very difficult to think when I'm being pathetic. It took a long time to bring it together in my head, on paper and on screen. I discarded the entire back plot in the end to keep the story focussed. Thank goodness for word limits or everyone would have been bored by the escape effort and the journey from rummaging through bins to living in the wild.
Notes from the class:
If in 3rd person, keep the same 'voice', so if hovering by his head and describing what he's thinking, don't suddenly switch to observations of him or authorial mode.
e.g. narrators in films now are clearly placed - person/gender/place in the story. Used to be the 'voice of God'.
If you really think through a character before you start then the adjectives etc. will come out right
The plan is the scaffolding, don't need to follow it to the letter, it's there to help you get started
Voice often needs to be balanced - if have 3 voices, give them equal time
Use the voice to get the readers on the side of each one
If going to change tenses later, then set the scene early on to avoid confusion
Adverbs can slow down the action
Make sure names aren't even remotely similar e.g. 'Joe' 'Jake', 'Bill' 'Will'
Story two: The Run
I always thought I was rubbish at games. I would stand on the fringe of the lax pitch or watch the ball carefully avoid me on the netball court and assume that I hated the cold and wet. That the stupid uniforms were embarrassing, that the bitchiness that seemed to accompany being good at games put me off, that I hated the sadistic PE teacher or that the training involved was simply time consuming and dull. Team games were the worst as I didn’t seem to have a competitive bone in my body. Did people really care how well they could direct a ball around a small patch of ground?
In later life I realised I was paralysed by my competitiveness. I came from a family of overachievers who absorbed new physical and mental skills seemingly by osmosis. I believed that to not immediately be top of the class meant that it was time to move on. I carried labels such as ‘not a runner’ and ‘no eye for a ball’ with a shrug and did not recognise the constant dull craving that I satisfied with food to be a deep need for physical activity.
In my dreams I ran. Whatever form, the middle was always the same. We were visiting friends who lived in a luxurious block of flats on the outskirts of Milan. It was unbearably hot during the day and while the adults dozed my brother and I would sit in the shade with the local kids trying to pick up some words. As soon as the sun went down the sprinklers would come on and we raced through dinner to get back outside again, now with bare feet and the intoxicating feel of sated grass on parched skin.
A boy clapped my brother on the shoulder and ran away. He caught on half a second before me and I was tagged half way through my first stride. I got lucky with someone just coming outside. Some time later we mostly had the measure of each other and as easily the smallest kid there I could see a few people had their eye on me. We had arranged ourselves in a rough circle around the tag, abiding by the unspoken rule of keeping two strides away. The tall boy in the centre was facing the other way and I was keeping half a brain cell on trying to remember everyone’s names. My lapse saw him a stride away and my body had kicked in before I had a single thought.
The earth offered itself to my feet and I ran with no thoughts or ownership of my body until my fingertips and teeth tingled. As the buzz softened I realised I was alone. I risked a thought and then turned my head to see that I was far away and everyone was laughing. The locals mimed me taking off and the look on the boy’s face for some time after. My euphoria lived on in my dreams.
In later life I realised I was paralysed by my competitiveness. I came from a family of overachievers who absorbed new physical and mental skills seemingly by osmosis. I believed that to not immediately be top of the class meant that it was time to move on. I carried labels such as ‘not a runner’ and ‘no eye for a ball’ with a shrug and did not recognise the constant dull craving that I satisfied with food to be a deep need for physical activity.
In my dreams I ran. Whatever form, the middle was always the same. We were visiting friends who lived in a luxurious block of flats on the outskirts of Milan. It was unbearably hot during the day and while the adults dozed my brother and I would sit in the shade with the local kids trying to pick up some words. As soon as the sun went down the sprinklers would come on and we raced through dinner to get back outside again, now with bare feet and the intoxicating feel of sated grass on parched skin.
A boy clapped my brother on the shoulder and ran away. He caught on half a second before me and I was tagged half way through my first stride. I got lucky with someone just coming outside. Some time later we mostly had the measure of each other and as easily the smallest kid there I could see a few people had their eye on me. We had arranged ourselves in a rough circle around the tag, abiding by the unspoken rule of keeping two strides away. The tall boy in the centre was facing the other way and I was keeping half a brain cell on trying to remember everyone’s names. My lapse saw him a stride away and my body had kicked in before I had a single thought.
The earth offered itself to my feet and I ran with no thoughts or ownership of my body until my fingertips and teeth tingled. As the buzz softened I realised I was alone. I risked a thought and then turned my head to see that I was far away and everyone was laughing. The locals mimed me taking off and the look on the boy’s face for some time after. My euphoria lived on in my dreams.
Story one: Treasure Hunt
The oak that sighs
The gate that ties
A basket low
Your way will show
Everyone knew about the creaking oak, although sighs was an odd choice of word. Not for Darren. We would all notice the ominous wailing creak of a slowly dying oak, Darren would only hear the whispering sigh of the outer leaves in their perpetual dance. Thinking of him in his version of here, caused a warm smile.
Now it was in my mind I barely heard the creak above the breathy ballet. The style into the woods was now a small wooden gate. Had I really not been there in that long? As I approached the gate I saw that the catch was broken and the gate tied up with baler twine. Too long it seemed. Tied on the far side of the gate was a small basket. One of those ones you get easter eggs in and then have no idea what to do with. He’d even left in the shredded straw. Underneath was the final clue.
Doe eyed jitters
Noon time glitters
Nature’s treasure
Joy beyond measure
I turned it over just in case. I’d never been a fan of cryptic crosswords, they inspired exam level panic as I was forced to confront the depths of my stupidity head on. This wasn’t some pointy head trying to prove his existence, this was Darren and he wanted me to work it out.
Joy beyond measure was surely just the prize, so I could discount that. I was guessing I would find the prize by noon? That’s pretty precise though, maybe Darren would appear at noon? Nature has many treasures that glitter; gold, silver, precious stones. So I’d got as far as Darren appearing at twelve with something sparkly and being very happy.
As the tinny jangling resolved into a yellowhammer’s ditty I realised I was sitting down. Darren was going to propose! I was going to be Mrs Winters and learn to bake!
Deep exhilarated breath, what was down here? A junction; straight ahead was the next village, right circuited the woods, left just petered out. Except as a child, and important member of Robin Hood’s band, I had pushed on and startled a deer drinking from a stream. Had I shared that story?
At the stream a rug covered a lumpy rock. I sat and practiced looking surprised. The steady dance of water into a small rock pool was making me need the loo. I looked around and there was nowhere obvious he could be hiding. With a burst of warmth the sun cascaded down through a gap in the canopy onto the rock fall. The dazzle of dancing light on the water left spots on my eyes and radiated from every tree.
No ring. Only Darren could write that and then show me light on water. Then I laughed out loud and raised my face to the sun. And only I could enjoy dancing around my own private glitter ball.
The gate that ties
A basket low
Your way will show
Everyone knew about the creaking oak, although sighs was an odd choice of word. Not for Darren. We would all notice the ominous wailing creak of a slowly dying oak, Darren would only hear the whispering sigh of the outer leaves in their perpetual dance. Thinking of him in his version of here, caused a warm smile.
Now it was in my mind I barely heard the creak above the breathy ballet. The style into the woods was now a small wooden gate. Had I really not been there in that long? As I approached the gate I saw that the catch was broken and the gate tied up with baler twine. Too long it seemed. Tied on the far side of the gate was a small basket. One of those ones you get easter eggs in and then have no idea what to do with. He’d even left in the shredded straw. Underneath was the final clue.
Doe eyed jitters
Noon time glitters
Nature’s treasure
Joy beyond measure
I turned it over just in case. I’d never been a fan of cryptic crosswords, they inspired exam level panic as I was forced to confront the depths of my stupidity head on. This wasn’t some pointy head trying to prove his existence, this was Darren and he wanted me to work it out.
Joy beyond measure was surely just the prize, so I could discount that. I was guessing I would find the prize by noon? That’s pretty precise though, maybe Darren would appear at noon? Nature has many treasures that glitter; gold, silver, precious stones. So I’d got as far as Darren appearing at twelve with something sparkly and being very happy.
As the tinny jangling resolved into a yellowhammer’s ditty I realised I was sitting down. Darren was going to propose! I was going to be Mrs Winters and learn to bake!
Deep exhilarated breath, what was down here? A junction; straight ahead was the next village, right circuited the woods, left just petered out. Except as a child, and important member of Robin Hood’s band, I had pushed on and startled a deer drinking from a stream. Had I shared that story?
At the stream a rug covered a lumpy rock. I sat and practiced looking surprised. The steady dance of water into a small rock pool was making me need the loo. I looked around and there was nowhere obvious he could be hiding. With a burst of warmth the sun cascaded down through a gap in the canopy onto the rock fall. The dazzle of dancing light on the water left spots on my eyes and radiated from every tree.
No ring. Only Darren could write that and then show me light on water. Then I laughed out loud and raised my face to the sun. And only I could enjoy dancing around my own private glitter ball.
Week two
Homework for this week was to write two stories in the first person in the past tense, max 500w each. One should be totally true and one totally fiction. The audience will decide whether the story is true or not.
True to form I wrote my stories the day before class. I did think about them a lot beforehand, but last minuteitis is a habit that's hard to break. It was only on the morning of the next class that I 'got' the point of the exercise. Thinking back over my stories that had seemed so similarly written at the time, I realised that if I read both it would be very easy to pick which was real and which fiction. The fiction was too polished, had too many explanations in it. It missed the emotion and wasn't really written in my 'voice'.
We only had time to read out one of the stories and I chose my true one. Not that anyone picked it as true! Nothing to do with my event, more the style of writing. All of the feedback of others' and mine was extremely helpful.
Some notes from others' feedback:
Direct dialogue is believable
Having a precise ending makes it unrealistic
Don't worry about writing 'I said' 'she said' a lot as it gets absorbed in the reading
Make sure any of 'it', 'he', 'she' relates to the last thing in the reader's mind
When people know something really well they don't describe it - this makes it more authentic
Story telling needs less explanation and wrapping up at the end. Try not to get into 'god-like' mode
Don't be too authorial or complicated
Be clear on time refs - e.g. 'that morning' is specific
True to form I wrote my stories the day before class. I did think about them a lot beforehand, but last minuteitis is a habit that's hard to break. It was only on the morning of the next class that I 'got' the point of the exercise. Thinking back over my stories that had seemed so similarly written at the time, I realised that if I read both it would be very easy to pick which was real and which fiction. The fiction was too polished, had too many explanations in it. It missed the emotion and wasn't really written in my 'voice'.
We only had time to read out one of the stories and I chose my true one. Not that anyone picked it as true! Nothing to do with my event, more the style of writing. All of the feedback of others' and mine was extremely helpful.
Some notes from others' feedback:
Direct dialogue is believable
Having a precise ending makes it unrealistic
Don't worry about writing 'I said' 'she said' a lot as it gets absorbed in the reading
Make sure any of 'it', 'he', 'she' relates to the last thing in the reader's mind
When people know something really well they don't describe it - this makes it more authentic
Story telling needs less explanation and wrapping up at the end. Try not to get into 'god-like' mode
Don't be too authorial or complicated
Be clear on time refs - e.g. 'that morning' is specific
Week one
There were 14 people in the class, supposed to be 16. Elise, the tutor, said that every time there are a few people who pay up front and never show. I was non-plussed that anyone would pay out that amount of money and never turn up, but then remembered two distance learning courses I have shelled out for and not even started. Things happen. Since then the two missing people have joined us, but one of the guys hasn't been back since the first class. I'm not sure what he was expecting, but actual writing and critiques didn't seem to be it. It varies each week, but it was made clear to come even without homework rather than miss a class.
In the first class we spent a bit of time remembering people's names. Elise gave a bit of background, this is her here and talked to us about writing and how the course would work and answered lots of questions (mine was intelligently asking where the nearest loo was).
We were then set the first exercise and assured that this would be one we would use for the rest of our lives.
Create a character - name, age, salient physical and psychological characteristics. Give them something they 'have' to do - internal or external, then something that stops them from doing that thing. Fill in other details that matter such as where they live, how, who with, what kind of job they do etc.
We then each read our characters out and the tutor asked lots of questions.
The second exercise was to take the character of the person on our right and write a very short story about them.
I won't put my charac up here as it was based on a real person. I did like the story about her though and wonder if I'll ever have the guts to ask my friend if it's close to the truth!
My neighbour's character was a 40ish wealthy widow called Josephina who is stuck in the past and doesn't want to move on. Her friends keep trying to help her but she's not interested. She lives by the sea.
This is what I wrote:
----------------
"Hey hon, it's Erica. Guess what? Matt & Meggy just called and they're going to be in town tonight. I've booked L'Anime for dinner and we're all going to meet in Paulo's for cocktails at six. Please say you'll come?"
Josephina looked down and sighed. She should never have picked up the phone, what was she thinking?
"Josephina? You still there? C'mon, we can have champagne, we'll all raise a glass. Josephina, we're your friends."
"I know Erica, I'll meet you at L'Anime at seven thirty. Looking forward to it."
-----------------
I know it's short but we didn't have long! The story in my head was that she and her husband always had a bottle of bubbly at 6pm on a Friday and I'd have gone on to describe that.
In the first class we spent a bit of time remembering people's names. Elise gave a bit of background, this is her here and talked to us about writing and how the course would work and answered lots of questions (mine was intelligently asking where the nearest loo was).
We were then set the first exercise and assured that this would be one we would use for the rest of our lives.
Create a character - name, age, salient physical and psychological characteristics. Give them something they 'have' to do - internal or external, then something that stops them from doing that thing. Fill in other details that matter such as where they live, how, who with, what kind of job they do etc.
We then each read our characters out and the tutor asked lots of questions.
The second exercise was to take the character of the person on our right and write a very short story about them.
I won't put my charac up here as it was based on a real person. I did like the story about her though and wonder if I'll ever have the guts to ask my friend if it's close to the truth!
My neighbour's character was a 40ish wealthy widow called Josephina who is stuck in the past and doesn't want to move on. Her friends keep trying to help her but she's not interested. She lives by the sea.
This is what I wrote:
----------------
"Hey hon, it's Erica. Guess what? Matt & Meggy just called and they're going to be in town tonight. I've booked L'Anime for dinner and we're all going to meet in Paulo's for cocktails at six. Please say you'll come?"
Josephina looked down and sighed. She should never have picked up the phone, what was she thinking?
"Josephina? You still there? C'mon, we can have champagne, we'll all raise a glass. Josephina, we're your friends."
"I know Erica, I'll meet you at L'Anime at seven thirty. Looking forward to it."
-----------------
I know it's short but we didn't have long! The story in my head was that she and her husband always had a bottle of bubbly at 6pm on a Friday and I'd have gone on to describe that.
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