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Writers Group - October
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Message 1.聽
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Tuesday, 19th October 2010
To test the water, a one-off writing thread.
The regular writers group was a thread in which contributions in prose and poetry were welcome - there was usually a theme, and contributions seemed to inspire more- sometimes pathways would emerge which we hadn't thought of.
Comment and criticism was constructive and positive - all contributions were valued.
I missed the Writers Group, and have thought for a while of starting a thread - it may be regular, it may be intermittent - ownership is for anyone who's interested.
The theme is very wide - Autumn Light.
Colours, bonfires, the end of the Celtic year, fruit, harvest, the shortening days and lengthening nights - what does Autumn mean to you?
A Haiku to start;
The rose-hips shine; fairy-lights
Among the gold leaves.
The Autumn weaves enchantment.
I want to write something else; better, starker - what can you give us? -
Message 2
Posted by Alsdouble (U524298) on Tuesday, 19th October 2010
Interesting carrick. I have thought of this many times. It is good to think this way. Think this way and it becomes more than a habbit, it orders the mind. In a certain manner.
Practice makes....
Be there and you are not, there.
Know it and you probably don't,
..know it at all.
Become happy and
don't try and hang on to it,
it's not that easy.
I know this place, this feeling this...
I know nothing.
I think, and that is all I do.
And rarely, occasionally, not often enough, do I write out what I think... -
Message 3
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Tuesday, 19th October 2010
Tue, 19 Oct 2010 22:00 GMT, in reply to alsdouble in message 2
I'm so glad you've posted, Al. You were one of the people I hoped would write something.
A bit Zen? -
Message 4
Posted by Alsdouble (U524298) on Tuesday, 19th October 2010
Mmm thanks. I will always be there.
I would always remain there.
but nothing lasts forever.
And that which soars and shines and graces our world with the joy of life, in time,
and with the best will we humans can muster, in time, ceases to be.
Love?
yes. That too..
Thanks carrick, for starting this,
it's good to 'write out the mind.'
People should try it,
let go and write it out,
as it come.
It can do no harm.. -
Message 5
Posted by woofti aka groovy gravy (U1483210) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
In our review of the second quarter past the hour in this wonderfool world of Friday television evening, we recommend the following readings for fiction grapple. First on our list comes the fantazmallegorical Tractatus of Wittgensteen. Selected from the Sunday papermen saying, Riotous, It's a bundle of propositions meaning nothing and sometimes something groovy blue, old and noo, too. Yakes, zowee pop hardcore zero. Captain Scarlet has nothing on this for thrills, spills and exciting adventure propositions for a good beach read and sun cream protection smells. Mmm, slippery. Put a bullet in his brain, Batman. The Tractatus of Wittgenstoon is a fine collection of propositions from the Viennese Jewish grandmother ghetto violin tradition sound from around the sour herbs and wine time. Mr. Wittgenstune joins a tradition dating from Moses and Oscar Steinborg of Holland whose apophthegms were to trouble him during his final illness. A Ron Mysteron, from another planet, says he especially liked the dancing girls at Mr. Lew Aronowitz's Friday Nite Club, where they also used to arrange public readings of the late Mr. Wittgenstone's works, along with certain waiting games, where people used to sit, and look at each other. Wood was also top of the bill in the early, headier days, because they used to burn it in small, hand-crafted copper ovens. Famous and popular celebrities from all over Vienna's Lower East Side used to come with different kinds of fragranced wood and sing propositions to the strains of the Captain Scarlet song accompanied by Zack Cohen and his Swing Band. Lew's club was also frequented by several foreign gentlemen in tailcoats of orange velveteen and by the finest, most beautiful women in the world. It was among bitter herbs, wood and the sophisticated smells of expensive ladies that young Ludovic sat, drank, waited, grooved to the sounds of Zack Cohen and his Swing Band, and struggled out his propositions in Lew Aronowitz's smoky candlelight.
Remember, said the frowning foreign gentleman in orange velveteen, even when rhythm counts, it takes less. -
Message 6
Posted by Alsdouble (U524298) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
Morning,
Crispy
rice?
China
clay.
Pipe
organ,
heart.
Diamonds
Rolex,
fake
people,
pie
man.
Lucy.......
..in
...the -
Message 7
Posted by sue-pet (U14592767) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
I don't often pop in here since we stopped the writers group...so glad to see you are still writing ...go for it!
In thin cotton top
I shiver on cold damp morn
the heat has left us
Autumn calls once more
A return to jumpers and wool
sneakers changed for boots
Heating switches back
Summer earth turned, crops brought in
Dark nights creep closer
Soon I will stay in
Abed, toes under 15 tog quilt
awaiting spring sun -
Message 8
Posted by Kishtu (U14091165) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
Above the fading garden
Two buzzards wheel, rook-haunted
The sun paints their wingtips silver
Their feathers brush in aerial salute
As the rooks bombard them, tossed like ash in the rising wind. -
Message 9
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
As a recent arrival to ML I was mooching around recently wondering if there was a writing thread.
Have just stumbled upon and have nothing to offer today but would like to contribute in future if I may.
In the meantime I shall loiter and read -
Message 10
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Wednesday, 20th October 2010
Low, glaring golden
Light blurring lines of vision
Collide in the gloom -
Message 11
Posted by Alsdouble (U524298) on Friday, 22nd October 2010
Oh bugger!
Carick's thread is dead,
Already,
And yet no-one has bled on it.
No truths have been spilled,
No souls exposed.
No reality thresholds have been breached.
No fortunes made, lost, destroyed,and generally treated in a rather bad way.
as they can only be,
On such a thread.
Walking blindly from cradle to grave.
We are only here for a short time and yet,
We choose to talk baloney, (macaroni,)
rather than face reality.
Ultimate, frightening,
Incredibly scarey reality.
And allow it to wrestle us to the floor.
Hands around the throat. Thumbs pressed, in.
Was it peaceful?
Or did we have witnesses to record the awfulness of it?
Are you enjoying yourself, brother, sister.
Or are you frightened?
..by it all........... -
Message 12
Posted by Leaping Badger (U3587940) on Monday, 25th October 2010
I splurged a little micro-story a few days ago, trying to take a slightly different approach to the theme, but since then haven't been well enough to go back and improve it. Can barely read it through at the moment. So I'll just post it, unedited and unrefined, and see what you think of it.
'脰'
There鈥檚 something special about autumn light, she thought. Something ... pure. Was that the right word? That鈥檚 something worth thinking about.
Since being moved to this room, the light was all she had left. Gone was the view of trees and the stream she had thrown herself into during spring and summer, ever since she had been here; now all she could see outside, no matter how they positioned the mirror above her, was a particularly squalid corner of the overflow car park. And it was hardly ever used; no cars, no people. So she had focused on the sky, and the light coming through the high window. Now that the year was drawing on, the light on sunny days swept across her body during the morning; at first tickling her toes, and over the past few weeks moving slowly up so that now it was somewhere around her thighs. She couldn鈥檛 crane her head enough to see it, but she could feel its warmth, even in this almost stifling room. In a few weeks, if it remained sunny, the sun would shine directly into her eyes. She couldn鈥檛 wait.
Purity. What was it about the light that made her think that? It seemed whiter now, less coloured; but perhaps it was more to do with the way this particular blue, rising above shaving-foam clouds, made her think of heaven. Why did it do that? Is that what heaven was really like? Maybe she鈥檇 find out soon. No; mustn鈥檛 think like that. Got to keep positive. But why should she? She鈥檇 been told she would recover, eventually even walk again, but she didn鈥檛 believe it.
A rap at the door snapped her out of this reverie. 鈥楧enise?鈥 She turned her head 鈥 all she could do 鈥 and Patrick appeared lying horizontally across her field of vision. He beamed, and swept his arm from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of bright red tulips. She smiled, and a tear welled in the corner of her right eye. Patrick鈥檚 beam grew, knowing that she was moved by his gift. She bit down on her lip, trying to control herself, offended by the blowsy inappropriateness of this gift when she was desperate above all else to witness crisp dead leaves under mist-wrapped trees in the autumn light. -
Message 13
Posted by sue-pet (U14592767) on Tuesday, 26th October 2010
Short but complete Leaping Badger, you'd think he would have given her autumn flowers.
-
Message 14
Posted by Lars Post (U2291030) on Monday, 1st November 2010
Any connection with autumn colour
Is entirely coincidental.
It is a little known fact
That Julius Caeser
Was a woman
Called Julia Seaser.
When visiting Britain
In 54 BC,
Not being an agressive bloke,
She negotiated landing arrangements,
She observed the habits of the natives,
Their government
And their society.
Pretty much everything about them.
After arriving at the conclusion
That they were managing it all
Really rather well,
She issued her well known conclusion,
"I came,
I saw,
I concurred." -
Message 15
Posted by sue-pet (U14592767) on Thursday, 6th January 2011
This is for Katemah...the sort of thing we used to do in the group before it folded.
-
Message 16
Posted by Westsussexbird or Birdy aka Westie (U6316532) on Thursday, 6th January 2011
Sue-pet only the other day I thought I hadn't seen the writers' group lately ... I always used to lurk ... sometimes sat quietly in the corner and sometimes secretly! Has Fantasy Archers fulfilled the role?
-
Message 17
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Thursday, 6th January 2011
I did a "special" at the end of last year, and some people contributed, but I miss it.
-
Message 18
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Thursday, 6th January 2011
I enjoyed the gentle discipline of the writer's club, especially when poetry was required . Adding in a particular subject made the task harder and even more satisfying if something faintly readable emerged. [Which for me was little short of miraculous!.]
I hope some of the 'old hands' return for you, Carrick. -
Message 19
Posted by Campbell in Farewell Clogs (U14226916) on Friday, 7th January 2011
Just skimming this thread when something jumped out and bit me. Um Badgey, where would one get tulips in autumn?
-
Message 20
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Friday, 7th January 2011
You can get an autumn crocus, so maybe Badgey found an autumn tulip.
-
Message 21
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Friday, 7th January 2011
sue-pet, missed you and our monthly writer's group a lot. Due to my own stupidity, I lost some of my work when my computer literally crashed and burned out. Entirely my fault for not backing up externally. That'll larn me.
Came across a story I wrote many years ago which was published in a magazine and I cringed when I read it. Great idea but /so/ in need of good editing. Are you writing anything now?. -
Message 22
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Sunday, 9th January 2011
Bump
-
Message 23
Posted by Lars Post (U2291030) on Sunday, 9th January 2011
Hello everyone
Bit busy at the mo but would love to contribute again sometime.
Lars -
Message 24
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Monday, 24th January 2011
bump
-
Message 25
Posted by Lars Post (U2291030) on Tuesday, 25th January 2011
I see a bump but the trouble is it's taking about nine months gestation for a bump to turn into anything productive at the moment.
I've only got time to offer a, not quite scanning, cuplet but it may give food for thought
A haiku a day
Keeps Alzheimers at bay -
Message 26
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Tuesday, 25th January 2011
I, in the garden,
Clear dead leaves, revealing green.
The race has begun. -
Message 27
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Friday, 28th January 2011
Aha - the Writers' Thread. Thanks Carrick, thought you'd missed me message!
Back tomorrow. -
Message 28
Posted by Lars Post (U2291030) on Friday, 28th January 2011
Today it was cold.
Tomorrow may be better.
These days who can tell. -
Message 29
Posted by Lars Post (U2291030) on Tuesday, 1st February 2011
Still missing Nigel.
I was looking forward to
His cranky old age. -
Message 30
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Tuesday, 1st February 2011
Nice one, Lars.
With both of them, they fitted the 5,7,5 pattern perfectly, but they didn't sound as though you'd forced them into shape. -
Message 31
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Wednesday, 2nd February 2011
If it鈥檚 cold outside
You鈥檒l wear a warm woolly hat
And your hair goes weird
If it鈥檚 cold outside
You鈥檒l pull on your big thick socks
And your boots won鈥檛 fit
If it鈥檚 cold outside
You鈥檒l wear three cosy jumpers
And your arms won鈥檛 move
If it鈥檚 cold outside
You鈥檒l wrap up in a long scarf
And it strangles you
When it鈥檚 cold outside
And you come back in the house
You feel too darned hot -
Message 32
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Wednesday, 2nd February 2011
Just had time now to read through the thread properly. Good to see you back, Als, and in cracking form.
Badge, that was wonderful, really moving - I liked the contrapuntal effect of the red tulips, in a way like William Carlos Williams's "Red Wheelbarrow".
Woofti - that piece is brilliant,, Eliot it remind me of, I think. And Lars, I was thinking about your writing when we had the thread before, and how much I enjoyed it.
SJ, the same, and Sue-Pet - hope our muses have returned. MW ,hello. I loved the buzzards. BYT and Campbell, hope to see some of your work soon. Let's hope we can keep the thread alive! Maybe we can come up with a topic for another session. -
Message 33
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Wednesday, 2nd February 2011
Ah, good to see this thread alive and kicking. Some
I am a sometime very amateur scribbler - of poetry, stories, essays (rants) and the likes. Usually fairly intense but here's something frivolous and 'seasonal', especially since I reside north of the border. It was a spur of the moment thing penned quickly in CW class - a reminder of my days as a Cub Scout leader.
Haggis Hunting
I鈥檝e got to get a haggis
My mother sent me out
But I don鈥檛 know where to find one
If I ask again, she鈥檒l SHOUT
I鈥檝e hunted nearly everywhere
The river, field and sky
And no one seems to want to help
Oh dear, I think I鈥檒l cry
I don鈥檛 know what one looks like
Or where it usually lies,
Or what I need to catch it in
If it swims or crawls or flies
I wonder what she wants it for
It sounds a trifle reekit
Oh no, it鈥檚 for the Burns Night Feast
She says.... I鈥檝e got to EAT IT! -
Message 34
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Wednesday, 2nd February 2011
That was fun, BYT - it sounds like you very much enjoyed writing it.
It would sound good, declaimed in a Scottish accent, too. -
Message 35
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Thursday, 3rd February 2011
I enjoyed that, BYT.
Thanks to the thread starting up again I'm hoping to return to writing poetry -I want to continue with my set " Voices from the Village" . Here's a short piece, inspired by the idea of light, that will join the characters in that set. I'll probably rework it later. The Widow
The Widow 鈥 from Voices from the Village
鈥淟ight is not light,
it鈥檚 just a different form of dark,鈥 she said.
鈥淎ll is one, day, night,
the endlessness of being.
Not thinking, not seeing.
The world turns. They say there is a sun -
or a moon. I say nothing.
I wait for my course to run.
鈥淥h, there was a difference once,鈥
she said.
鈥淚 remember it. We compared -
and celebrated 鈥 tone, shade,
hue. There鈥檚 colour when you鈥檙e not alone:
contrast, pigment, saturation, fade.鈥
She turned blank eyes to me.
I鈥檓 not afraid,鈥 she said,
鈥渏ust sort of lost, and waiting.鈥 -
Message 36
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Thursday, 3rd February 2011
Oh Josey, that made my eyes a bit difficult to see out of.
Sometimes, with poems, I get a sudden wave of "Something hell - that could be me if the world was different" and that happened just then.
The last two lines are all the more powerful for being so understated and low-key. -
Message 37
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Thursday, 3rd February 2011
Gosh, Carrick I don't know what to say. Thank you though for that. Also for starting this thread. I think I've said before that I can't write unless the voice is in my head and that's been missing lately, but the widow definitely tells her own story though me, if that's not too fanciful. The problem is that, thanks to you (ahem), there's a bit of an unleashing going on right now. The late husband's 'tale' has come as well. If nobody minds I'll post that later.
-
Message 38
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Thursday, 3rd February 2011
That's utterly delightful Josey. A succinct , yet as Carrick points out, understated emotive piece. I love the analogy of light and colour variations attributed to loss.
I may be encouraged to share other bits and pieces - especially since the weather has prevented me getting to a Creative Writing group tonight.
It would nice for this thread to be vibrant and flourishing. -
Message 39
Posted by carrick-bend (U2288869) on Thursday, 3rd February 2011
As a contrast, on another thread, DD and I were being frivolous; she mentioned her mezzaluna chopper and I wrote a haiku about mine.
Silver crescent moon;
My mezzaluna chopper,
The fresh herbs fear me. -
Message 40
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Friday, 4th February 2011
Like it, Carrick! Hope more people will come back to this thread, meanwhile, as a bump, here's the piece I wrote to accompany the 'Widow" one. Comes before it, really, I guess.
The Remarkable
鈥淵eah, they were big canvases.鈥 He looks up,
smiling a bit. 鈥淭oo big, some said,
but they were popular. Be worth more once I鈥檓 dead.
Celebrities loved them. Mick Jagger bought one.
鈥淏ig canvases. Yes, I know. There won鈥檛 be any more.
But remember that one?
Jenny Dancing? A bit naughty. Did you know
I painted that down on the floor?
Can鈥檛 get down now, or up. Or up.鈥
He glances towards his groin,
hidden under prim sheets.
鈥淢aybe they could string a canvas
over the bed. And lift my arm. So.鈥
As a demonstration it failed. A dream.
Painting? or some other pleasure?
His smile fades. Light goes from his eyes,
and from the room, it seems...
And then: 鈥淐olour, it鈥檚 all about colour.
What鈥檚 a world without colour?
Jenny and me,
we mixed a life, you see.
Yeah, it鈥檚 my name on the pictures
but Jenny IS the pictures.
Well, no more. No more Paris.
No more New York. Just this bloody bed
and colours in my head.
鈥淒on鈥檛 sanctify me when I鈥檓 gone
I wasn鈥檛 a saint
I lived my life through paint
Not piety.
You wouldn鈥檛 call me likeable.
Parties, drugs, girls.
People tended to describe me as 鈥榬emarkable鈥.
The Sixties? You had to have been there.
Of course Jenny knew.
All the way through. What a woman.
Breasts like ripe melons from Tuscany.
She hates that, a lazy analogy
She says.
And thighs, well...
鈥淒id you know Mick Jagger bought my work?鈥 -
Message 41
Posted by Bractondefeated (U3173859) on Friday, 4th February 2011
I once had what I thought ( yes I know don't we all) was a great idea for a murder mystery. I started to write if but however hard I tried the tone remained humorous so I,ve rather given up. Maybe it's because the professional writing I do is necessarily far from humorous. But I might have another go. What price a comic murder mystery.
And No I don't mean to start with a hilariously farfetched death like sliding off a roof clutching a banner. That would just be daft ...er, hang on!,
Bracton -
Message 42
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Friday, 4th February 2011
That is another very rounded and thought provoking piece Josey. I will read again later.
Could I ask in what sort of time scale you might produce such a piece. Do all the pieces come together almost fully formed?
I tend to scribble lots of ideas and phrases that sometimes do but more often don't come together in anything worthwhile. When I do string something together it is most likely in story form - short or long or journalistic opinion pieces.
Here (sorry it's quite long) is a piece I was inspired to through our class last year. It does take some inspiration from a bloke called Bill.
The Too Many ages of Man
If all the world鈥檚 a page
and all our lives are lived in single words
that scrawl like shooting stars through the firmament
dispersing ashes in their wake whilst barely leaving their mark.......
then read on for our story in too many parts......
Before time began, the word was yeah (or maybe nay) no matter;
pre conceptions scattered afar like seed from a pod, nestling deep in the
womb of tranquillity, scarce expecting what might be
then, at first unbidden, wrinkled pink Churchillian jowls slither forth
with scant control of any faculties; a permeable membrane; a pure
blank white sheet anticipates.......
the quill is inked and poised; the story opens told in dulcet tones
beneath weary wary dark and hooded eyes: Of surrogated motherhood,
absented father; having replacing living, singular over communal our parcel passed, processed and peeled in tuber like layer then laid exposed to the core
Now tiresome tantrums transmute organs and digits into an
all absorbing sponge. Why and how and why again, data display now
moulds and shapes the nature between work and play, no rest to be
had, scarce respite from the sculpting power of osmosis
Now dragging feet through sterile doors, years of institutional
poring embarked; porous learning surfaces subjected
to hard knocks; tender flesh hewn and compacted into
narrow gauge ill fitting shapes; open minds smothered by dogma
The revolting, grunting spotty youth now flays, baby like
again, desperately seeking liberty: drowning in information yet
secretly traversing that highway yearning security and protection;
scant knowledge to be found in endless faceless fights of fantasy
or distant dreams of princes or vampires
Great expectations loom large in yearning and learning;
vowing to love, respect, honour and obey till the next bright shiny
thing do us part. Wild oats sown in tender years, and grateful thanks
for failing of those crops now give way to ticking clocks and joy unlimited at
fruiting of our own loins, seed and sapling seeking root
Years of toil of mind or body furnish pursuits of knowledge,
of self, of limits, of snakes and ladders and ceilings false, of vocation
and rewards. Eyes bulging bigger than bloated bellies infected by
viral greed, controlled by the uncontrollable god of Mammon.
The next age rounds on us soundly in a shock that we are
not all we thought we should be. Greater yet and lesser,
our sense uncommon to the core in thrall of habits too delightful
to deny , our foolish greed takes its toll on all flesh and futures
Ah wisdom now, too late we fear, hands linked with judgement fair as
once more we flay and thrash, weep and gnash our teeth in despair: of
youth, of governance, of justice and truth. No time left to win the game,
nor less to repair. Hindsight tunnels our blinkered vision towards the
fresh and hopeful, the terminally well, to see through our tear dimmed eyes.
In desperate failing hope and sinews taut the barely living beseech restraint
Our greatest hope as vision dims and leakage springs from every orifice and pore
Is that for us, the mind goes astray before the flesh fails too far.
For those we bore and to whom we bequeath our last - misery.
For us, perchance in contentment in our dementia, peace at last may reign fair,
No love, no pride, no conscience, no integrity, no decency, no honour, no reward.......
My late FiL (Bill) was a patron of the RSC and in a way this was a homage to two Bill's. Presumptuous - Moi. -
Message 43
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Friday, 4th February 2011
Wowza, BYT, that's awesome -a beast! Just read it through for the second time, so much there to comment on but I especially liked the lines,: "Great expectations loom large in yearning and learning;
vowing to love, respect, honour and obey till the next bright shiny
thing do us part. " The whole thing is quotable, to be honest. Very strong but tender in parts too. Respect.
You say you scribble ideas and phrases that sometimes come together, did that happen with this piece? Did you have to do much crafting?
With me it might well start with a phrase in my head for no reason, say I'm mucking out and I'll think, "light is not light." Then the voice will come and tell me a story that I'll rush in and get down on the computer. It's not entirely fully formed, some things don't work, repetitions happen, unintentional daftnessess. I jiggle about with it. Post it here, see things that are wrong and play with it again later when I can catch it by surprise, as it were. -
Message 44
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Saturday, 5th February 2011
Light
Light and dark, day and night,
Work, freedom, rest, fear.
Polar night, endless, black.
Midnight sun, sleep forgotten..
Velvet darkness, starlit,
Silver moonlight, shooting stars,
Aurora slashing the skies
With dancing mystic colour.
Dawn creeps on a lightening sky,
Sunrise raids a celestial paint-box.,
Noon with bright sunlight,
or lowering storm clouds above.
Pewter gray skies, cut through
with silvered lightening flash,
grumbling, rumbling thunder heralding
Rain in torrents, surging back from drains.
Man, needing solace from darkness,
Found light from tiny smoking lamps,
Tallow candles, and for the rich
Honeyed scent of beeswax candle light.
And onwards to magnified candle power
For lighthouses around the shores
To save ships from rocks and wreckers,
And bring cargoes safe to harbour..
And now man scoffs at old fears
Which stalked the land,
Controls the world from a switch.
But looks not to pay the final bill. -
Message 45
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
That's beautiful, SJ. I remember from last time how you can paint a picture with words. I liked the ambiguity of the final line, as well. Hope we can keep this thread going, it's so inspiring.
-
Message 46
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
Josey, thank you. I am not quite sure what I meant in the last line but it appeared so I let it stay..
Yes, I hope the thread flourishes again. Is there a reminder we can bump in TB?. -
Message 47
Posted by Josey (U1242413) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
I've put a reminder up in TB, perhaps you can give it a bump later, SJ.
-
Message 48
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
Hello Jenny
I really like the developing theme and the evocative language you have used here. You paint a story, draw a history with such colour and vivid images. Is there perhaps a touch of cynicism creeping in there at the end which rounds out the and completes the cycle.
Interesting, as I sometimes find my own writing follows similar patterns I wonder if you started with a message, or simply with an image that took your imagination to flight? -
Message 49
Posted by Silver Jenny (U12795676) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
I think it was the image, BYT. .
Failed artist, so I try to use words instead.
It was annoying, because I woke up the other morning wth the words all there, then I didn't write them down at once Cynical? Possible but not something I chose beforehand.
Weird business, writing, isn't it.
I keep rereading your amazing piece: so much to take in. -
Message 50
Posted by BrightYangThing (U14627705) on Sunday, 6th February 2011
Thank you for kind words Josey.
Until relatively recently my writing has only ever been a desperate need to get the words or idea out of may head and onto paper. Some sort of focusing exercise and often prompted by some happening in the world, or issue rolling around my mind prompted by a discussion or debate.
The too many ages was part prompted by tutor in class (a local authority happening) suggesting a parody on an existing work. It was near W Shakespeare;'s Birthday. And partly by the e=recent death of my FiL, who apart from feeling that sometimes life went on too long, was a patron of the RSC and Shakespeare aficionado.
On this one, because there was a form to follow in some ways, I found the general flow came to mind pretty well straight away. It did need crafting, some research and shaping and of course I never quite feel anything is complete or good enough. But sometimes good enough is all it can be. I think I said what was in my head.
I love unintentional daftnessess聽
That very adequately describes many of the notes and first drafts I am able to laugh at later. And this to later when I can catch it by surprise,聽 It highlights the need to put something away then come back and review and take the necessary red pen and murder some of your darlings.
When I do work for class, it is often a 'seat of pants' exercise, and thus pretty rough and ready. Sometimes I am inspired to revise more; other times to abandon the exercise as just that.
It is great though that we are inspired and encouraged to try forms and themes we would not be inclined to alone.
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