Tag: writing exercise

The Gesture

In the olden days, one, normally a man, would go out and buy a ring. Spending lots of money on it.

In the olden days, one, normally a man, would go out and buy a ring. Spending lots of money on it. Then the other, I think the word they used to use was ‘traditional’ and so would be a woman, was given the ring. She, as was what is shown in the old films, would then be delighted to later show off the ring to her friends.

What followed was often the man feeling happy but also broke, or smug about how much they had spent as they can afford a big one. The effort was to find ‘the one’, but this one used to mean ‘ring’. Not ‘them’. The rituals were odd as it meant setting up a future with someone and putting your resources into something that could be lost, or worse, just make the next stage in life difficult.

No one is sure when the change happened. All Rachel knows is. For her. The perfect moment is not some compressed piece of carbon attached to a metal band. For her, it’s finding someone who knows her.

This was how it was for her. People would often talk about the moment they realised they had found their person by creating, organising or doing something that, to them, showed they had found them.

Some of her friends had decided to play on this new idea and simply tell people they were slightly interested in what their desires were. For a time this was fun, but after having people do this for you had two, slightly surprising, consequences.

The first was predictable. Claire had told 3 different people, 3 different amazing ideas. They each, over the course of a year or so, did them. After each one they felt they had found their person, but Claire carried on much the same as the day before, except for having enjoyed the thing they planned for her.

The obvious consequence was that the the planners gave up, they felt rejected. One had tried to show affection by capturing a moment by walking to the top of the local hill, often called ‘The Hill of Love’ as so many events involved the hill, and showed his love by setting off fireworks on her birthday. A highly illegal action for the simple reason that despite everyone loving fireworks, it was a fire risk for the trees. But Tom did it. Went to jail. Publicly sentenced to put others off. The only reason the judge undid some of his restrictions was because after 3 months it was clear Claire could not care at all and the boy was fool hardy. Public embarrassment was a stronger message than anything the judge could do.

But after 3 big events, Claire stopped enjoying them too. Her story does not end badly for her. She was not the first to try this. But she is one of those stories people tell their children when discussing love. Some will listen. But not all.

Rachel did. She heard the stories and listened. Seeing Claire as they grew up confirmed it for her. But it made her slowly stay away from being centre of attention. To chose the quiet room to read or a tree to sit under and listen to the breeze around her.

So when the day came she met that someone special, she didn’t give hints. Fearing to repeat what had happened to others that she had seen. But after about 2 years, it happened.

Discussions of living together, growing old together, having a place to settle down started. The future was becoming less scary and growing old, together, was a happy place for her. Then Alex did the one thing Rachel didn’t expect.

A swing was made.

Alex disappeared for a few days and when they returned, held Rachel’s hand and took her on a journey. After a couple hours walk the hidden waterfall pass was climbed. To see it, the trek took you out to the trees and through rocky outcrops and be able to see the waterfall. Not many started the trek on the other side to see it, fewer would finish it to sit and watch the water flow over the top. Today this would change.

With her eyes closed, Rachel sat on a seat with the whispered words, “hold tight”.

Slowly Alex pushed and Rachel held on. Creaks and huffing followed but she held, her feet not touching the floor.

A call came “Open your eyes!”. Above the sound of the waterfall Rachel had to be told twice.

She had never seen it up close. No one had. Alex had built a private swing for people to see it. Others would come and use it. Others would sit and watch and dream as the water flowed over the side and fell 100 feet. But this moment, this chair, was hers.

She was the first and it was made for her.

Alphabet Project – A

There is a door down the street, there always is for the right person. As you walk down there are dull streetlights hanging limply over some park cars, some have seen better days, one is more duct tape than paint. The door you are looking for is all that breaks up a row of terraced housing among the gloomy lamps will be on the left, or the right depending on your persuasion or direction of travel. Along with how you comprehend left and right. Some do not.

But along this road, there is a door, somewhere, and when you do find it, you might try to open it. There are houses on both sides, so if it opens, you will only find a corridor. Nothing fancy, plain walls. A few pictures of some of the founding members for the establishment. One is a politician, it doesn’t need a name tag, you will know when you see.

But at the end of the corridor, apart from a small box, is another door. This one is another front door, albeit a little more fancy, the type of one that has glass that you can see yourself in and a shiny handle which can show your fillings. No number.

You have come this far, why not go a little further?

Beyond is what you need. For some, there is a long bar, a stool to sit on and a person behind it cleaning a glass with a towel, just like you have seen done in the movies. You may tell your friends that there is an amazing secret bar hidden in the street that you have found. In the future they will see the bar, drink there and toast to your find.

There may, of course, be more of a club scene when you enter. The music is all the classics from your youth when you danced the night away with that special someone who got away. The happy memories when you were young and didn’t have a care in the world. The next day, like when you were young, you have no hangover, not tired. It was a night just like the good old days.

Rooms can change, businesses develop, it could be a quiet café when you go in. A small selection of coffee, nothing pretentious. A place where a black coffee is, a black coffee. The chairs are comfortable and feel solid. They will serve vegetarian marshmallows with oat milk for your hot chocolate if it’s your way. It might be a place where you can sit, relax and work on that novel. Either to read or to write. But a quiet place for you to escape and have some time to get it finished.

When you chose to leave, the door will be waiting for you. You will find the street much like it was. The row of terraced houses will still be there. The duct tape on the car will still be competing for space with paint. But the lights may seem a little brighter. You may walk down the street and whistle, you may pull your coat in a little tighter as your hair flutters from the weather.

The Antidote door may not always fix your problems. But it is there to give you space to try to combat them. To give you a chance to take control and have time for you. Just remember to leave your feedback in the box. That way the room can do better next time. Should you need a second dose.

A is for Antidote.

Assumptions can be dangerous

We all do it. We don’t like it. We can be embarrassed by it. But we all do it. This can be down to when a person is in front of you, they may be in a rush and you might assume they are maybe rude, grumpy, or worse.

I am writing this on Valentines Day and I have been out doing a quick bit of shopping after work. Now you might be thinking that I have been out to buy flowers, a card or some last minute token to show love. Well if you did, tut tut. I baked cookies yesterday, iced them and brought them over this morning with a cup of tea and a card (bought a week ago).

It is thinking about the assumptions we make that has amused me lately. Being the vegetarian, with my wife who is not, I often get given the steak and she gets the veggie option. People hand her the lager and me the soft drink when I have often been the one to drive to events, so drinkies for me.

But when writing a character, the use of assumptions can lead the reader down a certain path to see if they can be tricked into thinking a certain way, or make an assumption. I use this slight idea to show annoyance or the MC in The Bus Driver between how people respond to Agatha and her husband Andy. It was an idea I wrote a few years ago and have enjoyed writing the dialogue between the two of them.

The use of the assumptions by some of the population in the story works well (I think), to show the playful relationship between Agatha and Andy. To show the little bits of humour between the two of them and how they live together to show support. However, making assumptions about how a character might behave, or using an assumption to explain how a character may behave, or a decision they may do, can limit the development of them.

Being a people watcher, especially in the airport when the flight has been delayed, I like to watch how people are around each other. Are they on a date? First holiday together? Secret meeting between old friends? Lads night out but one seems to watch the time more than the rest? Making assumptions is easy when the consequences are random conversation in a restaurant and is more of an exercise to see who can create the most elaborate story. To use a small detail to justify an element of a story. The shoes. The style of shirt. A hidden watch. A wedding band with no ring?

All details can become part of a story. They might just be a small nugget of information to deepen the character, or a small element for something later on to be relied for a climatic point later in the story arc. Used carefully, a well placed assumption can be a wonderful way to direct, or misdirect, a reader.

However, they can also be risky, in writing or real life. Assuming a detail about someone, or hoping an assumption will be picked up on, can lessen the point that is trying to be made. They can also play on someone’s prejudices, alternatively, show your own about what you yourself think about someone.

A final thought about this point. Remember when I said about details to think about when looking around the room. The missing wedding ring. Was your first thought about this to do with a cheating husband, a divorcee or a recent widow? Did a gender at all come to your mind?

Creating a story by what you see around you can be fun. Making short bio’s about people you see is an amazing way to develop your own craft as a writer. Something I need to do more often, working in retail means I have a plethora of people around me all day long (I have no excuse!) Just don’t let your own assumptions lead the story without your knowing or think the reader will always make the one you intend.

Just Write

One of the most infuriating moments I’ve had so far is when someone says “just write”. Like it is that simple.

All you need to do is sit back. Breathe. Write. Move over King, side step please Gaiman, time to sit down Cornwell. I am going to write and take over the bookshelves because I am going to ‘just write’.

This got me, I hate to say, rather angry. Like an internal carnal level of anger that was aimed at the screen. I was trying to write about a situation I had been given in an evening creative writing class set in a supermarket. I have no qualms admitting this, I was struggling. Could not see through the fog. Which amusingly became mixed in to how the story then started.

But to the advice of “just write”. Write what? A character, a place, a mood? It reminded me of that useless phrase some may say to those stressing or worse. “Just clear your head”. Having had a friend be told this repeatedly, if someone is struggling mentally, PLEASE do not use it. Help them to clear, but don’t use it as a way to get them to do it (show don’t tell right?).

So, I was sat there, not very happy with my favourite person, trying to write on my tablet. Typically, the more I tried, the less that got written. Zero words in fact. Actually, my word count went down as I didn’t like what was already there.

But here is the annoying thing. A 1st draft will always be successful.  Its primary goal is to be completed. That’s it. It can be awful. It can be completely rewritten. One draft I recently did was changed from 3rd to 1st person as I realised it needed to be that way to have impact. But the 1st draft was done. Had I not completed it, I would not have created the yet undiscovered masterpiece that is now on the 3rd edit. I can hear the awards knocking on my door, or that is my dog wanting more food.

So what is it that I’m trying to babble on about. Well, the advice that annoyed so much that lovely evening, is one I wish to suggest you have as YOUR mantra. Not to say to others as you may have a pen, or worse, thrown in your direction. But have it as your own post-it note, the scribble you have in your notes or just let one of the inner voices use when writing.

In the end, something will be there. Once a dialogue has been drafted or a scene pieced together, you can then, and probably only then, begin to see what works. What phrase brings it together, did the twist really stay hidden, or have you changed something part way through that needs changing at the beginning.

The obviously way to end this would be to say to you to get out there and write. I won’t.

BUT, what I will say, is when you have an idea, play with it. Put something down. Don’t worry about what it will be in the 1st draft. Having a 1st draft is more than most ideas come to (Do not look into the statistics, it is worrying).

Enjoy your stories.

‘Purple’

‘Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.’

This comes from a writing activity given to me when I was able to recently spend an evening a week on a writing course. We were given two descriptions of people (Will explore this activity to focus on your own writing skills in a future post), and then given a setting and a scene at random. As you can probably tell, the setting is was a ‘supermarket’ and if in doubt, the scene was ‘crisis’.

Outside of about 2 people, this was the first thing I had ever shared publicly, and was certainly the first (and only) piece I have read out loud in public.

I have attempted to play with inner monologue of the main character while also building on the description of surroundings. After multiple drafts, this is the one I am so far most happy with.

Please leave any comments below.

—Purple—

A red glow engulfs the car, matching the colour around his eyes. The colour taunts him at the end of a double. It envelops his space as the fog surrounds his car. This fog is getting thicker each morning.

As amber teases him with the potential of being released from the lane, Johnny hears the engine of a car next to him. The indicators flashing with a flapping driver looking at him. With a wave of his hand the car pulls out into the green fog, down the lane towards the shop.

Only one reason anyone would be out here at this time, just show me purple and I might get some sleep tonight.

The car park is nearly empty. A soft glow from the brake and reverse lights create patches within the dark. Who would go shopping this early? Most normal people are sleeping. The car was parked close to the door and Johnny trudged towards the entrance. The cold always made the doors stick. He tried to look down but caught his reflection in the glass.

This face used to be on covers? He surveyed the site. Touched his eyebrows that kept the shape they were made into each week. But stubble was showing. He began to count the late nights, early starts and broken sleeps with each line on his face. This was the sight that would greet his family when he got home. Where had the man gone from before? He touched his face to feel how the skin moved, the bone beneath felt almost separate. His clothes covered from the double shift at work. As the doors slid open, his reality was met with the rhythmic beeps and a shudder as the air conditioning met him. The hunt was on.

He began to recall a conversation, that felt so long ago, even though it was just that morning.

“The Purple one, don’t get the red one as it just comes back up straight away. But also don’t even think about trying to save money with the cheaper ones, they don’t work”.

No, I love you. Have a great day dear. Thanks for doing a double to help with the birthday party coming up. Nope. Just get the purple one.

Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.

Lettuce – £1.20

Steak – £4.59!

Oat milk – £1.75

Crisps – £2.05

“Excuse me, could you reach the packet on that shelf”.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

A shorter person stood adjacent to him nearly half his height, pointing at one of the items on the top shelf. Johnny reached for one but on seeing the expiry date, paused.

“Are you eating this today?”

“No, it is for the weekend”

Carefully, Johnny collected one from near the back and passed it to him. Ironic how shorter people will always be forced to collect the things with the shortest dates.

For a moment Johnny moseyed aimlessly through the aisles, taking in the different prices and offers with bright colours. Then he saw why he was there.

Hanging from the ceiling. Blue sign. Medicine.

Sleep was close.

Johnny first caught sight of the floral women as she floated through the aisle clutching two brown paper bags. These bags were not from here. Showing everyone the other shop. Johnny didn’t go to that part of town. They were out of his way, but also buying bread there would mean dinner would simply be, a slice of bread. Johnny saw how her dress held its form as she wandered down the aisle. Her hair lightly bounced. Had he been awake he may have noticed that she had similar lines to his, although far less in number.

The redness around his eyes had grown from the lights, however, there was a momentary reprieve as he caught sight at the last remaining bottle of purple liquid on the shelf. Placing it in the basket he could feel sleep calling her faithful tune.

‘Oh is that the last bottle?’

Oblivious, and with the hunt complete, Johnny began to walk down past the floral pattern dress, heading straight for the automatic tills. The beeps had become a countdown to a baby crying followed, hopefully, by sleep.

‘Oh drat it is. Excuse me sir, could you spare a moment’.

The light touch on his arm broke the spell of the beeps for the floral women to be met with red eyes, trimmed eyebrows and a face that showed more shifts than sleep.

He was met with a this is why I don’t come to this part of town smeared across her face.

‘I see that you have the last bottle available. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to let me purchase it for my little one’.

Johnny will be crying through the night.

‘No’.

‘But you don’t understand, my little one is so very poorly and our baby sitter won’t work over the weekend.’

‘There is the red one over there’.

‘Oh thank you so much, I will get that for you and swap’

‘What? No. Wait? That’s not what I meant’. Rubbing his eyes to try to stop the piercing luminous bulbs. ‘I mean there are red ones you can use instead’.

‘Oh, well, little Billy doesn’t like it and can make an awful mess. We like to get him the other one so we can sleep easier at night’. She passes the red one to Johnny.

His hand quivers vacantly over the basket.