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Post by kas on Jul 3, 2010 19:57:44 GMT
Does anyone do creative writing? I got this idea from Radio 4, and rather like it. I'm sort of plagarising one of the short stories on there to give you the idea. I don't think I'll write it as well as the original! She stripped off her bloodstained scrubs, cap and gloves and threw them in the bin. Washed her hands, brushed her hair and put on a jacket and green silk scarf. She walked out of the hospital and over the road to Hanrahan's bar. She ordered a malt whiskey and nursed it in her hand, remembering the feel of a man's heart beating out the end of it's life in her hand.Get the idea? Anyone up for it? Some of the stories were longer than this, I don't think you need to stint on words, but it's an interesting exercise and something different. Sits and waits now to see how long it takes for someone to notice a new post in this forgotten board.
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Post by beksnjake on Jul 4, 2010 11:02:35 GMT
Sounds like a normal day at work for me ;D
Seriously though I like the idea - will see what I can come up with, got to be better than the 4000 word essay I should be writing. . . . .
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Post by leigh on Jul 4, 2010 16:49:50 GMT
The door was so familiar, yet she had not crossed through it for so many years. The same black paint, yet not now as glossy as it once was and the silver letterbox and knocker were tainted with the weather. Her key, that had for so long hung on her key chain unused, slid silently into the lock and turned as easily as it always once had.
The entrance hall was chilly compared to the warm summer day she left behind but she did not shiver, in fact she felt warmer than she had for many many years heading straight for the door into the familiar lounge with its big leather sofa’s she knew he was there ‘Hello bub’s you made it then.... welcome home’
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Post by kas on Jul 5, 2010 5:50:40 GMT
That's good Leigh, sort of spooky and nice at the same time.
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Post by leigh on Jul 5, 2010 18:27:41 GMT
I'd love to be able to write :-0
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Post by mildred on Jul 5, 2010 21:33:27 GMT
I really liked that Leigh
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Post by helenc on Jul 7, 2010 17:13:46 GMT
The archaeologists left ages ago. At least 6 months have passed. For all that time the building site remained undisturbed. I sort of hoped it would stay that way, that something in this city would be shown respect, left to breathe. I found the coin just lying on the rubble. Roman. No one seemed to want it, so I took it. Then in came the diggers and men in hi-viz, and they started to blow holes in the ground, and add more steel and concrete in a place that already has no space, no green, nowhere to just pause and contemplate....well, anything. Today I stood at the window and just watched them destroy as they create. Do they care? Do they stop to wonder who the people were who stood where they are? I took the coin out of my pocket and looked at it, wondered about all the people who had held it. What made them laugh? What made them cry? Time to pass the coin on I think. Leave it to the future. Will anyone find it, stand where I stand and wonder about me? What made me laugh? What made me cry?
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Post by helenc on Jul 7, 2010 17:14:52 GMT
Leigh yours was creepy!
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Post by kas on Jul 8, 2010 21:13:05 GMT
Great stories! I haven't thought of one yet.
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Post by leigh on Jul 18, 2010 17:51:31 GMT
I always thought I would maybe write a chick flick but maybe 'Creepy' is the way forward ;D Yours is very good Helen, it could be the beginning of a very good book x
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Post by leigh on Jul 18, 2010 18:02:21 GMT
I'm on a roll now ;D:
I didn’t feel the breeze that must have shut the door behind me but what else could have caused it to swing shut and close with such force?
The window dressings were as I remembered them, heavy velvet curtains, though now embedded with dust. They were always such a bright crimson colour and now they seemed more like dark brown. In my peripheral vision I could see spiders scuttle, unused to the presence of anything other than memories.
I was aware I needed to look at him, I wanted so much to see his face again but I was scared, scared of the journey we were about to take...
22/08/1970... They say you don't remember the day you were born, nor the day you die.....
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Post by nicxf on Jul 18, 2010 19:34:17 GMT
What a great idea! but oo, I say. Those are spooky, Leigh! In a good way though. On the basis of 'write about what you know', here's my effort: "oh dear...he's very small" "Well; we're here now so I may as well take a look at him, hey?"
************
"Here's a headcollar. Field's that way, if you want to go and bring him in while I find his tack"
************
As I open the gate the golden pony lifts his head from grazing, whinnies, and trots over to me. I am instantly smitten.
************
The horsebox rolls up the lane and I can hear the golden pony screaming and banging about. The ponies in the neighbouring field obligingly join in the chorus. The ramp is opened and I untie him. He drags me, skipping to keep up with him, down the ramp, stops at the bottom and turns to look at the box; the triumphant survivor.
My very own pony at last. Every little girl's dream.
And so it began.
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Post by leigh on Jul 18, 2010 20:15:36 GMT
Hey nicxf. Good one. I've got writers block at the moment though (hence the reason i'll never be a writer ;D) See you all back here in a few thinks
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Post by kas on Jul 21, 2010 21:26:46 GMT
Loving this. Glad I listened to Radio 4. You've got quite a style going there Leigh, good reading.
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Post by kas on Jul 21, 2010 21:33:44 GMT
"I'm sorry love, she's gone" and arms closed around me. I couldn't cry, just stood shaking. Remembered long lunches in black and white tea houses. Rummaging together through the rails of countless charity shops, returning home carrying bags bursting with exciting bargains. Leaning on the balcony in the heat of the intense morning sun watching the mad dash of traffic along the Corniche. Thought back to that last shopping trip and the little face turned to me "I always enjoy being out with you, thank you for being my friend". I held my phone in my hand and wondered how to tell her big strong man what she had done.
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