Thanks to Kevin for his response to our trigger ’lock’. Kevin writes:
‘Here is a short extract from my current work in progress, and autobiographical novel based on my experiences looking for love after leaving a Monastery.‘
Every other weekend, now without fail, and with Alan’s help, I went back home. The adults of the Youth Centre Management Committee showed that great lesson I learnt at Greyfriars: their trust that young people could be responsible. They took some persuading, but I had to fight to save my lost love.
This is an extract of a larger piece that Kevin has written around the prompt ‘You’.
Liam brings Tack up short telling him that his story of love for girls is all about him.
Liam sucked his lip loudly. ‘You…’ He wasn’t sure he wanted to go there. ‘The girls – you … what do they think of you?’
Tack looked at him, somewhat blankly.
‘I don’t wish to be cruel, Tack, but what you are telling me is all about you, with the occasional reference to what they look like.’
‘I see,’ said Tack, not a bit convincingly.
‘You seem to fall for a girl, you don’t really say why, and then you, well you chase them. Is that fair?’
‘My sister did pull me up on that.’
Liam laughed. ‘What notice did you take?’
Yes, you… you up for a writing challenge? Of course you are, you’re itching to write a piece using this week’s prompt:
But, woah there, hold your horses, rein in that imagination for a mo’… This week we’re asking you something a little more specific… to write about an event that happened to you, but write about in the second person. Yep, we’re asking you to address yourself. Question yourself, tell yourself off, laugh at yourself, let yourself be the star! We’re really looking forward to reading about your escapades through your creative non-fiction stories and poems, so don’t forget to share them with us. Have fun!
YooHoo, hi there, helloeeee….
I hope you’re waving back! I’m sure you are, you can’t help yourself when someone waves at you, can you?
Yep, you guessed it, this week’s prompt is ‘Wave’, though of course, it doesn’t have to be a hand wave, it could be a wave upon the shore, a lock of wavy hair, a wave of nausea even…ick! As usual, it’s up to you to use the word as inspiration, decide on interpretation, as well choosing the presentation (hey, look at all those ‘tions’!) – short story or poem, or maybe this week you’ve got an experience you’d like to share as creative non-fiction? Keep it real, or make it up, it’s really up to you, that is the joy of creative writing.
p.s. don’t forget to send us your work, we’d love to read it!
Just for a change, I thought we might take a slightly different approach to the prompt this week and ask you to look beyond your keyboard/notepad and pen and let your eyes rest on an object in your room that has meaning for you, and write a piece around that.
There’s a picture above of my own little dragon , bought from a grimy second hand shop in Pingyao, China. It lives on the mantlepiece as a permanent reminder of a wonderful trip, and below I’ve cheekily added a poem that I wrote about it a while back as a ‘starter for ten’. You can choose to write absolutely anything – an ornament; book; plant; record; picture… or maybe even the pen you’re using… I’m sure we’ve all got something with a memory or sentiment attached.
After many months of ‘Lock down’ during the Coronavirus pandemic, things were beginning to return to some form of normality, in the sleepy village of Ashburton. A newly married couple looked so happy, as they emerged from the quaint St. Katherine’s Church, on a warm Saturday afternoon in July, with almost every resident coming out to witness the happy event.
Confetti fluttered down on them, as the photographer struggled to direct friends and relatives into their positions.
Everyone had been stir-crazy sitting at home, waiting for the weather to change, and the first sight of the sun had gone out to the park with picnics and ball games. Dogs ran around, babies crawling across the grass with doting grandparents taking pictures, children on bikes with ice creams and toddlers splashing in the water, the squealing of children, and the chatter of people filled the park. The hard, warm wood of the bench underneath me melted away the cramps and the muscle tension around the back of my thighs and hips. I closed my eyes and lifted my head to the sky and bathed in the fresh spring heat, and the breeze brushed against my face and hands. The sounds of the park flooded my ears, and I breathed in the smell of coffee, hotdogs, and doughnuts. I smiled. It’s been a year since I had left that awful, middle of nowhere town, the abusive husband; the backhanded
From the Casebook of Police Constable John Thoresby
Report of PC John Thoresby 16th April 1846 Gringley on the Hill
I was making my rounds of the village on foot at 10 o’clock this morning and was in discussion with Jabez Wilkinson at the Mill when we heard a commotion coming from the centre of the village. Mr Wilkinson and I hurried towards the source of the noise and, coming around the corner at Cross Hill were met with the sight of a coach outside the White Hart being held up by two men on foot. The men were aiming pistols at the driver. I cried out that I was an officer of the law and ran towards the men. They both aimed their weapons at Mr Wilkinson and I and discharged them. Fortunately for both of us, only one of the pistols fired, the other suffering a flash in the pan. Their aim was not good, and neither of us was hurt.
A canoe paddled by natives headed through mangroves and giant water lilies, towards the village of Puntagalula deep in the Amazon jungle. Here, Father Percy Whitaker would be taking up his ministerial work with the missionaries and two nuns. He had left his parish over a week ago. A parish in Devon that he simply adored. But God had called him, and Gods will must be done. He was twenty four, single and devoted to his calling, so it wasn’t too difficult to leave behind, all the friends he had made.
Housekeeper, Mrs Blades cried as she had handed him a leather shopping bag. Here Father, I have packed you some treats for your journey. I know you are bound to get peckish and love my baking and homemade lemonade. The bag may also come in handy for picking bananas or maybe coconuts and things that grow there. Even though there are no shops where you are going you could need a bag”. She wiped away a tear with the bottom of her apron. “I wish you didn’t have to leave us. You will take care, won’t you?”
In order to do our best to keep our members safe and virus free, it has been reluctantly decided to suspend our meetings for the time being. Of course, that doesn’t mean a break from writing! In fact, with all this isolation it should be a perfect time to settle down with pen and ink or keyboard.
We do want to make sure we keep in touch, and of course, we’ll need to keep this space alive, so do keep sending your work to us to share. I’ll give you a prompt now and again, just in case you need a nudge of inspiration.
You will have seen the last prompt was ‘Copy’ – have you written anything around that yet? If that hasn’t set your pen in motion, why not try this week’s:
As usual, use any format you like, and any interpretation. I’ll look forward to reading your work.
Keep safe. x