I'm doing this writing course in work, and as a result, we have to write things (obviously). So I thought I'd share them as I wrote them. It's one class a week, and it will consist of haiku's, poetry, short stories etc. Constructive criticism is most welcome (and I do know that I am terrible at grammer and punctuation)! So, here is our first exercise. We were told to take something from our bags or pockets that we carry with us each day and use without thought. Then write a short paragraph or two about them. It could be a story, a description etc. I chose two of the keys on my keyring. ------------------------------------------- Key to my life Two essential objects, small enough to fit into the palm of my hand. One gold, one silver, held safely together by a thin spiral of metal. Capped with sheaths of red and green, the faded colours are both a sign of use and a designation of function. The first, and surprisingly the least battered, ties me to my past; carried in my pocket through my youth, left behind on the kitchen table more often than it was carried through the door. Forgotten with the easy knowledge that there would always be someone there to let me back in. Once it was a symbol of passage, a symbol that several threads of the apron strings were being severed. A sign of my coming of age. Of trust and of belief. The second, the silver one, bright and shiny, it's the key to my present and my future. A key to the unknown and an ever-present reminder of what it represents. My freedom, my privacy and a place I call my own. This key cannot be left behind on the kitchen table, as there is no one there to let me in. But I always have the knowledge that if this precious key is forgotten or lost, the past will always hold a key to the future. There will always be someone there to let me in from the cold. My future contains my past and my present. They sit side by side on the ring that holds them in place, content to be carried side by side. ------------------------------------------
Would you be open to vast amounts of praise and blatant flattery in the absence of criticism? :smile: You know, I think it would be a fun idea if you posted each week's topic and see what the other members could come up with as a comparative offering in the time allowed. What does everyone else think? I have to admit, I was a bit stumped when I looked in my pockets after I'd read your post... in fact, I could find myself being a bit embarrassed at what I carry around with me. (And I haven't even looked my handbag yet!)
Joc, I'll take whatever I can get!:wink: Sounds like a great idea if any of you want to do that. - Its on every Tuesday barring meetings being held at lunchtime in the room, so I can post it in the evenings when I get home. It'll go on for about 13 weeks or so, but maybe longer if the meeting room being needed during lunch times or the guy that is teaching it being needed for one of said meetings. (he does know his stuff - he is a published poet...and he liked what I wrote, so we like him, go it!) As I said, the exercise this week was to take something from our bags or pockets that we carry with us each day and that we use without thought and write something about it. Take the challenge if you dare...Yaaarrrrr!irate:...sorry. Couldn't help it. Viva Talk Like a Pirate Day!
mazekin -i really liked that. I, for a living, write technical manuals and API's and white papers and all that stuff on a daily basis and like all Tech authors dream of being able to write something as lovely and symbolical as your 'Key to my life'. It is very good and it has a rhythm (at least to me). R.
Yup, definitely liked that one mazekin, it carries plenty of feeling, and gives a real meaning to those boring everyday things we carry around...
Ok, Maz has been a bad girl and never followed up on her plan to update this according to the different modules we went through. In fairness, though, most of it was group work that was very difficult to explain online, and would have been even more difficult to do on a forum. Bad excuse, but it's the only one I have!:smile: This weeks exercise was to find a picture of someone you don't know from a newspaper/magazine, whose face interests you and answer some questions about them (ie, make up a character). Name Age Job Nationality Residence Appearance Pets Religion Single or married Children? Friends? Hobbies Temperament Favourite colour Favourite food Socialising Where do they live Strong Memory Phobias Eye Colour Hair Colour Habits Do they have a secret Most hated thing Most loved thing You could add as many questions as you like(d) to that list, but when you were done, you handed the sheet of paper and the photo to the person on your left and added extra questions to the list you got from the person on your right. It then made its way around the room and everyone added a question they wanted to know about the character. When you got your list back, you were then to see if you could answer the extra questions while keeping it in character. It was a great exercise which actually got you to think about the character you were making up. The extra questions tended to highlight inconsistencies you had made about the character. I will post the story I made up as soon as I get it back from Teacher Billy, and have corrected the mistakes he found...there were a few apparently, not that I'm shocked Maz's grammar not good...Maz repeats words...Maz repeats words...
Josie Flynn and his Flying Machine We were told to write about the character we had created losing something in their home and trying to find it. I can't provide the picture I based this on, but basically it is from a Cirque du Soleil programme and shows a 'normal'* guy in a knitted jumper and trousers wearing a set of wings and an aviators cap. It's a long one, and for that, I am sorry, but I couldn't stop writing. Again, any constructive criticisim is welcomed! *For a given value of 'normal' Josie Flynn and his Flying Machine Humming quietly to himself, Josie turned the key in the lock and let himself into his flat, one hand automatically reaching out to the side to stop the neatly ordered pile of newspapers from sliding to the floor as he squeezed past into the only slightly wider hall. Keys automatically found their way onto a hook barely visible amongst the stacks of paper, coat onto the nail driven into the discoloured plaster beneath it and a hat that was slightly out of shape from being thrust into frayed pockets was carefully placed on the nail next to it. At twenty-two, he was smaller than the average man, slightly turned in on himself as if he were afraid of standing out in a crowd. Josie, though, would never stand out in a crowd. With curly brown hair slightly too long to be fashionable, patched and faded trousers and shirt too large for his slight frame, Josie was the kind of man that wouldn’t stand out, even if he was standing on his own. Patting his hands down his body, his face brightened when it felt the small hard brown paper package that had been tucked inside his trouser pocket first thing that morning. Careful measured steps navigated the organised chaos of workbenches and scrap that littered the main living room and brought him to his main worktable. His tongue crept out to rest on his lower lip as he carefully placed the package onto the scarred worktop and he stretched his leg out to hook his foot around the leg of a stool, dragging it towards him, never taking his eyes away from his prize. Sitting down, he ran his hands through his hair and then pressed his fingers to his lips with anticipation. His blue eyes brightened as he carefully undid the string and gently pealed back the paper to reveal an unassuming brown box. His face broke into a rare smile and calloused fingers barely grazed the rough cardboard before a quiet squeaking broke his concentration and he turned to look at the cage in the corner. Smile widening, he opened the wire door and held his hand out in front of it to allow the hamster to creep onto his palm. “Eeeey, Harry.” He murmured, cradling it to his chest. “I didn’t forget you. I’d never forget you. You hungry?” Holding Harry up so he could see his face, he let out a bubbly chuckle and put the hamster down onto the table. “You stay right there and I’ll get you something nice. Ok?” Hurrying through the maze of scrap to the kitchen, he returned with a hunk of bread and some cheese. “You and me, we’ll eat together, ok?” The hamster squeaked again, and Josie’s face creased into yet another smile. Tearing off a small piece of bread, he set it down beside Harry and tore off another for himself, setting it aside for the time being. Lacing his fingers together and pushing his arms ahead of him, he cracked his knuckles and wiggled his fingers. Now was the time. He’d been waiting for this all day. All month. In truth, all his life, though he didn’t know it until he had seen it in the catalogue. The final piece. He could see it in his mind. He could see where it fit in the contraption. Right in the centre. The cog that would make it all finally work. Catching his lower lip between his teeth, he carefully removed the lid and set it to the side, revealing balls of white cotton that had cushioned this precious piece during transit. This too was carefully removed until the glint of shiny brass was seen and he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was all he had hoped for and more. The right size, the right shape. It was perfect. Blinking, he stood suddenly, startling Harry, and dashed to the far side of the room, grabbing the grubby tan apron from its hook and hurriedly tied it around his middle. “We’ll do it this time, Harry. We will. I’ll do it this time.” His eyes glinted with unbridled excitement and he hesitated between the large contraption in the corner and the piece on the table. “But I can’t put it in just yet.” The odd humming started up again a few moments later as he gathered his tools and sat down tailor style on the bare floorboards in front of the machine, wrench in one hand, screwdriver in the other. On the table, the hamster seemed to be watching him work, shining black eyes following his movements as he struggled to remove the centre part to replace it with the piece he had been working on all the previous night. Grunting, Josie heaved the twisted metal to the side and dragged the new piece over, getting up onto his knees to manoeuvre it into place. After a time, his pink tongue began to creep in between his lips as he struggled to fit the large piece in between the metal struts. Finally, it popped into place and he grabbed his wrench, tightening nuts and bolts until it refused to move beneath his hands. Sitting back on his heels, he smiled again and quickly jumped back to his feet, running to the table to retrieve his prize. From his cage, the hamster watched him freeze a few steps away, and cocked his head to the side as Josie’s jaw hung slack, the smile sliding away. The cog was gone. Vanished into thin air, and the only thing that stopped him from thinking he had finally lost his mind was the empty box and wrapping paper. “No. No, no, no, no, no….” the word bubbled from his lips in an endless litany as he lifted the box and paper to reveal the scarred surface of the worktop. Each cotton ball was snatched up into the air, and he peered at the empty spaces accusingly, as if the cotton had conspired to drive him mad. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the table and let his hands hang by his sides, flexing his fingers before balling them into fists. This couldn’t be happening. The cog was the last one in existence. Created by a master craftsman in Switzerland, and the man had died the year before. The catalogue had been for an auction of his personal effects, and the cog…never again would he see the like. Kind blue eyes sharpened as they darted across the worktop and down onto the ground. The floor. It had to be on the floor. Maybe he knocked it down in his haste to get to the machine. Maybe…maybe it had rolled there. He fell to his knees and began to run his fingers across the grain, praying that the cog hadn’t fallen between the boards. Thankfully, the flat, though run down and tatty, had been well constructed, and the men who had built it had had the foresight to lay the floorboards well, each one butted up against the other so that a hair wouldn’t fit through the crack. At this moment in time, though, Josie didn’t care. The cog, or lack of it, was suddenly the centre of his universe. And it wasn’t on the floor. A quiet whine drifted into the air and slowly morphed into a frantic cry of ‘no’. A thumbnail was jammed between his teeth and worried until the nail gave up and ripped away. Even that pain didn’t register in his mind as it slowly went blank. All thoughts of finishing the machine were gone. The cog was the key, and without it, the machine was nothing. Less than nothing. Maybe it was underneath the workbench? Grabbing the heavy wood, he strained to lift it until he felt something pop in his back. Yelping with surprise, he let it fall back down. Harry and his cage were lifted from their appointed place and moved into the kitchen and placed carefully on the rickety table, which was sat against the window overlooking the dirty alley below. He returned to the living room and cleared the table of the junk that was clustered around its edges and tried again. It moved easily, and he grabbed the lamp and pushed it down into the space he had cleared. No cog. Just dust bunnies that skittered away as he dropped to his knees to examine the gap between the skirting board and the floor. Again there was nothing, and he thumped the plaster with his palm in frustration. Two hours later, half the flat had been pulled apart. Scrap which had been carefully put into sections, sorted by size, material, colour and use was scattered throughout the room, moved from place to place as he frantically searched. When dawn filled the room with a soft illumination, the light that poured through the window revealed total and utter chaos. And in the corner, Josie sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chin and arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Vacant eyes stared out into the brightening gloom as he rocked slowly back and forth, his arm brushing against the frame of the machine as he moved. The sound of the milk cart making its way down the cobbled street roused him, and he stiffly got to his feet, stumbling slightly as his foot clipped a piece of copper tubing he hadn’t seen. One hand grazed the top of the frame as he passed it, fingers barely registering the smooth, polished surface. The same fingers filled the kettle with water and put it to boil, automatically reaching for the badly stained tin mug and tea caddy. As the kettle began to boil, his lower lip twitched and began to quiver as his hands tightened around the cup, threatening to buckle it out of shape. Tea finally made, he sat at the table, slouching down until his head was level with the cage. “I can’t do this any more, Harry.” He whispered into the silence. The hamster was barely visible beneath the sawdust, and it was fast asleep, nose twitching as it dreamed. “I…maybe they’re right. Maybe it never will fly. Maybe I was wrong.” He looked up from his mug to stare at the wall, which was covered in drawings, and looked like something straight out of Michelangelo’s scrapbook. “This was all just a pipe dream. A figment of my imagination. It never will fly. I mean, what kind of a nut have I been? It’s been three years. Three years of working in a job I hate, for a man I hate even more, serving people who don’t even see me…talk to me…and for what? A pile of scrap that will never fly?” Sighing heavily, he let his head hang back as the sunlight finally found its way into the kitchen and cascaded across the ceiling. Trembling hands pressed against his face as realisation finally set in. It would never fly. Not without the cog…maybe not even with the cog. His work was meaningless. His dedication was bordering on madness… his head drifted forwards until he was looking at Harry. Reaching into the cage, he poked at the sawdust to wake the hamster. “Come on, Harry. I need to talk to somebody…wake up, Harry.” The hamster stirred and seemed to glare at him for waking him. “Why, Harry? Why won’t it work?” The hamster, of course, didn’t answer, but in its shiny black eyes, he could almost see his reflection. The beam of sunlight slowly crept around the room, but Josie didn’t move. The cup of tea grew cold between his hands as he watched Harry move about his cage, cleaning out his nest and moving fresh sawdust into a neat little pile in the corner. Midday came and went, and the carriage clock set on top of the fridge ticked the minutes into hours. And still he didn’t move. Didn’t think. Almost didn’t breathe. Finally the beam of sunlight lit upon the cage and Harry began to play in the sawdust, throwing the debris into the air as he twisted and turned and wriggled. A hint of gold briefly glinted in the light, catching Josie’s eye. His breath caught in his throat and the quietness in his mind seemed to still even more, and the sound of the clock faded away into nothing. Harry continued his business, unaware of the sudden, intense attention he was receiving. Trembling hands reached out and unclipped the sides of the cage, lifting the wire mesh from its base and casting it to the side, not caring where it landed. The hamster scurried backwards as Josie’s head suddenly jerked forwards until his nose was practically touching the sawdust. The cog. Harry had the cog. Pursing his lips, he reached out and picked it up, turning it back and forth in the light to make sure it wasn’t damaged. “Harry…” He began, pointing a shaking finger at the hamster, “You and I are going to have a discussion later.” He informed him severely as he got to his feet. Cog held firmly in his hand, he strode into the chaos that reigned next door and paused in the doorway. The three main parts of the machine sat in their carefully appointed places, and he made a beeline for the centre structure that housed the moving parts. Going down on one knee, he rubbed his hand across his face. The stillness of his mind seemed to stall, and suddenly he could see again. The cog went there. It was like a flash of lighting igniting a grassfire. That one thought sparked another, and another, and another, until all he could see was the machine. It wasn’t a dream. He could do this. It would fly. He. Was. Right!
Oh my Buddha, Maz, that was amazing! I mean it. I just kept reading, wanting to see how your character worked. You really painted a picture. I thought , in his frantic haste that something would happen to poor litle Harry. I'm glad it didn't. (The only thing I would change is pealed to peeled )
