'Don't think about a cow', Matt Brinkley said to Seb, who was looking up at him,
'think about something smaller, like a chicken, or a pig, it will be easier to do with your limited resources'.
Seb, 9, cursed his mother and sighed inwardly. Trust his mum to not pack enough materials for his school farmyard project. It was always him who was missing something vital.
Meanwhile, Sophie Wren, Seb's mother, suddenly wondered why her laptop bag was full of cereal boxes and newspaper. 'Bugger', she muttered under her breath. 'He's going to kill me'.
'What was that, Mel'? Marcie, her PA said. 'Oh nothing, just ruining Seb's life again'. Sophie replied. Marcie looked sympathetic. 'Tea?'
She sent Seb a text to apologise, 'sorry hun, bag swap crisis, hope it didn't affect your work, love you, mum. Xxx'. Whilst she was sending it, she reflected on Seb's life, and what she had put him through in his short 9 years. Admittedly, not all her fault, but she hadn't made his life easy.
It had started with the hospital. All those long hours sitting by his bed had taken its toll on her marriage. Marc had stopped dropping by so much, stopped being at home so much as well for that matter. She hadn't had time to deal with it then. Being by Seb's bedside was the most important thing. Watching him sleep, watching him breathe, and praying that he would live, and thrive.
At one point, it got to a stage where they hadn't spoken for a whole week. The next time they spoke was when Marc had told her he wanted to separate. He hadn't signed up for illness and misery. He had signed up for a perfect family, causing no trouble, and a wife who looked after him. She took this stoically. She had no energy to fight, and no will to.
Day, after day she sat in that hospital. Seb was barely awake, and she couldn't concentrate on anything. The only people she saw in those long hours was the paediatrician, Lucy Mainsbridge. She popped in every day. As time went on, she took to sitting with them. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. It was Lucy, who put her hand in Mel's when Seb started rallying and the prognosis looked better. She was also the one who rang to see if she was ok when they finally went home, who kissed her during the picnic on Seb's first outdoor outing in a long time.
Marc had caused some problems when he found out. It wasn't that he wanted to be with her and Seb, he just didn't want his son to be around 'such people', as he put it. The court battle had been long and bloody. She had tried to keep Seb out of it, but she was worried that the scars would take longer to heal than those of his surgery.
The phone jolted her out of her reverie, 'Its Lucy', Marcia said through the ear piece. 'Thanks put her through'. She picked up the phone and waited for Lucy to speak.
'Hi, how's your day going, hun, I'm finishing up early so I'll pick up tea on the way home'.
'I screwed up, Seb went to school with only half of his project materials. I am such a bad mum.'
'Don't be ridiculous, he loves you, and her knows how much you do to look after him'.
Feeling reassured, Mel hung up. As she did her phone beeped, it was Seb. 'Hey ma, don't worry, borrowed off Henry, made 2 chickens. One for you and one for Lucy, love you. Xx'
Mel's smile lit up her face. Maybe she wasn't such a screw-up after all. She swivelled in her chair, caught some dangling wires and nearly toppled over. She laughed heartily and got on with finishing up her day so she could go home to her family.
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Story based on picture of a body lying on the floor
I had always felt it. That feeling of being slightly off. It became a reality. It took some getting used to, but, I think I fitted in quite well when I put my mind to it.
I walked into the house. It was empty. The heat of the room became so oppressive that I breathed a sigh of relief when I slipped my feet out of my shoes and touched down on the ice cold floor. Bliss.
I don't know why I was surprised the place was empty. It always felt like it, even when inhabited, there was nothing captured in this frame. No warmth, no love and certainly no laughter.
I crept into the back room, relishing the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. There would be a price to pay for not joining them, surely. You can't avoid your nature, no matter how hard you try.
They were my family now. My real family were long gone. I remembered them with what little heart I had left. It became more of an effort as time went on to keep the flame of emotion within me.
My stomach growled and i felt weak. I stretched out on the cold marble floor, pressing every inch of my body onto it, wanting to feel something other than being alone.
I must have dozed, as I was woken with a start by the sound of the door creaking. Feeling the tension crackle in the air I tried to compose myself without showing submission. They sensed me and entered the room. As I glanced at their faces those brave thoughts left me and I begged for their forgiveness.
It seemed like hours before he stepped up towards me and spoke, 'You are young and impetuous'. I stifled a nervous laugh, the older they were, the more flowery the language. i did not associate myself with them; the slightly stuffy exterior, the cold heart. I didn't want to be like them. I would rather burn.
'I know your thoughts', he said. 'You must feed, if you want to live'. Complimenting their language for once I answered in kind. 'I do not live', I said. 'I fear I must die. Properly this time'.
I walked into the house. It was empty. The heat of the room became so oppressive that I breathed a sigh of relief when I slipped my feet out of my shoes and touched down on the ice cold floor. Bliss.
I don't know why I was surprised the place was empty. It always felt like it, even when inhabited, there was nothing captured in this frame. No warmth, no love and certainly no laughter.
I crept into the back room, relishing the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. There would be a price to pay for not joining them, surely. You can't avoid your nature, no matter how hard you try.
They were my family now. My real family were long gone. I remembered them with what little heart I had left. It became more of an effort as time went on to keep the flame of emotion within me.
My stomach growled and i felt weak. I stretched out on the cold marble floor, pressing every inch of my body onto it, wanting to feel something other than being alone.
I must have dozed, as I was woken with a start by the sound of the door creaking. Feeling the tension crackle in the air I tried to compose myself without showing submission. They sensed me and entered the room. As I glanced at their faces those brave thoughts left me and I begged for their forgiveness.
It seemed like hours before he stepped up towards me and spoke, 'You are young and impetuous'. I stifled a nervous laugh, the older they were, the more flowery the language. i did not associate myself with them; the slightly stuffy exterior, the cold heart. I didn't want to be like them. I would rather burn.
'I know your thoughts', he said. 'You must feed, if you want to live'. Complimenting their language for once I answered in kind. 'I do not live', I said. 'I fear I must die. Properly this time'.
Creative writing course
Week two: writing without thinking too much
Fence
My nan wanted a new fence. Just a nice, ordinary one, not costing much money. My dad being my dad was not happy with this. He wanted to build the best fence in the world, at the most expensive price, and give her the bill. Its a matter of perspective. He thought he was doing a great job. She didn't think she would still be around to appreciate it in 10 years time.
Milk shake
I always wanted milk shake as a child and we were never allowed it. Except, on very special occasions, and only at Wimpy. Never at McDonald's or any other food establishment. Only Wimpy, because it was a proper restaurant, and they came to serve you at your table.
Wooden wardrobe
Once on a school trip we discovered that the boys had brought booze, Lowenbrau, no less. They chickened out of drinking it, and my friend and I sat in a wooden wardrobe drinking it. It wasn't very sturdy and we were nearly 15. It tipped and nearly toppled over. We laughed, and didn't get caught. The boys were impressed.
A walk in the park
When I was at Primary School I never had exciting weekends and I always wanted to. So, when writing my Monday morning, 'What I did at the weekend', I said I had gone to the park, all on my own. I was 4! Afterwards, I was worried for days that social services would appear.
Fishpond
One Summer, my friend and I were in her garden. We looked in her fishpond and a disease had killed some of the fish and frogs. We decided to cremate them in the shed. It got out of hand and we accidentally burnt a lot of the shed down, including her mum's fabric. She was an interior designer. She didn't notice cause she was going blind.
Fence
My nan wanted a new fence. Just a nice, ordinary one, not costing much money. My dad being my dad was not happy with this. He wanted to build the best fence in the world, at the most expensive price, and give her the bill. Its a matter of perspective. He thought he was doing a great job. She didn't think she would still be around to appreciate it in 10 years time.
Milk shake
I always wanted milk shake as a child and we were never allowed it. Except, on very special occasions, and only at Wimpy. Never at McDonald's or any other food establishment. Only Wimpy, because it was a proper restaurant, and they came to serve you at your table.
Wooden wardrobe
Once on a school trip we discovered that the boys had brought booze, Lowenbrau, no less. They chickened out of drinking it, and my friend and I sat in a wooden wardrobe drinking it. It wasn't very sturdy and we were nearly 15. It tipped and nearly toppled over. We laughed, and didn't get caught. The boys were impressed.
A walk in the park
When I was at Primary School I never had exciting weekends and I always wanted to. So, when writing my Monday morning, 'What I did at the weekend', I said I had gone to the park, all on my own. I was 4! Afterwards, I was worried for days that social services would appear.
Fishpond
One Summer, my friend and I were in her garden. We looked in her fishpond and a disease had killed some of the fish and frogs. We decided to cremate them in the shed. It got out of hand and we accidentally burnt a lot of the shed down, including her mum's fabric. She was an interior designer. She didn't notice cause she was going blind.
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Homework - The crossing - A Fairy Tale
As a child I sat by the banks of the river, dreaming. Whether the sun was red, or the clouds hung over the top of the reeds, I faced it, bravely. Whenever I sat by the river, I forgot about hardships, I thought only of the future, what could happen, what I wanted to happen. I looked at the river and expected stepping stones to appear, a boat to take me across, or a fairy to secure my passage.
As I turned away from the river of my childhood, to face uncertainty on a different continent, I wished my legs were longer. I thought then I would surely be able to cross it.
Growing up I felt unsettled, like a nose out of joint, a book out of the library, a worm on the turn. I stagnated, I had no flow and no direction.
As an adult, I returned once again to the river. I looked at its wide mouth, it felt like freedom and I wanted to see what the other side would feel like. I looked at my legs, they were still not long enough to stretch to my destiny.
Looking closer, I saw below me a break in the water. Arising from the water was a woman, dressed in robes that shone with rich colour. Her voice was like a song; like a bubbling brook; like every dream I had ever had. Her words were not conventional, I could not repeat them, but they went straight into my heart, and it soared. It went over the river, taking me with it. Pulling me, and guiding me. I felt quite breathless and more than a little giddy. I reached the other side.
Turning to see the woman, I saw she was dropping back into the water. The sunset over her head was like a halo, burnt orange, fading to ochre and she, if a colour, would be gold, although it was like nothing I had ever seen before. I waved and looked at the path ahead of me. I could see hills, mountains, winding paths and straight ones. Dirt, floods and famines. It was all mine, waiting. And I stepped into it gratefully. Ready to finally begin.
This and that: based on Girl Jamaica Kincaid
This
Monday, tuna sandwiches again, no mayo, eat tea, cold meat and scummy potatoes; flute and homework. Tuesday, ham, no salad, eat tea, spaghetti bolognese, flute and homework. Wednesday, cheese, no pickle, eat tea, chilli, flute and homework. Thursday, corned beef, no nothing, eat tea, liver and bacon, flute and homework. Friday, crab paste, yuk!, eat tea, fish and chips, flute and homework. Saturday, salad for lunch, stew for tea, go to the library, read all the books from the library. Sunday, roast dinner, flute and homework. Mustn't leave the table without asking, mustn't eat off the knife, Must eat my peas, must eat potato croquettes, or get a smack, no sweets, no pop, no salt, no colourful food. Eat all the food on the plate. You are too fat. Don't speak unless you are spoken too, don't go in the living room, don't go out to play. Don't have long hair its not practical, you can't do that, you can't go there. Don't be seen, don't be heard.
That
Monday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, proof-reading, reading reading and bed. Tuesday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, proof-reading, reading reading and bed. Wednesday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, do something cultural and bed. Thursday, go to the cafe, ww recipe for dinner, date night and bed. Friday, something out of a tin, drink! Saturday, drive, drink later. Sunday, read, eat, chores, gardening. Mustn't lose control over routine, mustn't tell life story after one drink. Eat all the food on the plate. You are too fat. Must keep up to date with chores, must earn more money, must be married, or at least attempt marriage, not hang around with girls. Must be adult, must be child, must be friend, lover, loner. Must work hard, not be late. Must be creative, achieve, embody, empower, sleep. Be seen and be heard.
Monday, tuna sandwiches again, no mayo, eat tea, cold meat and scummy potatoes; flute and homework. Tuesday, ham, no salad, eat tea, spaghetti bolognese, flute and homework. Wednesday, cheese, no pickle, eat tea, chilli, flute and homework. Thursday, corned beef, no nothing, eat tea, liver and bacon, flute and homework. Friday, crab paste, yuk!, eat tea, fish and chips, flute and homework. Saturday, salad for lunch, stew for tea, go to the library, read all the books from the library. Sunday, roast dinner, flute and homework. Mustn't leave the table without asking, mustn't eat off the knife, Must eat my peas, must eat potato croquettes, or get a smack, no sweets, no pop, no salt, no colourful food. Eat all the food on the plate. You are too fat. Don't speak unless you are spoken too, don't go in the living room, don't go out to play. Don't have long hair its not practical, you can't do that, you can't go there. Don't be seen, don't be heard.
That
Monday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, proof-reading, reading reading and bed. Tuesday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, proof-reading, reading reading and bed. Wednesday, leftovers for lunch, ww recipe for dinner, do something cultural and bed. Thursday, go to the cafe, ww recipe for dinner, date night and bed. Friday, something out of a tin, drink! Saturday, drive, drink later. Sunday, read, eat, chores, gardening. Mustn't lose control over routine, mustn't tell life story after one drink. Eat all the food on the plate. You are too fat. Must keep up to date with chores, must earn more money, must be married, or at least attempt marriage, not hang around with girls. Must be adult, must be child, must be friend, lover, loner. Must work hard, not be late. Must be creative, achieve, embody, empower, sleep. Be seen and be heard.
Creative writing course
Class one: writing from a childs perspective: childhood memory
I was on holiday, it was hot and my parents said not to bother with a nightdress. I went to bed. They left to go for dinner.
Suddenly, I was in the hotel lift, naked, with a strange man. I was really confused and scared, but, he explained that I had slept-walked into the lift. He asked if I knew my room number, but I didn't. He took me to reception.
My parents were found in the hotel restaurant and rushed me back upstairs. They were quite cross with me for interrupting their dinner.
Writing the perspective of Not now Bernard, into more of a we need to talk about Kevin
'Mum, I don't feel so good'.
'What's wrong? I've got to get the dinner on, your dad will be home in a minute'.
'I feel a bit woozy'.
'Have a rest then'.
'I feel a bit faint'.
'Well sleep will help, can't you see I'm busy. Have a 15 minute rest, and then start your homework before your dad gives you what for.'
'I think I really need some help'.
'Will you give it a rest!'
As the mother finally turned round to look at her daughter, she collapsed on the floor.
'You should have said you weren't feeling well'.
There was blood pouring from her wrists.
Story telling from a picture: Lion and girl each side of the door
Its the beast at the door, it comes every night when I go to sleep. I see it. I go to the door and hold it shut. Don't know why I bother , because its a room separated by an adjoining door, there is another door the lion could get in by. I am scared. In the dream, my mother is sitting on the sofa. Why isn't she doing anything? Doesn't she know there is a lion in the house. I wake up sweating. Night after night. I try and change the dream, befriend the lion, befriend the mother. But the fear always grips me.
I was on holiday, it was hot and my parents said not to bother with a nightdress. I went to bed. They left to go for dinner.
Suddenly, I was in the hotel lift, naked, with a strange man. I was really confused and scared, but, he explained that I had slept-walked into the lift. He asked if I knew my room number, but I didn't. He took me to reception.
My parents were found in the hotel restaurant and rushed me back upstairs. They were quite cross with me for interrupting their dinner.
Writing the perspective of Not now Bernard, into more of a we need to talk about Kevin
'Mum, I don't feel so good'.
'What's wrong? I've got to get the dinner on, your dad will be home in a minute'.
'I feel a bit woozy'.
'Have a rest then'.
'I feel a bit faint'.
'Well sleep will help, can't you see I'm busy. Have a 15 minute rest, and then start your homework before your dad gives you what for.'
'I think I really need some help'.
'Will you give it a rest!'
As the mother finally turned round to look at her daughter, she collapsed on the floor.
'You should have said you weren't feeling well'.
There was blood pouring from her wrists.
Story telling from a picture: Lion and girl each side of the door
Its the beast at the door, it comes every night when I go to sleep. I see it. I go to the door and hold it shut. Don't know why I bother , because its a room separated by an adjoining door, there is another door the lion could get in by. I am scared. In the dream, my mother is sitting on the sofa. Why isn't she doing anything? Doesn't she know there is a lion in the house. I wake up sweating. Night after night. I try and change the dream, befriend the lion, befriend the mother. But the fear always grips me.
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