I saw someone this week
I drove past them.
Their mannerisms struck me
In those few short seconds.
The grey hair
Growing past your ears.
The female passenger
Stony faced.
I’d been looking for you
And then suddenly there you were.
I saw someone this week
I drove past them.
Their mannerisms struck me
In those few short seconds.
The grey hair
Growing past your ears.
The female passenger
Stony faced.
I’d been looking for you
And then suddenly there you were.
WRITER’S SUGGESTION:
LISTEN TO SONG WHILE READING
They could hear the sounds of a busy happy hour as they arrived through the open side door. Scanning around to look for an empty table, the 3 women stood stock still.
“Over there!” Christy shouted above the noise of the bar.
Alex provided a nod of her head and took the lead in heading over to the available table. It was small and round, 4 wooden stools surrounding it. They approached the table and sat down, placing their phones face down as they took their jackets off.
“What we all having?” Alex asked, making eye contact with Christy and Jessica.
“Dirty martini.” With a smirk, Alex replied, “Shaken not stirred?” She was met with one raised eyebrow and a playful smile.
“Christy?”
“Vodka coke, please darling.”
“Sure thing.” As Alex turned to walk towards the bar, the music stopped her in her tracks.
The sound of the guitar, rising up from seemingly nowhere, transported everyone into what felt like the deep south. The musicians on stage played their instruments to perfection. The accompanied percussion and accordion added tremendous weight to the experience.
The voice that appeared from the back of the stage caused the bar to fall completely silent.
“Maybe I’m foolish,
Maybe I’m blind..”
The female voice rose up from the depths. The singer walked forwards, microphone in hand. Her blonde hair fell perfectly to brush against her shoulders as she moved.
“I’m only human after all,
Don’t put your blame on me.”
Alex stood completely transfixed. Her brown eyes met green and she swore she felt the earth move. She could feel everything, every goosebump, every beat of her overeager heart.
“Don’t ask my opinion,
Don’t ask me to lie.”
As the beat picked up, Alex looked briefly around at her friends. The were both sat, heads nodding. Jessica had one finger tapping on the table, Christy had her phone up and pointed at the stage.
“Some people got real problems,
Some people out o’ luck,
Some people think I should solve ’em.“
Alex found herself forgetting completely about the drinks she had been on her way to buy. Her feet remained rooted to the floor, her knees buckling when once again sparkling green eyes connected with hers. She sank slowly into the seat below her, not noticing how Christy’s phone had moved to capture her.
“I ain’t no prophet or messiah,
Should go looking somewhere higher.“
That last note drove a shockwave through the crowd. A shared feeling of awe could be felt by everyone present.
“Don’t put your blame on me.“
I recently found these character interview suggestions. A useful way of getting to develop and getting to know the characters you’re writing. It’s given me some structure to my character planning and has helped me to think more deeply about who it is I want in my story. My characters are now on their way to being well-rounded and quirky, no longer just names on a page.
K.M. Weiland. (2011). Outlining Your Novel: Map out your way to success. PenForASword Publishing: United States of America
“I saw her today.” She looks solum at her friend, “she was right in front of me.”
“Alex.” His warning tone is evident and exasperated.
“I know. I know.”
“You cannot do this again.”
You would think I’d have had enough. All of the assignments, the lectures, the stress. Yet, I have spent all day waiting for 5pm. Not for the rest or the break away from work, but for writing.
The relief of knowing I no longer have restrictions placed on my writing to be academic, to be reflective. I can write to enjoy it, write to unwind. The joy of it, the satisfaction of the words coming together and all of it making sense in the end… I have missed it.
Life has taken over and it has taken ‘writing for pleasure’ away from me. Instead, all I have had is writing to meet the domains, to tick boxes on that ever-growing list of things that University ask of us.
I have missed this. I have missed my laptop, missed choosing the font that I want and not the font that University insists we use. All of the little things that make up the bigger ones.
I have missed the freedom of my own truth, my own words, my own self.
I welcome writing back into my life with open arms.
Until the next time.
Closure
Is that too much to ask?
One simple question
Is all that I have.
Manipulations and deniability are not welcome here.
Never
I have left things be
Always brushed it under the carpet
Constantly; daily.
But,
now the carpet has disappeared and now there is nowhere for it to hide.
“Please, don’t.
I’m tired, I need to sleep tonight.
I have plans tomorrow.
Please.
Not tonight.
I’ll do anything if you fade off.
Just please,
Not tonight.”
#anxiety
As a ‘writer’, I find inspiration in everyday life. My mind is constantly writing – looking for things I can borrow from. The earth, the universe, strangers, family, friends, loved ones… I find stories in most things, every day. I find myself narrating in my own mind, more times than I can count – most times without even realising. I mentally write stories about things that never even make it onto the page. Every day. Like an addiction. I write without even being conscious of it, it is within me. It is my nature. I observe and I see. I have a mind cramed full of words. But then I don’t. Social situations are not my nature. They are mostly difficult, with rare exceptions. Talking to talk, is not my nature. Talking about myself openly and without prompting is not my nature. But writing. Writing is like a cool breeze on the hottest day of the year. It is a relief. A hope. A wish. Writing is everything. The weights of the world lift off my shoulders as soon as my fingers run across the keyboard. The scratch of a pen against paper fills my soul with such lightness, it makes my breath stop.
The feeling of that last sentence. Of pulling everything together neatly, of feeling that closure… Of getting to have the last word. Just this once… or until the next time that my fingers meet the keyboard.
And then with 5 little words, the stresses were gone. The words came out of nowhere, from somewhere behind her and were so very much familiar… and British, that she actually felt herself sigh.
“Stick the kettle on, then.”
And then the whistle blew, the results were in and everyone sat there waiting. There could be only one. The weight of the world was on everyone’s shoulders. Until the name was drawn and the weight of the people passed over onto the chosen one.
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