Reminiscing...

This morning I have been on a virtual walk...wandering through the once familiar lanes and alleyways of the internet...stumbling upon long forgotten but one time regular haunts.

It's too easy to be distracted by the very present, shiny, social media stuff. Twitter and Facebook dangle baubles that catch the light and sparkle brightly but oh-so-fleetingly. But of course as one glittering tweet fades the light bounces off to light  up another. They are like fairground candy floss...satisfying for a second but with no substance. Blog posts and writers websites on the other hand glow with a constant, gentle luminescence that can be overlooked as we dash from shiny to shiny. So today I have revisited and indulged in a few old favourites. 

One in particular I stayed at for a while - it kindleakindle a little spark which brought me back here to my own stagnant blog, searching for a piece of my own writing...I didn't find it and so I am posting here today, six years after it appeared on Richard Hearn's Geowriting site as part of the Brighton Digital Festival. 

If I remember rightly, the prompt was a boy in a yellow T-Shirt ...

This is what I wrote: 

I made my way from the station. Keeping to the narrow back lanes and side streets. Off the beaten tracks, away from prying eyes. I couldn't risk being spotted. That would raise too many questions, too many puzzled looks, the risk of discovery and repatriation. The last thing I wanted!

A movement at the end of the alley caught my attention.

A sudden breeze lifted the rubbish causing a mini maelstrom of old newspapers and Pizza Place fliers. I squinted against the tornado of dust and grit and saw beyond it, a small human crouching by the bins. He seemed as keen as I not to be spotted, and I couldn't help feeling that a less glaring choice of shirt might have helped him.

We looked at each other, warily.

Separated for an instant by the storm of paper until, as suddenly as it had begun, the wind dropped and the papers fluttered to the ground. One sheet came to rest in front of me. I looked down and saw my own face staring back. And underneath, the hideous human name.

I shuddered in disgust and shame. By the bins the boy stared at me. His eyes flickered to the paper at my feet and back up to meet my gaze. He nodded, the slightest, barely perceptable movement of his head and then stood and jogged quietly past.

Thankful of his understanding, I continued my journey leaving behind the poster offering a reward for my safe return. I hoped the human boy was as successful in his own bid for freedom.

You can find out about the project and read the other contributions from writers across the country here 

http://www.brightondigitalfestival.co.uk/

Crossing boundaries and breaking barriers

One Day?

The first tourists had started to arrive, their cars pulled smugly into parking spaces so early in the day. Later there would be more of them, frazzled, touring the town in search of a space, especially if the weather brightened. But looking out across the bay, at the castle dark against the grey skies, it was hard to imagine the day would brighten at all.
It was hard really to think that another May was already upon them. Before long the little town would be awash with tourists, bursting with excitement and enthusiasm, laden with  fractious children, grumbling grandparents and tourist information.
Very soon there would be little time to stare at the view and dream. There would be endless drinks to serve, meals to cook, rooms to clean.
A sudden gust of wind tugged at the bar door, opening it a few inches; just enough to allow in a brief tantalising breath of air, heady with the sweet scent of new mown grass and the salt tang of sea spray. With it came the sound of waves crashing on the shore and a gull shrieking as it wheeled overhead.
A tentative thought surfaced - today, maybe today would be the day to step outside?
Almost as soon as the thought was formed, the wind dropped and the door clashed back on its hinges, clattering the glass in its frame and shattering the dream before it was even properly formed.

Originally written for Crossing the Tees and published as a podcast on www.rachelcochrane.com

#AmWriting

I have been trying to get on top of this writing lark lately. Not very successfully, I might add. As always I have ideas but they never seem to transform themselves into words on a page...and I know!! the words won't actually write themselves, I do have to put some effort in myself. So I have taken myself in hand and am currently submitting to a number of regular challenges. As well as my old favourite Paragraph Planet, I am trying my hand at Three Line Thursday and Ad Hoc Fiction.


PP is a 75 word flash challenge. You can submit to it anytime, on any subject, as the

muse moves you, but your story must be precisely 75 words - no more, no less.

TLT is a weekly picture challenge. You have one day to submit three lines of no more than 10 words per line, inspired by the

featured image. Winners are announced the following Saturday. It's quite a challenge and the standard of entries is high. It is however a very supportive community of writers.

Adhoc is another weekly challenge. This one gives you a generous 150 word maximum, and the only requirement is that you must include the prompt word in your tale. Winning stories for Adhoc Fiction recieve a free chance to enter the longer Bath Flash Fiction Award.




In addition to all these I am also trying to write a poem inspired by science. That's not going so well just yet but it may get there. I have found my friendly scientist (I didn't have to look far to be fair, he's on my friends list!)and we have had a chat about why he thinks science is fab. Now I have a week to kick it into touch and string together some half decent words and ideas. It might happen. Watch this space!

National Flash Fiction Day Flashback

National Flash Fiction Day is coming round again and I was reminded today of a piece I submitted in 2012 (thanks FB Memories). It's linked below for your delight and delectation.
Flash Fiction is what got me writing, or to be precise, it's what got me believing I could write and that my tiny scraps were actually worthwhile. NFFD has been fundamental in nurturing this fragile confidence. The guys behind the day have always been supportive and friendly, especially to an upstart newby like myself. They have given people like me the opportunity to join in and try our first tentative steps into the world without fear that if we stumble, the pavement will rise up and crack our skulls. This year I am joining in again. I have actually entered one of the competitions. Don't know if my offering will cut the mustard, but I do know that just entering and putting my words into the mix, is quite a step for me. The next rung on the ladder in my word dabbling journey.
If you are interested in creative writing and aren't sure where to start, then I'd recommend flash fiction - have a look here. There are lots of activities online to get you started.
And finally, here is the thing of mine from NFFD2012. So, what are you waiting for? If I can do it, anyone can.

And, by the way, yes - there is a typo in it. Funny how you don't spot these things till three years later... :-D

The Write-In: Just Say Yes by Denise Sparrowhawk: 
She heard the question. The words were clear, the meaning quite plain. It didn’t seem to be a trick question. She hesitated, wondering. What...

Still small voices

As you may know, if you've been paying attention, I've been joining in with Last Line First, a flash fiction challenge run by Natalie Bowers.
The object is to write a story, in no more than 200 words, inspired by a single sentence - a last line from one of the previous week's entries.
The sentence is chosen by Natalie each week and it becomes the first line of the new entries.
It's a simple idea. Sometimes the sentence is an easy prompt, and an idea occurs to me almost straight away. Other times it takes a while for a story to present itself, and sometimes I find it impossible to come up with anything at all, but it's always fun trying. There have been some excellent last lines and I am amazed at the diversity of stories that sprout from the same sentence.
When I start to write I don't have a last the last line in mind - I just go where the idea and the story takes me. I seem, finally, to be finding my voice and, I think, growing in confidence - helped by the supportive words of encouragement from the other contributors.
I also seem to be getting good at last lines. This is a good thing since I hate the disappointment of a weak ending. So I am happy to say my latest offering was chosen to start week 16, which is also good, as it cheered up my bank holiday blues!

You can read my offering Stillness along with the other stories on Story Scavenger - Last Line First. Why not check out the latest prompt and join in? Make your still small voice heard...

Challenges

I've neglected my blog again.
Well, not quite true. I have been visiting it, like a sick Auntie in a hospital, and peering at the stats, and feeling slightly amazed that it is still breathing. People are still coming in and looking at bits of it. So I've been scrolling through the old posts to see what they looked at, and thinking I really should add something new. I have even opened the "new post" tab. And I have stared at the big white space and that blinking little cursor. "Go on!" it blinked, "Type something...I dare you! Type, type, type..." A flickering black line whispering its mockery. And my words dried up. My thoughts disappeared. It's like magic. Really, it is. Stage magicians can make a woman disappear. A blinking cursor and a blank screen can make a brain disappear. But this magic is not real. It's just a trick. A sleight of hand. The brain is still there and it is still full of words. All it needs is for some rogue child to pull back the curtain and reveal all to the audience.

My rogue children currently come in the form of two challengers. They have crept in and twitched back the curtain.
First and most public is Natalie Bowers who started "Last Line First". A weekly flash writing challenge that I am trying to keep up with. I am failing miserably at it, but it's fun! I was fortunate enough to have a last line intriguing enough to be chosen for the challenge in week 4. Hence my lovely badge of honour which you can see on the right (Unless you're on a mobile device, in which case take my word for it, it's lovely!). We're on week eight now and I have just submitted again. (Told you I was failing at it!)
My second challenger is not quite so public, a personal challenge from a friend who pokes me, tuts at me, scolds me and makes me write. He fires random challenges to make me think, make me seek out the words and thoughts and find a way to get them onto the blank page. I don't always do what he tells me, but I do listen. He might not realise that, so hopefully this will serve to let him know his scolding is doing some good!
You can read the fruit of his four word challenge here, if you're so inclined and feel free to leave a comment.

The hardest part is often just daring to put a word - any word - onto the white page. Once a word is on there the page is not so white, not so blank, and not so scary. And if it turns out to be not quite the right word, I can always replace it with another...and another and another...and before I know it I've written something and there's a new post on my blog. Watch this space. The words are flowing again and Auntie Blog is feeling better.

Creepy Crawlies

The past week I seem to have developed a magnetic personality for creatures with more than four legs. It began with a spider clinging to my car, looking as if it had been caught in a room with David Banner and some gamma rays. I am reliably informed this is a female green (no,really?) orb weaver spider. Quite common, actually.




 Next up, no more than two days later, this chap...who was cheeky enough to be inside the car! Yikes! Fortunately I didn't spot him until the end of the journey as I was parking the car, so no spider induced traffic calamity. This one is a harvester spider, apparently. He wasn't too keen on being ushered to the outside of the car. Perhaps for this reason he made a re-appearence a day later...crawling up my jeans leg. It may not have been the same one...perhaps he sent his big brother round to sort me out? Either way, this one was also encouraged to take a turn in the fresh air!


In the meantime at work, I have been keeping a spidery weather eye on two large black spider legs that are currently protruding out of a crack in the window frame near my desk. They have been there for a week, unmoving. Past experience has taught me not to be complacent. Just because they haven't moved doesn't mean they won't. I know one morning I will come to work and the legs will have disappeared and somwhere a rather large black spider will be lurking...

This is not the end of the creepy crawlie saga - I have also had a shield bug incident - but it was at this point that I felt inspired to pen a spidery flash...herewith shared!

Spider Humour
Spiders have a fiendish sense of humour. They lay in wait and jump out, "Boo!" Or creep up, unawares, as you watch TV in the dark. A sudden RAWR!!" in the flickering light of "Aliens III". But the best ones play the long game, hiding in a crevice in the window sill, just the tip of a black leg in view. There for days, unmoving. You convince yourself it is no threat. Then, one day, gone.

A Quiet Thought

I have been catching up with posts from National Flash Fiction Day. It's taking me a while, because there was such a lot going on and so many good stories to read. I was busy with a poetry project so we didn't celebrate the day in Hartlepool this year, and as time was tight I didn't manage to join in any of the online activities either. While I was rummaging about in the many blog entries my name surpisingly popped up with a story I submitted back in 2012. I had completely forgotten about it. The prompt was the phrase "Just say yes". It's not bad, even if I say so myself. Makes me wish even more that I had managed to write something for this year.
Anyway, for your delight and delectation, I thought I would share it again here. (Spotted a typo in the original would you believe!)
If you'd like to read more flash from this year's #nffd then look here:  http://thewrite-in.blogspot.co.uk/?m=0

Just Say Yes!
She heard the question. The words were clear, the meaning quite plain. It didn’t seem to be a trick question. She hesitated, wondering. What if he didn’t really mean it? What if he was just being polite. People did that. Asked things because they felt they ought, not because they really wanted to. Or what if he wasn’t really who he seemed? He seemed nice, polite, interested. What if it was all just a front, a cover for a darker, less polite, dangerous person? Someone interested for the wrong reason. What if she said no? Would the darker person she feared reveal himself or would he just walk away? Would she regret it? Was it really worth the risk? It would be so much safer to simply say no: to walk away from him.
Inside her head one thought fought its way to the top, pushing aside all the doubts, all the “what ifs?”. A quiet thought.
Just say yes, it said.

Signs of Life - a flash fiction and a little reflection.

Signs of Life

He bumbled and grumped through his morning routine. Bedroom drawers rumbled open with no clack of closure. Water spattered from taps. Downstairs, doors clumped shut, cutlery crackled against crockery. The kettle clicked into rumbling action. She waited, quiet, listening. How loud it all was. These noises intruded, silencing her thoughts, quashing her dreams, tethering her to this life. Their life? His life. Later, she would make noises of her own.

I've not been doing too well with my writing lately. This blog has languished for weeks. And yet it is not for want of ideas. My head is filled with half formed ideas that never seem to develop, or refuse to develop the way I wish they would. I'm not quite sure why this is. My initial lack of confidence about my writing has waned somewhat, entirely due to the encouragement of some very talented people. They are still telling me that what I write is worth something, and they ought to know about stuff like that, right? After all, for some of them it's what they do everyday.
Life is full of noise at the moment. Lots of banging and clattering, some of it is good noise, but quite a lot is just clatter. And it's hard to put that aside and find the quiet calm that enables the half formed ideas and thoughts to grow into something real.
Signs of Life was written a little while ago. Now seemed like a good time to bring it out into the world.

Exams - Flash Fiction

Zoe sat shredding the serviette, the coffee forgotten, cold in its polystyrene cup. All around other students swarmed in and out. Their chatter a rising crescendo, fading away as the swarm departed. She thought she might die from the noise, it seemed so alien to her. So much chattering and laughter. The remains of the serviette twisted tight in her fingers. She clung to it as if it alone could stop her from falling apart.
A buzzer sounded. The harsh claxon drawing the swarm suddenly away. Alone, Zoe slumped into her seat. And the tears came. 

Curiosity killed the cat.

People said it was the black dog that killed him. But in truth it was curiosity. The sign said, in letters big and red,

Do Not Enter
Guard dog

Curiosity and prohibition, the cat's siren call, painted in letters as red as the matador's rag. He knew the score. There could be no excuse, and no defence.
He opened the gate.

Inspired by poetry.

They sat in the inglenook, talking quietly. All around them customers arrived, sat, ordered, drank tea, left. Delicate china tea cups rattled in saucers, silver teaspoons tinkled. Sugar was spooned, cream was poured, cakes were eaten. Waitresses scurried to and fro, serving tea and cake, presenting bills, clearing tables.
And all the while the couple in the inglenook sat and talked. Safe in a world of their own making,  enveloped in a calmness, a togetherness that excluded everyone else in the room. The noise and bustle didn't impinge on their world. They felt no need to raise their voices, as the noise in the tea shop rose, they simply inclined towards each other, unconsciously, as if breathing in the other's words.
Time ticked by. The tea room filled. People waited to be seated. No-one approached the couple to suggest they might care to abandon their nook to another couple.
At 3.30 she glanced at the clock and laid a hand gently on his arm. He briefly covered her hand with his and then waved for the bill. The first and only touch.
The bill was presented and paid, with a generous tip for the smiling waitress.
He held the door, and then they were gone.





"Let us not speak, for the love we bear one another -
  let us hold hands and look'
She, such a very ordinary little woman;
  He, such a thumping crook;
But both, for a moment, little lower than angels
  In the teashop's inglenook.

A short short reprieve.

I was clearing out files and emails today and came across this very short short. I think it was a National Short Story Day Twitter challenge.  A story in a tweet. I kind of like it (I'm starting to say that a lot, lately), so I thought I'd share it before it was consigned to the recycle bin. Who knows maybe one of these days I'll develop the idea behind it. I'm pretty sure there was one...

She entered the room, a silence fell.
The kind of silence that screams through your soul.
That says 'From this moment, life changes".

Comments and suggestions welcome. Feel free to develop the idea if you have any inkling as to what happens next, or indeed what has gone before...

Seventy five words!

She waited.

There was nothing she could do. She knew that.

But still her mind raced, full of "what ifs?" and "maybes?". Futile ideas, straws to be grasped and crushed and discarded, instantly replaced by yet another desperate idea. 

The clock ticked, slow and deliberate, mocking her pretence at patience.

This was madness!

She should not have come. Not today, probably not ever.

Still the clock ticked on.

Dear God! How she hated the waiting.

I wrote this as a submission for Paragraph Planet which asks for a 75 word story. Have just realised it had 76 words (now edited)! Curse my dodgy maths skills!  Hopefully my English skills are a bit better? 

Location Location Location

During my usual desultory Saturday morning Facebook and Twitter trawl, I came across a last call tweet for submissions to a geo-writing project in Brighton. Not having heard of geo-writing before I followed the link and discovered an interesting idea, and better still, I didn't actually have to be in Brighton to join in (not that there's anything at all wrong about being in Brighton, but I am 350 miles north of it and unlikely to be able to pop down to find a prompt....)
My own writing has been languishing in the doldrums lately so I was surprised to sense a little inner flutter of interest as I read about the project. Location inspired writing is sort of what got me started (see my Flashing post). So I clicked on the prompt and amazingly the flutter turned into a steady pulse...the prompt had immediately prompted an idea. The resulting short has been sent off - with a little trepidation. The rules say I don't have to be in Brighton to join in, but it does seem a little bit cheeky. I'm not in the location, and if you know me at all or have read any more of my blog, you will know I don't actually consider myself to be a writer. Double cheek!
The geo writing project ends on the 30th Sept so you could still join in if you are quick....only 50-250 words.
I will post my little offering here shortly - cutting and pasting in the Blogger app on my phone would try the patience of a saint. In the meantime I'd like to say thanks to these guys for getting my meagre creative juices flowing again:
http://www.geo-writing.com/index.htm

The writing by other contributors can be read here http://www.geo-writing.com/writing.php


Post Script:
As promised here is my meagre offering.

LOCATION: Carden Park

PROMPT: A woman in her 80s is asking people whether they have seen the aliens

Have you seen them?
Have you seen them?
Over and over, she asked, her quavering voice rising in agitation. Arthritic fingers clutching anxiously at their sleeves, hands, bags.
You must have seen them?
They were meant to be here. Meant to be here.
Meant to take me with them this time.
Promised me.
Promised.

People saw her, heard her desperate pleading, gave her a wide birth, hoping to avoid any awkwardness. They had seen nothing. Shaking their heads and looking away, they scurried past, not wishing to become involved.
Doubtless someone would come for her soon.
Safely inside their cloaked ship the aliens watched and waited.

No mackintosh required.

Saturday 22nd June was the second ever National Flash Fiction Day.
To celebrate it, I invited Amy Mackelden to run a Flash Workshop in the library.

Cue a deluge of 'fnar fnars' and grubby old mackintosh jokes. You can come to your own conclusions as to whether the joke or the mackintosh was grubby! I have heard such jokes in some form or other before and am well used to dealing with them - hey! I'm a librarian, when it comes to nudge, nudge and wink, winking I can out-innuendo the best of them.

A flash workshop is not about learning to lurk in a grubby mac and, with sudden and surprising alacrity, to jump out and reveal your hidden attributes. But in actual fact, I find that there is a similarity. Flash fiction wraps a story up in a few well chosen, well placed words. It either wraps you in a familiar cardigan, comfortable and relaxed, or it presents you with a grubby mac, alien and perturbing, hiding who knows what? In either case, just as you are thinking that you know exactly what's what, flash whips open its chosen vestment and reveals something unexpected.

And it has to be said, our workshop surprised us! Innocuous everyday objects revealed deep dark secrets! Who would have known that Amy's pretty box might contain a clutch of macabre treasures! Holly Golightly's underwear, Schroedinger's cat, severed digits and unsavoury pickles, parallel worlds and alien universes. All these and more lurked quietly in the box waiting for their moment to jump out and surprise us!

Flashing

On Sunday I found myself at a loose end in a pub car park. Not something that happens to me very often, if at all! I grabbed the opportunity to try out a bit of flash writing. It's harder than you might think. Plus you do feel slightly conspicuous placing a piece of paper in a bush (to stop it from blowing away), and photographing it. There are now a half dozen strangers in Sunderland who think I may be a mad-cow. Friends and acquaintances have been well aware of this for some time!

If you'd like to see the fruits of my labour - and some others by people more talented than me, click the link:

 http://nffdflashpoints.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/forlorn-by-denise-sparrowhawk.html