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 backhandedcontinue Reading
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.Continue Reading
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?”Continue Reading
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
Oh I do like a good old clear out now and again. Uncovering treasures that have been in the back of cupboards, or boxed up in the loft, can bring back all sorts of precious memories. But there is always something lurking there that makes you wonder what prompted you to keep it in the first place.
‘Chuck that, it’s just junk’
But it must’ve had it’s moment in my life somewhere along the line. I guess all junk has its own history. After all, as the saying goes, ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure!’ So have a go at this week’s prompt:
Any old style or format: poem; short story; extract; creative non-fiction or even some flash fiction. Go on give it a go. Find some junk and give it a backstory!
We were in our new, temporary, premises at Retford Museum this week, since the library is undergoing refurbishment and won’t be available again until April. So this was a ‘forced’ move for us, though the new room is perfect – just the right size and shape. Anyway it has prompted (!) this weeks prompt of:
After giving it some thought, it seems such a versatile word: Move to music; moving house; moving furniture; move away; a great little mover! These were just some of the ideas I came up with, I’m sure you can think of lots more. Let’s see your poems, stories, creative non-fiction, scripts even, inspired by the word ‘Move’.
Every scar has a story. Some scars are disfiguring, some may be unobtrusive, and some may be hidden, but they all tell a story. There are those scars that are perceived to enhance the wearer, but that is usually because those observing them want to know the story.
Anyone who knows me will know that I have a scar that runs for about 3 inches down the left side of my face from the top of my cheekbone towards the corner of my mouth. My friends have often speculated about how I came to get this facial feature, but I have never told them the true story. My late wife knew the truth as she was there when I got it,Continue reading
Here in Retford the rain this week has been pretty biblical with lots of flooding creating havoc locally. So this week, it seems appropriate to go with the prompt of
Use it any way you like – the obvious; flooded roads and fields, floods of tears, or the not so obvious; outpouring of words; flooded with relief… that sort of thing. I’m sure you can think up a few original and fun ways to use it! We look forward to reading your ideas.
For a mere second the soldier closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep’s black embrace. It was long enough for him to shuffle off the rain-slicked duckboards; off that narrow avenue between places of fragile safety.
He landed on his back on the thick, bomb churned mud.
Staring wide-eyed at the grey, rain-filled sky, he screamed a muffled cry of commingled anger and terror at his fatal mistake.Continue reading
Our prompt this week is:
You can use this any way you like – Location; Locality; Localise, or even Lo-cal! It would be lovely to hear a bit about where you live, but just use the word to inspire you. Why not try a bit of freewriting, just 15 minutes of pen to paper – no stopping, or punctuation, just a free flow of words, a bit like word association if you like. See where it takes you. After that, you can either edit it into a fully formed piece, or just search it for gems. The finished piece can, of course, be prose, poetry, fiction or biography, or anything else you can think of! We look forward to reading your work.