Tag Archives: Writing

Construction Site Playground

‘Run Gill’ Linda and Delamie shouted in harmony.
I bent to tie my shoe lace and then dawdling, stood again, turned in the direction that all the noise was coming from, hand to my brow to shade the early evening sun from my vision. Then a stillness settled and that strange crescendo rose from the silence, just like it does before a storm is brewing. I watched as if outside myself. The biggest boy picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand.
‘BLACKIEEE’, he shouted. There was just him and me, at least that’s how it felt. That’s how it felt, him, me and the missile, cruising, impossibly slowly towards my third eye.
‘Come on, it’s going to hit you’ Linda Wright’s voice pierced my stasis, and in a split second the target became my brow bone instead of my eye. But it couldn’t have hit me, he was too far away. The red rain told a different story as it rippled through my lashes. In disbelief I placed my index finger to my head, saw the trickle of blood, and finally started running blindly, away from the building site, where we shouldn’t have been.
So very close to blinded.
A pale blue and cream police panda car took me to hospital, to three stitches and a scar I still bear. I don’t suppose the racist bully remembers. No-one punished him, a little nigger girl didn’t matter much in 1967.

Written in response to Bastet’s prompt,
”One of my favorite lines written by Maya Angelou is this:

If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.

I’ve said that she’s best known for her autobiographies, so what I’d like you all to do is write a small autobiographical piece.”

http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/06/05/short-story-prompt-june-6-2014/

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 130

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Julia says,

I’m going to change the mood somewhat this week. It has been the Easter week-end and although it was not about chocolate, it has become a sweet-fest! So, the prompt is:

… but it has nuts in…

Of course I’m going to be rebellious so . . .

Walk for your treats

SX65378745 head south west, cross the clapper bridge on the North Teign River, a mile to the kissing gate. Follow the path west to a dry stone wall and then three stones from the top, eight from the triangular one you’ll find a map shoved in.

You’ll see that you must retrace your steps to the horizontal tree, the ground is boggy, take your boots off and wade through, then the hairy cows won’t follow you. See a standing stone that’s fallen? Put your hand in the mud and feel around. Got it? That’s your treasure box.

‘But it has nuts in it.’

‘Uh?’

Join in at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/04/21/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week130/

 

 

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 126

 

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Julia says, ‘The prompt this week is:

…Family…

You can take it anywhere you like but only use 100 words.’
Here are mine.

Meeting Uzo

The familiar smell of coach station enveloped me and I pressed my nose against the window hoping to see another self. Nothing. The little belly flutters shifted up a notch, more like a train in a tunnel now. I realised I had to move from my seat, I was last.

There were many black faces in Birmingham coach station, but one stood out.

‘Sis,’ said the big black bear as he wrapped me up. I felt shy as I raised my eyes to meet his, but there was the mirror I’d waited so long for, in the eyes of my newly found brother.

http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week126/

 

The Offie

This morning I read a prompt from Oloriel at ‘We Drink Because We’re Poets’. It’s about remembering a place from your past and she said
‘This week I would like you to share with me a poem about a place – a place that was dear to you, but is no longer there. It can be a bar, a museum, a library, bookstore, your old school – anything. I invite you to tell me what changed, what got replaced and how did it make you feel. Form, length, rhyme, all is optional.’
Me, being me, read the prompt entirely wrong. Why I would read a prompt on a poetry blog and not catch on that I was supposed to write a poem I don’t now, but I’ve only just caught on. I’m posting anyway because the little memories were special for me.

The Offie

Sparkling white art deco instead of grubby cream. Now the future homes of well-heeled, aspiring middle class, first time buyers. Curved windows that will forever be a problem to curtain well, high ceilings that will keep the fuel bills high. I used to peep through those windows to see who was sitting on the curved seats inside them, all the time wondering what it would be like to sit there. By the time I was old enough to sit there, it was the last place I wanted to sit, not trendy enough for me, filled with old men and Laners have a night in the posh one instead of the Flying Horse. Me, I preferred the club scene, even if a Babycham was twice the price.
I wonder what happened to Ross, Mr Whitaker. He always had a soft spot for me and watched me grow from a toddler to an eighteen year old, who thought she was sophisticated. In the beginning it was Spangles, Maltesers or if I got lucky a big bar of Dairy Milk. Crisps were Smiths, and the salt came in a little blue paper twist, that you had to reach to the bottom of the bag to find. It was never enough to make the whole packet salty! I loved the salted peanuts as well, until a connection was made between eating them, and waking up an hour after bedtime with vomit in my hair.
The entrance was on the side, in, turn left, no dawdling to see what was up the corridor – barrels, boxes and a pay phone and then a choice of two doors side by side. I was only allowed in the first, the second was for adults. It was years before I was tall enough to lean on the tiny counter to ask for my own sweeties or bottle of fizzy pop. At weekends it was rowdy and when I stopped being a little girl, I’d get yelled at by the blokes who could see me from the other side, the dark side.
Years later I learnt that Ross and his wife had moved back to London. I felt sorry for him, she was a miserable old boot. I rarely went that way and when I did it had deteriorated badly, windows and doors boarded up and generally going to wrack and ruin. Rumours were that it was going to be demolished. Then last year, I was stuck in traffic at the bottom of the road, craning my neck I saw the dazzling white paint. The St Loyes had been converted into apartments. I wonder if there is any trace of the art deco left inside. I wonder if the beery, cidery, smoky smell has ever left the pub and if the Off Licence is someone’s bedroom.
If you’d like to check out the prompt and use it properly, it’s here.

http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/03/17/poetry-prompt-2-the-places-we-are/

Falling for A Quiz!

And finding it surprisingly accurate. Except for the fact that I’m too lazy. I wonder how many of you have a half written novel – or ten, stashed somewhere. I have, maybe one day I’ll finish it, but that will mean focussing in tightly. Trouble is I love life and I’ve got my finger in too many pies. What’s your excuse?
Perhaps it would spur you on if you tried the quiz, It’s here, http://www.playbuzz.com/morganf10/what-genre-of-fiction-should-you-write and this is the answer I got.4100b600-69b9-4037-844e-1b76c5cfa92d

I’d love to know your result, please share!

The Crescent Moon Bear Says No

Julia’s 100  word challenge this week is to take a fairy story and re-write the ending.  I’ve chosen a Japanese folk tale that I love,

The Crescent Moon Bear

‘But the wise woman told me to bring a hair from your throat,’ said Harumi, shaking with fear.

‘She always does,’ the Crescent Moon Bear roared, ‘now clear off.’

‘My husband will die, he’s been fighting wars for years and he’s . . .

‘Traumatised, yes, I’ve heard it a thousand times.’

‘So you’ll help, please? I’ve brought food.’

‘Look, plucking my hair hurts, I know you’ve been through hell to get here, it’s a test. Just be patient and loving. Eventually your husband will get better. GO!’ he shouted so loud that Harumi jumped, ‘leave my food behind, or I’ll eat you.’

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In the original, the bear gives the woman a hair from the crescent moon on his throat. When she arrives back down the mountain the wise woman throws it away and tells her to be patient with her husband.

Join in at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/03/03/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week124/

 

I could disappear at any minute

but if I do please forgive me and hang in there, I will be back!

For a couple of months my PC  has been very poorly, you wouldn’t believe the number of hours I’ve spent fixing it, in fact I’ve lost whole days that I really can’t spare. The problem is that it’s just aging and I’m trying to make it last a little longer – because I’m poor!

I’m a very heavy computer user, it goes on with the kettle as soon as I’m out of bed and most evenings it goes off just before my bedside light.

I’ve been looking at possible replacements and can’t make  up my mind whether it will be another desktop – I read recently that they are going to be extinct soon, or a laptop. I spotted a very gorgeous HP laptop, available in purple and affordable but I’m not convinced that a lappy is heavy duty enough for my writing and photo editing etc. It would be nice to free up desk space and to stroke the luscious little beastie though!

Also a friend has recently bought a laptop with windows 8 and has struggled getting used to the changes, I’m using vista on my PC and windows 7 on a rarely used netbook.  The other issue is the time involved in getting set up again, transferring files and programs, and I’ll have to buy a new version of office. That means decisions about cloud storage, paying an annual subscription,  do I want to send my hard written documents off into the ether?

I’m intrigued to know what device YOU use for blogging, laptop or PC? phone or tablet?

Any comments or thought would be welcome, I actually can’t decide what would be best.

I also have a tablet, it’s a great toy and if my PC dies I’ll be using it to pop in to visit you as much as I can. I do find it limiting though, great for quick answers but nothing too serious.

Hope to see  you soon :-)