Write on Wednesdays - Floating Candles

Angeline stood outside the cathedral and looked up. The windows stared down at her and the gargoyles mocked her tatty clothes and shoeless feet. Tourists bustled past her with their cameras ready and chatted endlessly about bus times and dinner cruises. Angeline had walked a long way to get to the cathedral, a journey that had taken her away from home and away for too long. She looked up at the mocking gargoyles, took a deep breath and stepped into the cathedral. 


She crept along the sides of the chapel. She was not interested in famous dead people or architectural this or that. She had to get to the little chapel where she could light a candle. Angeline didn't know what would happen when she lit the candle, she just knew that something drew her there from the other side of the city. As she approached the alcove she was alarmed that there were so many candles already there, she stood and watched the spots of fire dance in their shimmering ponds. Would her single candle make any difference to her prayer? She daren't think about it. She took a new candle from the box, blessed it with a kiss and found a tiny spot to place her candle. 


As she lit the candle and the smell of the match filled her nostrils and the light danced and reflected in her eyes, she whispered a prayer she had walked across a snow covered city to say, "Please, I know you are very busy, but please....."




Write On Wednesdays Exercise 26 - Look at the photo at the top of this post. What does it inspire in you? Set your timer for 5 minutes. With the photo in mind, write the first words that come into your head until the buzzer rings. If you aren't a visual person, you could try lighting a few candles and writing by candlelight. Different sensory experiences can be useful for inspiring creative writing so please play around to make the prompt suit your writing needs. If you do try writing by candlelight, let us know. I'd love to know how it works for you!

Write on Wednesday - The Saddest Thing I Ever Heard

The Saddest Thing I Ever Heard....

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They sat around the table reminiscing about the good old days of living in the big old house on the farm, while the rain tapped a melody on the hot tin roof. Each took their turn bringing forth a memory; holidays by the beach and being nipped on sunburnt toes by crabs; travelling to Sydney with the windows down and the smell of fields and fields of rain drenched grain; mad games of hide and seek ending in finding the younger children asleep in the hay loft; school lunches of vegemite sandwiches and little blocks of homemade cheese. 


"Dad, remember that game you used to play with us before dinner? The 'Water Game'?" The now adult children all remembered this with great fondness and began recollecting tallies and amounts and bragging rights. 


"I loved that game. I do it with my children now. But we do it after dinner so the children don't spoil their dinner. We gather around the table and see how many glasses of water we can drink. My kids love it!" They all chirped in with more accounts of the famous family game.


The now old and frail father had tears streaming down his face. He looked at his children with pleading eyes, "The farm wasn't making any money, the drought had hit hard, there was simply not enough food.... We had to play that game, we couldn't let you go to bed with empty stomachs. We gave you lots of water to drink so you wouldn't go to bed hungry." His voice trailed off and soft sobs could be heard.


The room filled with silence. Even the rain stopped tapping.


"Dad, that is the saddest thing I have ever heard. But, I am so proud of you for never telling us. I thought I grew up as a king; I had fresh air aplenty, sun to brown my skin, a mother who made her own jam and a father who grew grain that fed our country. I have never been as proud of you as I am right now."


More tears, more hugs, more respect, more tea and more memories were shared that night. The children went home to their children better people for knowing what they had learnt about their past.






Thanks for the inspiration Mr Cool... This story is based on an urban myth, although it may very well be true... I was really struggling to come up with something to write about for this prompt. But, over the washing up we were discussing that even though things are tight at the moment, it is just a season and pretty soon things will get better. It was good to be reminded that there is always food on our table and there are always clothes in our cupboards. I don't think we will ever appreciate how hard things were and are for those who work the land or who cannot earn enough to sustain a family... 






I am linking in with InkPaperPen for Write on Wednesdays...
The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism. 
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 25 - I heard a song on the radio during the week and I thought the lyrics would make an interesting prompt for WoW. So, write the words "The saddest thing I ever heard" on your page, set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head based on the given prompt.

Write on Wednesday - Making Fire

We are learning to make fire - Margaret Atwood

I believe in evolotion. But not in the apes become accountants kind of way. I mean the process of something starting off as so simple and then developing over the ages into something quite complex.


Imagine two little boys, dressed in sabre fur rubbing sticks together in the bush, when they should have been protecting their family from marauding man eating dinosaurs. They rub and rub their sticks together as they discuss how scary it was that the night before they heard raptors screeching just above them in their caves. 


Then... all of a sudden, smoke whispers up, eyes widen and they stop - starring at each other. They try again, rubbing,rubbing, rubbing, smoke, sparks and then fire. Yellow flames lick and dance. They are entranced, not realising that the flames are about to taste their fingers.

With yelps and whoops they run back to their caves, crashing through the scrub. They grab their mother's hands and lead them back to the spot where the fire was growing. The mothers hop and jitter, not sure if this new thing is a good thing, but they can feel the warmth of it on their skin and look at each other in awe. What is this magic? The fathers arrive too and smile at one another, they poke at the fire and in turn get burnt which makes them laugh out in surprise. Someone throws water on the fire and sees that it fizzes. Another dangles part of a bone over the flames and the smell of roasting meat fills the air.

Zoom forward 2000 years and here I sit, with a hot cup of coffee. The water boiled on a stove that starts with a Piezoelectric starter, a tiny flame that ignites gas. I also think of heaters and rockets and spit roasts and toast and hot air balloons and racing cars and hot showers and microwave ovens. All things that have been inspired by fire. By a simple discovery that changed the world forever.

Imagine being the one to discover something like fire? Imagine it? It gives me goosebumps....

Again, I am linking up with InkPaperPen for Write on Wednesdays...

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 23 - Write the words of Margaret Atwood at the top of your page "We are learning to make fire". Set your timer to 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings.

Write on Wednesday - When The Music Is Over

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism. 


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 22 - Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you'd like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music's over, so is the writing. I'd recommend finding out how long the song is before you start the exercise. You may feel cheated in your writing time if you pick a song by The Ramones. Of course, if you feel like writing a short, punky piece by all means, go for it!

I have been listening to a lot of French Cafe music lately. I love the lively melodies, the funky instruments and imagining what they might be singing about. Our girls love listening to it too - we get some pretty interesting 'Interpretive Dance' which is so cute!

I hope I have captured this song. I find this kind of thing tricky.... I am a bit of a plan-o-holic so to publish something that has taken less than 10 minutes to write is a bit harrowing. I hope I caught all the typos!

Walking along the Champs-Elysees the girl cannot believe she is there, she pinches her hand and hopes, hopes, hopes that she can feel it. Surely this cannot be a dream.

There are people everywhere: drinking coffee, eating baguettes and talking French, of course, they speak French! She laughs to herself. She holds the hand of the man she loves and smiles realising that this is really not a dream.

They walk the streets, they catch the Metro. The day is perfect. Jet streams criss cross the brilliant blue sky leaving white trails. They walk the streets soaking everything in. The Louvre, Cleopatra's Needle, The Bastille. So many beautiful things. It seems as if Paris has an unfair amount of lovely things.

The city is alive. Trees are greener than green. The flowers explode through the pavement. Carousel horses bob taking turns to peek at the Eiffel Tower. People are wearing hats and smiling. The Seine is massed with happy people clinking glasses and basking in the glory of Paris. Artists sell their wares from the bridges, chatting amongst themselves, because who cares if you can't sell art in Paris? At least you are there.

She is alive. She is in Paris. She is me.

Write On Wednesday - I Thought I Saw

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It is 'Write On Wednesday' time at InkPaperPen again... 

This week I promise to keep to the timer and not add any more. Really. Promise. 

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 20 - Write the words " I thought I saw" at the top of your page. Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after the prompt. Don't take you pen off the page (or fingers off the keyboard). Stop only when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. Write beyond 5 minutes if you like, you can link it up as an extra post.


I thought I saw this as an easy task this week. Given that last week the words just flew out of my fingers faster than any story ever has. It was effortless, seamless and so fun to just let my head bubble forth with the story.


But today, it is not so easy. This is my sixth attempt. I have tried to write a story about a man at the end of the lane in the fog - no good. I tried to write about seeing Nigella Lawson in Harrods - sounded too show offy. Sigh. The words are just not flowing today.


That is okay though. That is the nature of writing and the nature of blogging. Some days the ideas bubble and get all fizzy and my ideas book gets loads more entries. Then other days, like today, I sit staring at a blinking cursor wondering what on earth I have to say. 


I have realised that this blog is meant to be fun. And it is meant to be a reflection of me. So, that takes the pressure off. Not every day is going to be about tangerine and birkenstocks. Some days are foggy and rainy and the brain just doesn't fire.


As I write this, I reflect on the last few months and all that has gone on in our household. That I have kept blog posts pumping out is a surprise to me! Last night was another night of crying babies and big girls throwing up in her bunk bed, {my biggest fear in the whole entire world} I am tired today.

Write on Wednesdays - Choose your own adventure

I am linking up with inkpaperpen again for Write on Wednesdays....

This week I am allowed to choose any of the previous writing prompts I like... so I chose this one....

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 15 - Give yourself some time to notice the people around you. The people who may cross your path each day. The lady in front of you at the supermarket, the man who helps the school kids cross the road, a neighbour, a waitress in a cafe, a librarian, anyone at all. Choose one person, someone you don't know, and this person will become the basis of the week's writing exercise. Describe this person as you see them, describe their surroundings. Then imagine a problem, create conflict for this person. Describe the conflict. Describe how your character deals with the problem. The conflict might resolve itself, it might not. It is up to you. Perhaps, the lady in the supermarket has forgotten her wallet. Does she bursts into tears? Maybe the librarian finds a lost child. The aim is to show how your character responds to conflict and in the process, reveal something about that character. Tell us their story.


Let's aim for around 200 words, keeping with the theme of the last few weeks (to make each word count). Hopefully those of you who are writing ongoing stories will find a way to weave this exercise into your work.

There is a house across the street from us that intrigues us. The people who live there hardly ever come out. They are very private, very .... shy? Nervous? Secretive? Ashamed?

They do the same things every day: open gates, get newspaper, check mail, water plants. Mr Cool has spoken to the man once and he seems okay. I have said hello to the lady once, she barely said hello in return. 

I am sure that they are lovely people, but my imagination gets the better of me and I wonder what they do all day long... They may be in witness protection. Or there could be a tunnel under the house where they leave without anyone seeing. Or they could be Batman's parents. Or Ivan Milat's parents! Eek! They could have a basement full of pygmy skulls and elephant tusks. We love to think that they are nudist addicted to online gaming and can't bear being dressed to even grab the paper in the morning. Intriguing huh?

Here is my 200 word story about the lady of the house across the street.... 

The Lady Across the Street

She spends some of her time pottering around in her garden of three plants. She spends most of her time behind closed doors. Does she watch game shows all day long? Is she part of a secret society? Is she addicted to online gambling? Is she a nudist?

Her straw like hair is getting greyer and greyer and more twig like. She wears clothes that look like cardboard. She moves with slow trudgery. I spoke to her once. I said, 'Hello'. She half smiled back through tight lips. She was toothless. 

Each day she walks to the store. She buys two carrots, one apple, she haggles over cents at the checkout. She counts out her money, coins rattle. One day, there were not enough coins. She was flustered. She asked to take one carrot off the sale. Still not enough coins. People behind her felt the awkwardness. 

I tapped her on the shoulder and offered her a $5 note. She stared at me for what felt like hours. Instead of accepting the money, she made a choking sound and left all of her items. She bolted out of the door. She did not come out of the house for days. Her blinds are shut more. She walks a different way to the shops. 

 

Write on Wednesday - Songbird

I am linking up again with inkpaperpen for 'Write on Wednesday'...

Today's exercise (as written below) was to write a fictitious piece about the meaning behind a song. Instead of going through my favourite songs of all time, I thought I would write about the song that was currently playing in our house. Mr Cool was being the DJ and the song 'Little Miss Can't Be Wrong' was playing. 

This song reminds me of driving around with Mr Cool in his newly restored Maroon 1982 Gemini in the 90s. The stereo pumping, wind blowing through my blonde hair and holding my cute boyfriend's hand. They were heady days. This song also reminds me of a flat mate I once had. She was a bit like this... 

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:

Hadge says:  Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song  for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song

Spin Doctors - Little Miss Can't Be Wrong

When the red lights of Tina's ute were gone. When the dust settled back on the dirt road after her lead footed exit. When Red finally raised his head from his hands to see that he was finally alone, he sighed. Their latest argument still rang clear in his ears. Tina just couldn't accept that she had been wrong, again. 

He knew he should have been sad. He knew this was the end of something that had started out so well. He thought it would be forever. But these past months, Tina had been impossible to live with. Walking on egg shells was an understatement. Red's friends could not believe he had stuck it out so long. 

As Red stood to go back into the house, the rain started to fall. Red stepped out from the verandah and welcomed the rain on his face. Heavy drops of water fell, washing the dust from the dry, wind swept land. With arms flung wide, Red began to dance. Feet kicking through the puddles, gleefully spinning circles in the mud. Red was laughing as he danced and danced until the rain ended. Ain't nobody gonna bow no more when she sounded her gong. 

Write on Wednesday - The Mighty Mighty Re-Write

Okay, firstly, if you get these blog posts as emails, I apologise. I am sorry that you will get yet ANOTHER email about this topic. You see, I thought the task was so simple pimple, I completed it in minutes. But really, it was not as easy as I thought. I didn't get it. So throughout the day I have tried to salvage what I had done. I read some other people's pieces and realised mine was rubbish. So I deleted the post and took myself off the link-a-doo thingamagig. I will try again though. 


I have been trying to push myself a bit lately. I want to write better. So I have joined a few link parties - which is how bloggers have fun I think. I has been fun. And challenging. Today I have linked up {for the second time} with inkpaperpen...




Here is the exercise...

Write on Wednesday Exercise 14 - The Mighty Mighty Rewrite...

Zanni: I did a workshop with literary author Mj Hyland, who teachers Masters in Creative Writing at Manchester University. She asked us to choose our favourite book, take the first paragraph and then write our own content into the paragraph, keeping the structure, tone, language etc. It's really helpful!

Here is the text I have chosen....

Picnic at Hanging Rock

by Joan Lindsay

Everyone agreed that the day was just right for the picnic to Hanging Rock - a shimmering summer morning warm and still, with cicadas shrilling all through breakfast from the loquat treess outside the dining room windows and bees murmuring above the pansies bordering the drive. Heavy-headed dahlias flamed and drooped in the immaculate flowerbeds, teh well-trimmed lawns steamed under the mounting sun. Already the gardener was watering the hydrangeas still shaded by the kitchen wing at the rear of the College. The boarders at Mrs Appleyard's College for Young Ladies had been up and scanning the bright unclouded sky since six o'clock and were now fluttering about in their holiday muslins  like a flock of excited butterflies. Not only was it Saturday and the long awaited occasion of the annual picnic, but Saint Valentine's Day, traditionally celebrated on the fourteenth of February by the interchange of elaborate cards and favours. All were madly romantic and strictly anonymous - supposedly the silent tributes of lovesick admirers; although Mr Whitehead the elderly English gardener and Tom the Irish groom were almost the only two makes to be so much as smiled at during term.

Here is my piece...

Everyone agreed that the day was just right for a bus trip - a stunning spring day of soft cool breezes and azure skies, the lorikeets and rosellas chatting noisily as they feasted from the fresh blooms of grevillias outside the dining room and chickens pecked at the geraniums that lined the walkways. Blue rinsed agapanthus waving at the passing breeze and the pristine grass gleaming with beads of sunshine reflecting the early morning dew. Already the cook was watering the impatiens as they were still in morning shade protected by the nursing home's new administration building. The old ladies of Mrs Orangeblossom's Home for the Aged had been up bright and early adorned in greys, pinks and whites chatting like a noisy flock of excited galahs. Not only was it Saturday and the long awaited occasion of the Carnival of Flowers, the most important day in the gardening calendar, but also the day to sit and watch the parade meandering down the main street of their beautiful mountain city. All the old dears were frantically snipping articles and programs of events from the local paper, desperate not to miss a single stunning bloom, wondrous display or fanciful pot of colour; even though their beloved Home for the Aged had won first prize in many of the competition categories.

I hope I have now done this piece justice!