Just to let readers know I won't be posting as often as I used to for the next 2 months as semester A is finished and as a result we are not given any assignments to complete (excluding a 1500 word essay about what I've enjoyed this year).
However, as I now have more time on my hands I will be able to begin writing more freely for a while which means more stories as opposed to academia. Unfortunately posts will be infrequent as some stories and songs take longer to finish than others.
The blog will continue to live on though so no worries there.
- Pete :)
Wednesday 15 December 2010
Monday 6 December 2010
Doorways (an improvised song)
This was written within minutes in the UEL occupational room. A student was playing some music on an acoustic guitar and the words just began coming out as he played. Sang in a sort of "stabby" nature, the song has no significant meaning.
Standin'
In the doorway
I saw you
Smilin' softly
Then ya frowned
And you laughed*
In my face
That's right
That's right x 4
I turned
And walked away
You fucker!
*pronounced "laffed"
Standin'
In the doorway
I saw you
Smilin' softly
Then ya frowned
And you laughed*
In my face
That's right
That's right x 4
I turned
And walked away
You fucker!
*pronounced "laffed"
Week 8 - Write a 3 Haiku and 50 word story
Quite a simple little assignment in which we were required to write a 3-line haiku (short poem consisting of 5, 7, 5 syllables), absolute piece of piss and then, in part two, we had to write a story of only 50 words, no more, no less.
So here they are:
Part 1. - 3 Haiku
Walking down the stairs
Falling on a razor wire
Bones break with a crash
Part 2. - 50 Word Story
I slipped on a pair of industrial gloves and picked up the corrosive acid. Using a metal syringe I sucked up a small amount and walked towards my victim with a smile on my face. As I stood above him and pushed the plunger he released an ear-splitting scream.
* A quick word of note here: I kind of cheated in this one as this was a very small extract of something I'm surrently writing. However, this extract is heavily edited and nowhere near as long as the original which I would have put in had we more words.
**********
As mentioned, I'm still working on my story and currently on 783 words with an approximate aim of around 2000. I've got the next part in my head, just need to write it down now. Keep checking this space.
So here they are:
Part 1. - 3 Haiku
Walking down the stairs
Falling on a razor wire
Bones break with a crash
Part 2. - 50 Word Story
I slipped on a pair of industrial gloves and picked up the corrosive acid. Using a metal syringe I sucked up a small amount and walked towards my victim with a smile on my face. As I stood above him and pushed the plunger he released an ear-splitting scream.
* A quick word of note here: I kind of cheated in this one as this was a very small extract of something I'm surrently writing. However, this extract is heavily edited and nowhere near as long as the original which I would have put in had we more words.
**********
As mentioned, I'm still working on my story and currently on 783 words with an approximate aim of around 2000. I've got the next part in my head, just need to write it down now. Keep checking this space.
Tuesday 30 November 2010
A quick note
As of yesterday morning I have been writing a crime/thriller short story and I also have something similar to catch up on. Along with my uni assignments I will also be posting any stories which I write in my free time.
I recently heard in a lecture that most, if not all, writers tend to focus on one subject and this is how it is with me. I, personally, like to focus on death and pain mostly caused by forms of torture. This may be due to films I'm a fan of, websites I've visited or my own experiences unconsciously appearing. Who knows?
If you are offended by this type of material don't say I didn't warn you.
Keep checking and by for now.
Pete :)
I recently heard in a lecture that most, if not all, writers tend to focus on one subject and this is how it is with me. I, personally, like to focus on death and pain mostly caused by forms of torture. This may be due to films I'm a fan of, websites I've visited or my own experiences unconsciously appearing. Who knows?
If you are offended by this type of material don't say I didn't warn you.
Keep checking and by for now.
Pete :)
Saturday 27 November 2010
Week 7 - Wrie a pitch for a film using the Chilean miners incident as a backbone
I actually did this wrong as I missed the lecture in which it was set and therefore had to get the info from a friend. However, I misinterpreted the info and assumed we had to create a film idea about the incident when in actual fact the only thing tha needed to be mentioned was 33 miners. The rest could be whatever we liked. Anyway, moving on, here is my original assignment.
******************
"Buried” is a film based on the true events of 2010 in which 33 Chilean miners were trapped 700 metres underground in the San Jose copper-gold mine, Chile. It is an emotional story in which men were forced to work together if they wanted to survive described by Jonathan Miller as “One of the great survival stories of all time” (http://www.channel4.com/news/chile-miners-one-of-the-greatest-ever-survival-stories).
So what happened in the true event?
33 men were sent underground into a 100 year old mine already deemed unsafe, previously closed and reopened and also notorious for accidents.
Our main protagonist is a miner call Carlos Mamani, a Bolivian and operator of heavy machinery.
I’d like to begin the film with some genuine footage and then move into a scene of Mamani’s wife pleading him not to go as she is aware of it’s notoriety. However, he feels and knows that he must as it is his job and only source of income to support his wife and child. Besides, he’s only going to be working there for a day.
Moving on from this I’d like the following scenes to be of Mamani driving towards the mine and coming to a stop just outside of the area where he will meet the other 32 miners. They will then, as a group, walk towards the mine and begin climbing down the ladders with their tools on their back.
As the miners lower themselves into the mine and it becomes black, Mamani will proceed to pass down some torches and, whilst doing so, he will continue to assure the miners that they are perfectly safe. Little did Mamani and his fellow miners know that he would be very wrong.
Move forward to a scene in which the miners are working when some small rocks fall. They ignore it but within minutes they are buried under 700,000 tonnes of rock 15 times harder than concrete. It’s now dark and the drama has begun.
4 days later - A cloud of dust is still in the air. Miners are still coughing with dust in their eyes. The air is 40 degrees and their shirts have been removed.
Note: In the true event the miners were stuck in darkness for 17 days. However, as this will be viewed as a film we will choose to have Mamani find either a gas lamp or torch to provide light.
2 weeks later - Supplies are running low and miners are rationing these supplies by having half a bottle cap of tuna every 24 hours. Rugged facial hair is growing and we are shown a miner appearing from behind a rock coming from what we can only assume is a makeshift toilet.
Still, although it has now been a month - 30 days - Mamani continues to assure the miners, despite them feeling ill and conditions being foul, that everything will be okay as long as they keep preying.
Our protagonist, Mamani, is telling the audience by narrating how he feels as he writes the words in a diary and throughout, Mamani continues to assure the miners and the viewers that everything will be okay and they’ll all get out alive.
Fifty days in they are now in contact with the outside world and supplies are being sent down through special tubes. They have found a waterfall which they are using to clean themselves. The world is sat on the edge of it’s seat watching in hope that the miners will survive. The protagonist has spoken to his wife via grainy video and she knows he is well.
Day sixty - Miners are told that they’ll be out very soon. Excitement is rising. Websites have been created in support. Newspapers are heavily featuring articles on the even and people are frequently posting status updates.
Day sixty-nine - Large hole is finally complete and miners are helped out one-by-one. Switch to genuine footage of miners climbing out, covered in dust. Crowds are cheering, families are crying and miners are smiling.
Finally, we are in Mamani’s house and his wife is telling him that if he ever sets foot in a mine again she will divorce him.
Roll credits.
******************
"Buried” is a film based on the true events of 2010 in which 33 Chilean miners were trapped 700 metres underground in the San Jose copper-gold mine, Chile. It is an emotional story in which men were forced to work together if they wanted to survive described by Jonathan Miller as “One of the great survival stories of all time” (http://www.channel4.com/news/chile-miners-one-of-the-greatest-ever-survival-stories).
So what happened in the true event?
33 men were sent underground into a 100 year old mine already deemed unsafe, previously closed and reopened and also notorious for accidents.
Our main protagonist is a miner call Carlos Mamani, a Bolivian and operator of heavy machinery.
I’d like to begin the film with some genuine footage and then move into a scene of Mamani’s wife pleading him not to go as she is aware of it’s notoriety. However, he feels and knows that he must as it is his job and only source of income to support his wife and child. Besides, he’s only going to be working there for a day.
Moving on from this I’d like the following scenes to be of Mamani driving towards the mine and coming to a stop just outside of the area where he will meet the other 32 miners. They will then, as a group, walk towards the mine and begin climbing down the ladders with their tools on their back.
As the miners lower themselves into the mine and it becomes black, Mamani will proceed to pass down some torches and, whilst doing so, he will continue to assure the miners that they are perfectly safe. Little did Mamani and his fellow miners know that he would be very wrong.
Move forward to a scene in which the miners are working when some small rocks fall. They ignore it but within minutes they are buried under 700,000 tonnes of rock 15 times harder than concrete. It’s now dark and the drama has begun.
4 days later - A cloud of dust is still in the air. Miners are still coughing with dust in their eyes. The air is 40 degrees and their shirts have been removed.
Note: In the true event the miners were stuck in darkness for 17 days. However, as this will be viewed as a film we will choose to have Mamani find either a gas lamp or torch to provide light.
2 weeks later - Supplies are running low and miners are rationing these supplies by having half a bottle cap of tuna every 24 hours. Rugged facial hair is growing and we are shown a miner appearing from behind a rock coming from what we can only assume is a makeshift toilet.
Still, although it has now been a month - 30 days - Mamani continues to assure the miners, despite them feeling ill and conditions being foul, that everything will be okay as long as they keep preying.
Our protagonist, Mamani, is telling the audience by narrating how he feels as he writes the words in a diary and throughout, Mamani continues to assure the miners and the viewers that everything will be okay and they’ll all get out alive.
Fifty days in they are now in contact with the outside world and supplies are being sent down through special tubes. They have found a waterfall which they are using to clean themselves. The world is sat on the edge of it’s seat watching in hope that the miners will survive. The protagonist has spoken to his wife via grainy video and she knows he is well.
Day sixty - Miners are told that they’ll be out very soon. Excitement is rising. Websites have been created in support. Newspapers are heavily featuring articles on the even and people are frequently posting status updates.
Day sixty-nine - Large hole is finally complete and miners are helped out one-by-one. Switch to genuine footage of miners climbing out, covered in dust. Crowds are cheering, families are crying and miners are smiling.
Finally, we are in Mamani’s house and his wife is telling him that if he ever sets foot in a mine again she will divorce him.
Roll credits.
Tuesday 16 November 2010
Assignments week 1 to 6
As we are now in the 8th week of the semester and this blog has only just been created I will be posting all 7 assignments so far written (assignment 8 is currently unwritten) in one. Titles and weeks will be above the written work beginning with week one. Enjoy!!
*********************
Week 1 - I Remember
Here we had to write list of 25 'I Remembers'. 5 of these were fictional while the other 20 were genuine.
I remember the summer days when I would knock on neighbours’ doors and ask if they can come out and play.
I remember the summer days when I would knock on neighbours’ doors and ask if they can come out and play.
I remember kicking a ball or flying a kite in “the Field” when I was young.
I remember homemade birthday cakes and after-school sandwiches.
I remember having my shirt signed on the last day of high school.
I remember waiting for the “Now That’s What I Call Music!“ pop compilations to be released every six months.
I remember lying awake in bed the night before a holiday, unable to sleep.
I remember skateboarding down a slide and breaking my arm when I fell.
I remember winning first place for a story writing competition in primary school.
I remember Windows 98
I remember being scared to get out of bed in the fear that a man would pull me under.
I remember being ill and lying in bed watching children’s films all day.
I remember when my granddad used to tell me exaggerated stories of travelling through the forest when he was in the army.
I remember the first book I read.
I remember my parents’ wedding in 92.
I remember the storm of green lightning, violent thunder and lashing rain and holding my dad, too scared to move.
I remember locking myself out of the house one night and having to climb over garden fences to sleep in the garden.
I remember fishing and camping with my dad.
I remember spending days with my mum, watching films all day on the sofa, and the “crafts bag” behind the sofa.
I remember winning an arts competition in high school.
I remember the night after my first head/brain op - lying awake, laughing with my dad with the blood shooting up the drain in my head. Oh, how that hurt!
I remember exactly where I was on 9/11, 7/7 and the Virginia Tech shootings.
I remember growing up through the ‘90s and all the ‘crazes’ which came in and slowly faded out. The times in which every child ‘had’ to own the item of the year.
I remember being the shy pageboy at my dad’s and step mum’s wedding in 2001 who didn’t know who to talk to or where to go in the hall which seemed so large at the time.
I remember breaking rotten eggs in the dinner hall during the last days of high school. The smell was indescribable.
I remember being knocked out by a tennis ball in primary school.
I remember being a young child with freedom and no responsibility or worries in the world, the days of which are now but nostalgia.
I Remember - Pt. 2
Here we had to choose one on our I Remembers and tell the story of how it came about. In rememberance of my Granddad who died in June 2009 I chose to write about the stories he would tell of his days serving in the army.
I remember when my granddad used to tell me exaggerated stories of travelling through the forest when he was in the army.
As a child I would often visit and stay over at my grandparents’ house and each visit would result in my granddad telling me stories of travelling through a thick jungle armed with nothing but a machete and a bottle of water. Being a typical child who would believe anything I took it as gospel and nothing but the truth. The words “I had to fight 5 Chinese men with my bare hands and won” would be believed.
I remember sitting on the back of the armchair with my dinner plate resting on his head, fascinated by every word and detail. Little did I know that enrolment into the army was a compulsory procedure in the 1940s and ‘50s and therefore did not necessarily mean my granddad would be forced into a plane to land within the Amazonian Rainforest to fight with his bare hands and a machete. However, now knowing this still doesn’t cause me to discard these stories, despite them being fictional.
Each story would have a different plot and my granddad would have fought different armies with different weapons. Sometimes a machete, others a machine gun. I also seem to recall a moment in which he fought with a blow pipe and darts. However silly the stories were they were never not enjoyable. They are a key point in my childhood memories.
As the years passed by the stories continued to be told except with exaggeration each time until my granddad was telling me that he had to jump out of a helicopter wearing nothing but a loincloth and a parachute. Of course, by around the age of ten I was beginning to realise that these stories were made up although the dialogue of “…when I was in the army”, “And you were armed with nothing but a machete” never stopped until just two weeks before his passing in 2009.
However, on the day of his funeral, back at the funeral home, my cousins, Godfather and I would continue with these stories, reminiscing the moments my granddad spent fighting in the jungle. Although passed away my granddad has left us all with stories which can be repeated and changed at any time. Some would say it’s just a memory, others might call it a legacy. However one may look at it the stories my granddad told will remain in my memories for a long time.
*********************
Week 2 - Continue Nell Dunn's story 'Out With the Girls'
The title gives away what we had to do here. The line of 'Seduce me' was that of which we had to continue from. The story may begin as a normality but, as time moves, the reader is given a slight surprise. As I am a Brit this continuation was, of course, written in a British manner. Hopefully overseas will understand the style of writing. Comments on this story from fellow writers were very positive and critical. Enjoy!
‘Do me a favour’
‘What is it?’
‘Seduce me’
I looked up and as our eyes locked I hooked my finger under his chain and pulled his face towards mine. The only reaction he could muster was a cheeky smile before he threw his arm around me and our lips connected; I was thrown into a world of extreme ecstasy as a wave of heat ran through my body causing me to shudder.
‘You okay?’, he mumbled between gentle kisses.
‘Yeah, keep going’, and he did so by moving down to my neck and shoulder blades - he really knew what he was doing! I couldn’t hold myself any longer and my legs turned to jelly. As I fell I pulled him down with me and the passion continued on the cold, hard ground.
As he lifted his head away from my neck I raised mine from the ground and slowly moved towards his neck and opened my mouth, ready to penetrate the soft flesh. As I bit him and he gasped in shock with the words “What. The. Fuck?” I cold taste the sweet blood on the tip of my tongue. Once I’d finished drinking and his body had become limp I dropped him with a thud - a small line of blood trailed won his neck.
Beside me in the night I could hear quiet ticks of flesh against flesh and out of the corner of my eye I could see the outline of a tall slim body in dark clothing. “Bravo, bravo” the figure said in a voice I instantly recognised - that of Dr. Dogshit - pronounced Doh-shee-tah - my master and creator - the man who seduced me into becoming one of his undead wenches. Behind him were Sylvie an Rube. Both had blood-red lips and a smile on their faces. I slowly rose and as I did so, Rube, Sylvie and the Dr. turned on their heels, the ground crunching under their feet and floated into the distance. I followed with elegance.
Back in the cave-lab with Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” on the sound system, Sylvie was sat on the floor, staring at a giant poster of Jim Morrison with a half-empty bottle of wine in her left hand, a cigarette - a rollie of course - in her right whilst Rube and the Doctor were in the corner, looking like they were trying to eat each other’s face. I, however, couldn’t stop thinking about tonight’s events of killing a man in the need to exist as one of the undead. Why am I like this? Can’t I just go back to my family, my friends, my old life? And then, mid-thought, I heard a noise in the doorway, the crunching of gravel under-foot. Suddenly the shape of a man appeared and walking slowly into the cave. It was the biker boy I’d killed earlier in the night. With a pale white face and dirt on his clothes he’d returned as one of the undead, and it was my fault.
“Oh, why hello there” the Doctor said in an excited tone, “Nice to have you with us. I’m Dr. Dogshit and I believe you’ve already my girl here”, he said, pointing at me. Before he could say anything there was a loud crash followed by the sound of a gun and two boys, aged around 16 ran into the biker boy and knocked him off balance. Without a beat one of the boys, a short, stocky guy whipped out what looked like a stake and threw it. The stake flew at speed and pierced Rube’s chest. She gasped, fell to her knees and seemingly disappeared, becoming just a pile of dust. The Doctor ran to the side, out of sight and Sylvie was slowly standing up, unstable on her feet, but before she could walk anywhere the second boy, a tall and skinny boy who looked like you could snap him with a finger, had thrown a knife and managed to decapitate Sylvie. Blood squirted out of her destroyed neck like some sort of fountain filled with food colouring. Her body fell limply to the ground and also turned into dust.
The boys then looked at me. I remained still, unable to move. I could hear my heart beating and face going red and before I knew it one of the boys was running towards me with a sword in the air. He swiped the sword towards my neck and…
*************************
Week 3 - Keep a Journal of a Journey
This was one of my favourite assignments. Partly because I was much more free to write unexpectedly and also because I came across many things I'd not seen before.
Journey date: 23/10/2010
14:20 - The weather was miserable but I was tempted to visit Trafalgar Square. There was no particular or solid reason as to why but I was bored and fancied a trip. So it was finally time to pull out the hat and gloves for the first time this winter/autumn and set off out. A little bit of bad weather wasn’t going to stop me. DLR towards Tower Gateway, here I come.
14:50 - Nearly at Tower Gateway. I never have and never will be a fan of public transport. However, Def Leppard and a bottle of Lucozade are providing entertainment.
14:52 - Off the train now and it’s time to hit Tower Hill and travel on the horrible underground.
15:12 - Off at Westminster. After a search I manage to find the exit and directly in front of me, just across the road, is Westminster Abbey. And what a site it is.
15:21 - May have walked the wrong way for Trafalgar Square as I see no sign of Nelson’s Column. I do, however, see signs pointing towards Brixton. Oh well. I continue walking and end up in a park by the Thames. There’s a bit monument/statue collection which looks Greek. Oh well, I’ve seen the square many times before. After a look at/into the Thames and it’s surroundings I turn round and walk back towards the statues. I notice the plaque and it says “The Burglers (sic) of Calais by Auguste Redin.
15:38 - After a short backtrack I’m at Margaret’s Place. Opposite me is a boarded up square with anti-war slogans and a tent. I think of hippies. The 60s are long gone and Woodstock is finished. The Cult is keeping me entertained now. Seen police patrolling with semi-automatics. I want to shoot one.
15:54 - Walking down a long road past numerous statues. I have no idea who they are though. Still not at Trafalgar Square though. It’s still raining and I’m writing this in a doorway.
16:00 - Outside the Cavalry Museum. The horse and soldier guy re leaving their post.
16:05 - Another soldier guy on the grounds is walking to the other side of his post. He looks ready for war.
16:15 - Finally at the square. No changes from the last time I saw it. I’m now walking round with a pen poking out of my hat. No funny looks yet. Think I’ll go to Oxford Circus soon.
16:46 - I’m at Picadilly Circus and it’s bright and colourful as usual (the circus, not the weather). I’ve just noticed there’s a Ripley’s here. May have to visit it one day. I’ve also just spotted a well-hidden adult and DVD shop. Soho awaits.
17:00 - Definitely in Soho now I expected sex shops but not this many. Just walked past 3 in a row. The perverts are spoilt for choice.
17:44 - Had a browse around some of the clean shops and been into shop claiming to be Soho’s biggest adult shop (sic). Judging from the prices of everything in here, it’s obvious as to why people use the internet for their erotic entertainment. Now it’s time to find Westminster again.
18:33 - After much walking around, getting lost and reading the London A-Z I’m finally on the Eastbound platform and waiting for the tube to arrive in 1 minute. Tower Hill awaits. I spot the headline on someone’s Metro “Man in dress pushed to death” or something of the sort.
19:00 - On the DLR headed towards Cyprus. My travels are over.
***********************
Week 4 - Character Description from Observation
Put simply we had to observe a person and later write a script of wha this person might be doing day-to-day or their personality. The observation was that of a girl I spotted in Slimelight, London. I can't say this was really a favourite assignment of mine.
On the dance floor she was a girl who would love to throw herself around with her colourful dreadlocks flying through the air. Her revealing clothing of shorts and half-top would contrast with the darkness and show up in the UV lighting with ease. As she moved, her body - with it’s smooth curves and soft skin - would catch the attention of anyone surrounding her. Despite this attention, she wore it with confidence and not a care in the world. Her large boots would bang against the floor but despite the sheer weight of the things they created no resistance to her movements. She was wild yet elegant and lively but modest.
By day, however, her hair would remain tied up and motionless and she’s sit at her desk, working just as hard as any other person without revealing her previous night’s activities. University and clubbing were two completely different things to her and only sheer determination kept it that way. By day she wore a plain black top, black jeans and New Rock boots. None to very little of this clothing would reveal to her peers who she was outside of an academic environment.
**********************
Week 5 - 14 - 40 line poem about a photo
I wasn't really looking forward to doing this assignment as poetry isn't my strong or favourite part of writing or literature but once I'd begun writing the poem flowed well and I'm rather pleased with the final outcome. Picture chosen: http://www.bigbridge.org/saroyan/PWAS-34.HTM
Back in time
Dark hair in dark times
Nothingness stands behind
No colours but black and white
Eyes of happiness and nothingness
Staring into a distance
Another dimension
Of tomorrow and the future
What do you see
While we see you?
Smiling
Or not
Why be fake
When reality
A true friend, is the best way?
Laughter is the key
To a photographic life
Behind a reflective lens
Capturing a moment
Made to smile for
*********************
Week 6 - When I Was 14
For this assignment we were required to recall an experience of when we were 14 and write it in 3 styles: 1st person perspective, aged 14 iary and thir person perspective. Writing is in this order.
When I was fourteen in the hot summer of 2002, I had an epileptic seizure which would leave me with scars and memories for my life. This one seizure meant I would spend 2 hours in A&E and a night on a hospital bed.
Being the child I was I had no idea of the consequences of not ingesting enough liquid on such a day. With this lack of information, one could not have been aware of what could have happened. However, this child was about to find out thanks to a spout of dehydration. Before I knew it I was finding myself opening my eyes and lying on the cold concrete floor in a pool of blood. Only those surrounding me could say what had happened but all I could say was that the heat had taken control and caused me to lose conscience due to dehydration and/or epilepsy. This oh so evil dehydration had also caused a large cut in the scalp and a night in A&E. After 2 hours of sitting in the waiting room and another hour of having my head being stitched up I was finally allowed to go home and have tomorrow off of school. All in all a productive yet non productive day.
---------------------------
Today I didn’t go to school because of my accident yesterday. It was really hot and we were sat on the wall when suddenly everything was dark and I’d fainted.
I don’t remember or know what happened while I was gone but the next I remember is waking up and putting my hand to my head. As I pulled it away I remember feeling wetness. When I looked at my hand it was bright red. Covered in blood. Yum.
After a wait and me waking up, an ambulant finally arrived and took me to A&E. After me and Dad waited two hours we were finally taken into a cubicle for my head to be stitched up. After half an hour of stitching and my dad checking out all of the doctor’s instruments we were finally done and safe to go home for the night.
----------------------------
It was the hot summer of 2002 and Peter, then aged 14, was sat on the wall above the cobble, eating his lunch with his then friends. However, Peter had never been a fan of consuming liquids and this day was a certain day in which he should have been. The reason for this would be the event to occur two minutes later.
Then, without expecting it, Peter became unconscious and fell off of the wall and onto the stoned cobble, proceeding to roll and crack his head open. For ten minutes Peter was unconscious. According to friends his lips had turned blue and the entire school had surrounded him to find out what had happened. Who could blame them? Peter would have done exactly the same.
Whilst he was turning blue and cold people claimed that Peter had also gone cold. Of course, Peter couldn’t confirm this but it would make a good story for later years. Soon after coming to, Peter placed and removed his hand from his hand found to be a lot of blood. Not to worry. It was only a bit of blood, the hospital (who, conveniently, had already arrived) could easily sort it out after a 2 hour wait and another other of stitching. It may have hurt but Peter was keen to get himself back to school. Give it two days…
*********************
Week 1 - I Remember
Here we had to write list of 25 'I Remembers'. 5 of these were fictional while the other 20 were genuine.
I remember the summer days when I would knock on neighbours’ doors and ask if they can come out and play.
I remember the summer days when I would knock on neighbours’ doors and ask if they can come out and play.
I remember kicking a ball or flying a kite in “the Field” when I was young.
I remember homemade birthday cakes and after-school sandwiches.
I remember having my shirt signed on the last day of high school.
I remember waiting for the “Now That’s What I Call Music!“ pop compilations to be released every six months.
I remember lying awake in bed the night before a holiday, unable to sleep.
I remember skateboarding down a slide and breaking my arm when I fell.
I remember winning first place for a story writing competition in primary school.
I remember Windows 98
I remember being scared to get out of bed in the fear that a man would pull me under.
I remember being ill and lying in bed watching children’s films all day.
I remember when my granddad used to tell me exaggerated stories of travelling through the forest when he was in the army.
I remember the first book I read.
I remember my parents’ wedding in 92.
I remember the storm of green lightning, violent thunder and lashing rain and holding my dad, too scared to move.
I remember locking myself out of the house one night and having to climb over garden fences to sleep in the garden.
I remember fishing and camping with my dad.
I remember spending days with my mum, watching films all day on the sofa, and the “crafts bag” behind the sofa.
I remember winning an arts competition in high school.
I remember the night after my first head/brain op - lying awake, laughing with my dad with the blood shooting up the drain in my head. Oh, how that hurt!
I remember exactly where I was on 9/11, 7/7 and the Virginia Tech shootings.
I remember growing up through the ‘90s and all the ‘crazes’ which came in and slowly faded out. The times in which every child ‘had’ to own the item of the year.
I remember being the shy pageboy at my dad’s and step mum’s wedding in 2001 who didn’t know who to talk to or where to go in the hall which seemed so large at the time.
I remember breaking rotten eggs in the dinner hall during the last days of high school. The smell was indescribable.
I remember being knocked out by a tennis ball in primary school.
I remember being a young child with freedom and no responsibility or worries in the world, the days of which are now but nostalgia.
I Remember - Pt. 2
Here we had to choose one on our I Remembers and tell the story of how it came about. In rememberance of my Granddad who died in June 2009 I chose to write about the stories he would tell of his days serving in the army.
I remember when my granddad used to tell me exaggerated stories of travelling through the forest when he was in the army.
As a child I would often visit and stay over at my grandparents’ house and each visit would result in my granddad telling me stories of travelling through a thick jungle armed with nothing but a machete and a bottle of water. Being a typical child who would believe anything I took it as gospel and nothing but the truth. The words “I had to fight 5 Chinese men with my bare hands and won” would be believed.
I remember sitting on the back of the armchair with my dinner plate resting on his head, fascinated by every word and detail. Little did I know that enrolment into the army was a compulsory procedure in the 1940s and ‘50s and therefore did not necessarily mean my granddad would be forced into a plane to land within the Amazonian Rainforest to fight with his bare hands and a machete. However, now knowing this still doesn’t cause me to discard these stories, despite them being fictional.
Each story would have a different plot and my granddad would have fought different armies with different weapons. Sometimes a machete, others a machine gun. I also seem to recall a moment in which he fought with a blow pipe and darts. However silly the stories were they were never not enjoyable. They are a key point in my childhood memories.
As the years passed by the stories continued to be told except with exaggeration each time until my granddad was telling me that he had to jump out of a helicopter wearing nothing but a loincloth and a parachute. Of course, by around the age of ten I was beginning to realise that these stories were made up although the dialogue of “…when I was in the army”, “And you were armed with nothing but a machete” never stopped until just two weeks before his passing in 2009.
However, on the day of his funeral, back at the funeral home, my cousins, Godfather and I would continue with these stories, reminiscing the moments my granddad spent fighting in the jungle. Although passed away my granddad has left us all with stories which can be repeated and changed at any time. Some would say it’s just a memory, others might call it a legacy. However one may look at it the stories my granddad told will remain in my memories for a long time.
*********************
Week 2 - Continue Nell Dunn's story 'Out With the Girls'
The title gives away what we had to do here. The line of 'Seduce me' was that of which we had to continue from. The story may begin as a normality but, as time moves, the reader is given a slight surprise. As I am a Brit this continuation was, of course, written in a British manner. Hopefully overseas will understand the style of writing. Comments on this story from fellow writers were very positive and critical. Enjoy!
‘Do me a favour’
‘What is it?’
‘Seduce me’
I looked up and as our eyes locked I hooked my finger under his chain and pulled his face towards mine. The only reaction he could muster was a cheeky smile before he threw his arm around me and our lips connected; I was thrown into a world of extreme ecstasy as a wave of heat ran through my body causing me to shudder.
‘You okay?’, he mumbled between gentle kisses.
‘Yeah, keep going’, and he did so by moving down to my neck and shoulder blades - he really knew what he was doing! I couldn’t hold myself any longer and my legs turned to jelly. As I fell I pulled him down with me and the passion continued on the cold, hard ground.
As he lifted his head away from my neck I raised mine from the ground and slowly moved towards his neck and opened my mouth, ready to penetrate the soft flesh. As I bit him and he gasped in shock with the words “What. The. Fuck?” I cold taste the sweet blood on the tip of my tongue. Once I’d finished drinking and his body had become limp I dropped him with a thud - a small line of blood trailed won his neck.
Beside me in the night I could hear quiet ticks of flesh against flesh and out of the corner of my eye I could see the outline of a tall slim body in dark clothing. “Bravo, bravo” the figure said in a voice I instantly recognised - that of Dr. Dogshit - pronounced Doh-shee-tah - my master and creator - the man who seduced me into becoming one of his undead wenches. Behind him were Sylvie an Rube. Both had blood-red lips and a smile on their faces. I slowly rose and as I did so, Rube, Sylvie and the Dr. turned on their heels, the ground crunching under their feet and floated into the distance. I followed with elegance.
Back in the cave-lab with Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” on the sound system, Sylvie was sat on the floor, staring at a giant poster of Jim Morrison with a half-empty bottle of wine in her left hand, a cigarette - a rollie of course - in her right whilst Rube and the Doctor were in the corner, looking like they were trying to eat each other’s face. I, however, couldn’t stop thinking about tonight’s events of killing a man in the need to exist as one of the undead. Why am I like this? Can’t I just go back to my family, my friends, my old life? And then, mid-thought, I heard a noise in the doorway, the crunching of gravel under-foot. Suddenly the shape of a man appeared and walking slowly into the cave. It was the biker boy I’d killed earlier in the night. With a pale white face and dirt on his clothes he’d returned as one of the undead, and it was my fault.
“Oh, why hello there” the Doctor said in an excited tone, “Nice to have you with us. I’m Dr. Dogshit and I believe you’ve already my girl here”, he said, pointing at me. Before he could say anything there was a loud crash followed by the sound of a gun and two boys, aged around 16 ran into the biker boy and knocked him off balance. Without a beat one of the boys, a short, stocky guy whipped out what looked like a stake and threw it. The stake flew at speed and pierced Rube’s chest. She gasped, fell to her knees and seemingly disappeared, becoming just a pile of dust. The Doctor ran to the side, out of sight and Sylvie was slowly standing up, unstable on her feet, but before she could walk anywhere the second boy, a tall and skinny boy who looked like you could snap him with a finger, had thrown a knife and managed to decapitate Sylvie. Blood squirted out of her destroyed neck like some sort of fountain filled with food colouring. Her body fell limply to the ground and also turned into dust.
The boys then looked at me. I remained still, unable to move. I could hear my heart beating and face going red and before I knew it one of the boys was running towards me with a sword in the air. He swiped the sword towards my neck and…
*************************
Week 3 - Keep a Journal of a Journey
This was one of my favourite assignments. Partly because I was much more free to write unexpectedly and also because I came across many things I'd not seen before.
Journey date: 23/10/2010
14:20 - The weather was miserable but I was tempted to visit Trafalgar Square. There was no particular or solid reason as to why but I was bored and fancied a trip. So it was finally time to pull out the hat and gloves for the first time this winter/autumn and set off out. A little bit of bad weather wasn’t going to stop me. DLR towards Tower Gateway, here I come.
14:50 - Nearly at Tower Gateway. I never have and never will be a fan of public transport. However, Def Leppard and a bottle of Lucozade are providing entertainment.
14:52 - Off the train now and it’s time to hit Tower Hill and travel on the horrible underground.
15:12 - Off at Westminster. After a search I manage to find the exit and directly in front of me, just across the road, is Westminster Abbey. And what a site it is.
15:21 - May have walked the wrong way for Trafalgar Square as I see no sign of Nelson’s Column. I do, however, see signs pointing towards Brixton. Oh well. I continue walking and end up in a park by the Thames. There’s a bit monument/statue collection which looks Greek. Oh well, I’ve seen the square many times before. After a look at/into the Thames and it’s surroundings I turn round and walk back towards the statues. I notice the plaque and it says “The Burglers (sic) of Calais by Auguste Redin.
15:38 - After a short backtrack I’m at Margaret’s Place. Opposite me is a boarded up square with anti-war slogans and a tent. I think of hippies. The 60s are long gone and Woodstock is finished. The Cult is keeping me entertained now. Seen police patrolling with semi-automatics. I want to shoot one.
15:54 - Walking down a long road past numerous statues. I have no idea who they are though. Still not at Trafalgar Square though. It’s still raining and I’m writing this in a doorway.
16:00 - Outside the Cavalry Museum. The horse and soldier guy re leaving their post.
16:05 - Another soldier guy on the grounds is walking to the other side of his post. He looks ready for war.
16:15 - Finally at the square. No changes from the last time I saw it. I’m now walking round with a pen poking out of my hat. No funny looks yet. Think I’ll go to Oxford Circus soon.
16:46 - I’m at Picadilly Circus and it’s bright and colourful as usual (the circus, not the weather). I’ve just noticed there’s a Ripley’s here. May have to visit it one day. I’ve also just spotted a well-hidden adult and DVD shop. Soho awaits.
17:00 - Definitely in Soho now I expected sex shops but not this many. Just walked past 3 in a row. The perverts are spoilt for choice.
17:44 - Had a browse around some of the clean shops and been into shop claiming to be Soho’s biggest adult shop (sic). Judging from the prices of everything in here, it’s obvious as to why people use the internet for their erotic entertainment. Now it’s time to find Westminster again.
18:33 - After much walking around, getting lost and reading the London A-Z I’m finally on the Eastbound platform and waiting for the tube to arrive in 1 minute. Tower Hill awaits. I spot the headline on someone’s Metro “Man in dress pushed to death” or something of the sort.
19:00 - On the DLR headed towards Cyprus. My travels are over.
***********************
Week 4 - Character Description from Observation
Put simply we had to observe a person and later write a script of wha this person might be doing day-to-day or their personality. The observation was that of a girl I spotted in Slimelight, London. I can't say this was really a favourite assignment of mine.
On the dance floor she was a girl who would love to throw herself around with her colourful dreadlocks flying through the air. Her revealing clothing of shorts and half-top would contrast with the darkness and show up in the UV lighting with ease. As she moved, her body - with it’s smooth curves and soft skin - would catch the attention of anyone surrounding her. Despite this attention, she wore it with confidence and not a care in the world. Her large boots would bang against the floor but despite the sheer weight of the things they created no resistance to her movements. She was wild yet elegant and lively but modest.
By day, however, her hair would remain tied up and motionless and she’s sit at her desk, working just as hard as any other person without revealing her previous night’s activities. University and clubbing were two completely different things to her and only sheer determination kept it that way. By day she wore a plain black top, black jeans and New Rock boots. None to very little of this clothing would reveal to her peers who she was outside of an academic environment.
**********************
Week 5 - 14 - 40 line poem about a photo
I wasn't really looking forward to doing this assignment as poetry isn't my strong or favourite part of writing or literature but once I'd begun writing the poem flowed well and I'm rather pleased with the final outcome. Picture chosen: http://www.bigbridge.org/saroyan/PWAS-34.HTM
Back in time
Dark hair in dark times
Nothingness stands behind
No colours but black and white
Eyes of happiness and nothingness
Staring into a distance
Another dimension
Of tomorrow and the future
What do you see
While we see you?
Smiling
Or not
Why be fake
When reality
A true friend, is the best way?
Laughter is the key
To a photographic life
Behind a reflective lens
Capturing a moment
Made to smile for
*********************
Week 6 - When I Was 14
For this assignment we were required to recall an experience of when we were 14 and write it in 3 styles: 1st person perspective, aged 14 iary and thir person perspective. Writing is in this order.
When I was fourteen in the hot summer of 2002, I had an epileptic seizure which would leave me with scars and memories for my life. This one seizure meant I would spend 2 hours in A&E and a night on a hospital bed.
Being the child I was I had no idea of the consequences of not ingesting enough liquid on such a day. With this lack of information, one could not have been aware of what could have happened. However, this child was about to find out thanks to a spout of dehydration. Before I knew it I was finding myself opening my eyes and lying on the cold concrete floor in a pool of blood. Only those surrounding me could say what had happened but all I could say was that the heat had taken control and caused me to lose conscience due to dehydration and/or epilepsy. This oh so evil dehydration had also caused a large cut in the scalp and a night in A&E. After 2 hours of sitting in the waiting room and another hour of having my head being stitched up I was finally allowed to go home and have tomorrow off of school. All in all a productive yet non productive day.
---------------------------
Today I didn’t go to school because of my accident yesterday. It was really hot and we were sat on the wall when suddenly everything was dark and I’d fainted.
I don’t remember or know what happened while I was gone but the next I remember is waking up and putting my hand to my head. As I pulled it away I remember feeling wetness. When I looked at my hand it was bright red. Covered in blood. Yum.
After a wait and me waking up, an ambulant finally arrived and took me to A&E. After me and Dad waited two hours we were finally taken into a cubicle for my head to be stitched up. After half an hour of stitching and my dad checking out all of the doctor’s instruments we were finally done and safe to go home for the night.
----------------------------
It was the hot summer of 2002 and Peter, then aged 14, was sat on the wall above the cobble, eating his lunch with his then friends. However, Peter had never been a fan of consuming liquids and this day was a certain day in which he should have been. The reason for this would be the event to occur two minutes later.
Then, without expecting it, Peter became unconscious and fell off of the wall and onto the stoned cobble, proceeding to roll and crack his head open. For ten minutes Peter was unconscious. According to friends his lips had turned blue and the entire school had surrounded him to find out what had happened. Who could blame them? Peter would have done exactly the same.
Whilst he was turning blue and cold people claimed that Peter had also gone cold. Of course, Peter couldn’t confirm this but it would make a good story for later years. Soon after coming to, Peter placed and removed his hand from his hand found to be a lot of blood. Not to worry. It was only a bit of blood, the hospital (who, conveniently, had already arrived) could easily sort it out after a 2 hour wait and another other of stitching. It may have hurt but Peter was keen to get himself back to school. Give it two days…
Welcome!!
Hello and welcome to my blog of creative writings.
As a student of Creative and Professional Writing as part of my Combined Honours degree at the University of East London I am required to undertake an assignment set in class based of a set subject. I may be required to write a poem based on or about a photo, a continuation of a story or one story written multiple times from a different-person perspective.
This blog will be updated weekly with each assignment posted on the day of completion. Assignments can take from under 3 hours up to 2 days depending on alchohol consumption, creativity and laziness.
With this blog I hope to inspire and help fellow writers in their tasks as a writer. And yes, you are a writer, not just a person whom puts pen to paper.
Feel free to subscribe to this blog.
Word of note though: Should you wish to use any of my pieces please contact me beforehand. Copyright, don't you hate and love it sometimes?
As a student of Creative and Professional Writing as part of my Combined Honours degree at the University of East London I am required to undertake an assignment set in class based of a set subject. I may be required to write a poem based on or about a photo, a continuation of a story or one story written multiple times from a different-person perspective.
This blog will be updated weekly with each assignment posted on the day of completion. Assignments can take from under 3 hours up to 2 days depending on alchohol consumption, creativity and laziness.
With this blog I hope to inspire and help fellow writers in their tasks as a writer. And yes, you are a writer, not just a person whom puts pen to paper.
Feel free to subscribe to this blog.
Word of note though: Should you wish to use any of my pieces please contact me beforehand. Copyright, don't you hate and love it sometimes?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)