So there I was, lying in bed unable to sleep when an idea came along: Take my previous poetic assignment and turn it into a song/tune. I haven't made any music for quite some time as I've just not been feeling inspired/had the time etc so it's time to do something special. I don't know how long this'll take but I've got the main ideas in my head, it's just recording everything and making it sound 'right'.
I'll probably document it as it happens on here so keep an eye out or something.
That'll be all.
Tuesday 22 February 2011
Monday 21 February 2011
Assignment C
For our third assignment we were required to take one of last week's treatments and re-write it. As I very much disliked my fictional treatment, I chose that piece to re-write. For the piece I simply took the original true story and it's main points (head op, wires on brain, hospital) and made up some strange story. The only missing part is the mention of epilepsy.
I quite enjoyed this one as I felt very free to make up some story which meant although I had to keep the main points listed above I could make it as crazy as I liked.
So, without further ado, here it is:
--------------------------
I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know the process, the time it would take, what it was for or if it would even be successful. I knew I was going to have a head operation but that was it. I was excited, though, but that may have just been the high dosage of morphine they had me on.
I sat on the hospital bed, with it’s crisp white sheets and hard mattress, waiting for the nurse to come into my room and roll me down to the theatre.
Finally, an hour later, the woman arrived in her pristinely ironed nurse’s uniform and started to wheel me towards the theatre. By the frown on her chubby face, she really wasn’t someone I’d want to fuck with.
I managed a smile though and even worked up the nerve to ask her if the op could be filmed. Rather than reply, she arched her thick eyebrows inwards and gave me a look as if to say “What is wrong with you?”
My mum just told me to calm down as we entered a cold small room.
The nurse reached for a long, thick syringe, filled with a clear liquid and asked “You ready?” I nodded and without warning, she pushed the needle into my arm and I soon fell asleep.
An unknown number of hours later, I awoke in a small, cold and empty room with stone floors, surrounded by bleeping machines and wires which trailed into my head.
The nurse soon entered the room, followed by my mum and slowly said “It has begun”.
-------------------------
Hopefully the sentence structure makes sense. If it doesn't, it's the fault of the word processor and having to use double spaced writing.
I quite enjoyed this one as I felt very free to make up some story which meant although I had to keep the main points listed above I could make it as crazy as I liked.
So, without further ado, here it is:
--------------------------
I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know the process, the time it would take, what it was for or if it would even be successful. I knew I was going to have a head operation but that was it. I was excited, though, but that may have just been the high dosage of morphine they had me on.
I sat on the hospital bed, with it’s crisp white sheets and hard mattress, waiting for the nurse to come into my room and roll me down to the theatre.
Finally, an hour later, the woman arrived in her pristinely ironed nurse’s uniform and started to wheel me towards the theatre. By the frown on her chubby face, she really wasn’t someone I’d want to fuck with.
I managed a smile though and even worked up the nerve to ask her if the op could be filmed. Rather than reply, she arched her thick eyebrows inwards and gave me a look as if to say “What is wrong with you?”
My mum just told me to calm down as we entered a cold small room.
The nurse reached for a long, thick syringe, filled with a clear liquid and asked “You ready?” I nodded and without warning, she pushed the needle into my arm and I soon fell asleep.
An unknown number of hours later, I awoke in a small, cold and empty room with stone floors, surrounded by bleeping machines and wires which trailed into my head.
The nurse soon entered the room, followed by my mum and slowly said “It has begun”.
-------------------------
Hopefully the sentence structure makes sense. If it doesn't, it's the fault of the word processor and having to use double spaced writing.
Sunday 20 February 2011
Assignment B pt. 3
The third instalment of assignment B which was meant to be a fictional treatment of a significant day in my life. I'm not too impressed with this but I'm sure it'll do.
--------------
Pete hopped onto the hospital bed before the nurse pushed her foot down onto the wheel lock and began wheeling the bed, with it’s wheels rattling dangerously, down the cold hospital corridor towards the operating theatre with his parents beside the bed, trying to keep up to speed.
When asked if the operation could be filmed, the nurse simply replied with “We’ll see what we can do” with which his mum followed with “Be quiet and calm down”.
Although nervous, Pete managed to keep calm as he was pushed out of the lift and towards the generic two-way doors which you see on films and drama shows. Through the doors, Pete and his parents were in a small square room which would lead into the operating theatre.
“Are you ready for this?”, his dad asked calmly. “Yep”, Pete replied before the nurse announced the cliché of “You’re just going to feel a small scratch,” before injecting the anaesthetic. “Now count down from 10”.
At 5, Pete fell asleep, ready to be operated on.
4 hours later, Pete’s eyes flickered open and he tried to sit up, forgetting that he was attached to a machine.
After lying in bed for 20 minutes, studying his surroundings, Pete’s mum walked in and smiled, happy to see he was awake (and alive). “How do you feel?” she asked. “Sore.”
“Well just relax and we’ll wait for the nurse to come in.”
Upon saying that, the nurse made an appearance to check how everything was and it was time for Pete to spend a week attached to a machine.
----------------
Hopefully the sentence structure is okay. If it's not, that's the fault of my word processor.
--------------
Pete hopped onto the hospital bed before the nurse pushed her foot down onto the wheel lock and began wheeling the bed, with it’s wheels rattling dangerously, down the cold hospital corridor towards the operating theatre with his parents beside the bed, trying to keep up to speed.
When asked if the operation could be filmed, the nurse simply replied with “We’ll see what we can do” with which his mum followed with “Be quiet and calm down”.
Although nervous, Pete managed to keep calm as he was pushed out of the lift and towards the generic two-way doors which you see on films and drama shows. Through the doors, Pete and his parents were in a small square room which would lead into the operating theatre.
“Are you ready for this?”, his dad asked calmly. “Yep”, Pete replied before the nurse announced the cliché of “You’re just going to feel a small scratch,” before injecting the anaesthetic. “Now count down from 10”.
At 5, Pete fell asleep, ready to be operated on.
4 hours later, Pete’s eyes flickered open and he tried to sit up, forgetting that he was attached to a machine.
After lying in bed for 20 minutes, studying his surroundings, Pete’s mum walked in and smiled, happy to see he was awake (and alive). “How do you feel?” she asked. “Sore.”
“Well just relax and we’ll wait for the nurse to come in.”
Upon saying that, the nurse made an appearance to check how everything was and it was time for Pete to spend a week attached to a machine.
----------------
Hopefully the sentence structure is okay. If it's not, that's the fault of my word processor.
Semester B - Week 2 (Continued)
Here is the second part of my assignment described below. This is the dramatic script. I'm still not too good as writing for TV so this is far from my best piece but hopefully it'll get me somewhere in life.
Hospital bed is being pushed down the corridor by nurses dressed in blue uniforms.
Pete (laughing) - I’m getting my head cut open in 10 minutes. Can you film it for me please?
Nurse - We’ll see what we can do.
Debbie (Mum) - Be quiet now, and don’t worry. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.
Bed is pushed into a small room and Pete is injected with anaesthetic. Counting down from 10, he falls asleep, ready for the operation.
4 Hours later
Pete’s eyes begin flickering open and he’s finally awake.
Pete (thinking) - Where am I? Who are all these people in these beds? My operation has just finished.
Nurse walks in with parents.
Mum - Are you awake?
Pete - (Mumbles)
An hour later Pete is wheeled back to his hospital room where he will spend the next week attached to a machine to monitor brain activity.
Grandparents are sat in the room, waiting. Both ask how it went.
Nurse - It went very well. We got the wires attached with no problems. Through the next week we’ll be taking records and checking all activity of the brain when he has a seizure then we’ll analyse and decide whether it’s safe to remove the tumour or not.
Family member - Are you hungry?
Pete - Yes.
A week of lying in bed with wires coming out of the head has begun.
Hospital bed is being pushed down the corridor by nurses dressed in blue uniforms.
Pete (laughing) - I’m getting my head cut open in 10 minutes. Can you film it for me please?
Nurse - We’ll see what we can do.
Debbie (Mum) - Be quiet now, and don’t worry. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.
Bed is pushed into a small room and Pete is injected with anaesthetic. Counting down from 10, he falls asleep, ready for the operation.
4 Hours later
Pete’s eyes begin flickering open and he’s finally awake.
Pete (thinking) - Where am I? Who are all these people in these beds? My operation has just finished.
Nurse walks in with parents.
Mum - Are you awake?
Pete - (Mumbles)
An hour later Pete is wheeled back to his hospital room where he will spend the next week attached to a machine to monitor brain activity.
Grandparents are sat in the room, waiting. Both ask how it went.
Nurse - It went very well. We got the wires attached with no problems. Through the next week we’ll be taking records and checking all activity of the brain when he has a seizure then we’ll analyse and decide whether it’s safe to remove the tumour or not.
Family member - Are you hungry?
Pete - Yes.
A week of lying in bed with wires coming out of the head has begun.
Semester B - Week 2
This week we had to take a significant day in our life/lives and create three pieces out of it: a poem, dramatic treatment (stage script) and fictional treatment.
As I'm not a fan of poetry, I put this back to the last minute but it seemed to come out okay, I suppose seeing as poetry is usually just written in a style which may people may call bollocks. After this post I'll be sticking up part two of this week's assignment and hopefully by the end of the night be able to stick up part 3 so here it is:
Lying on a bed
Travelling down a hallway
With tubes in my arms
And parents by my side
Sending me soothing words
Nervous but excited
Tired but awake
Curious but knowledgeable
And aware of what’s to follow
After I fall asleep
Waiting in a room
Surrounded by tools
A needle points towards me
And gently enters my arm
Before I know it, I’m asleep
Finally asleep
Surrounded by surgeons
It’s time to start
Cutting things open
With a sharpened medical blade
Move forward 4 hours
Eyes flicker open
Wondering where I am
I’m in a hospital ward
Sterile, white and cold
Gosh, I’m in G.O.S.H
Surrounded by fellow operationees
All attached to machines
Making strange noises
Bleeps and buzzes and hums
With wires in my head
And tubes in my arms
I’m unable to move
From this bed with locked wheels
And plain white sheets
Parents arrive at my side
Ask if I’m okay
Not okay but alive
But still extremely tired
And able to sleep for a day
I’m lying in bed
On my road to the cure
Of an epileptic life
To be free from worries
And able to have more fun
The road is long
This is just the beginning
But I’m willing and ready
To be attached to a machine
For the long week ahead
As I'm not a fan of poetry, I put this back to the last minute but it seemed to come out okay, I suppose seeing as poetry is usually just written in a style which may people may call bollocks. After this post I'll be sticking up part two of this week's assignment and hopefully by the end of the night be able to stick up part 3 so here it is:
Lying on a bed
Travelling down a hallway
With tubes in my arms
And parents by my side
Sending me soothing words
Nervous but excited
Tired but awake
Curious but knowledgeable
And aware of what’s to follow
After I fall asleep
Waiting in a room
Surrounded by tools
A needle points towards me
And gently enters my arm
Before I know it, I’m asleep
Finally asleep
Surrounded by surgeons
It’s time to start
Cutting things open
With a sharpened medical blade
Move forward 4 hours
Eyes flicker open
Wondering where I am
I’m in a hospital ward
Sterile, white and cold
Gosh, I’m in G.O.S.H
Surrounded by fellow operationees
All attached to machines
Making strange noises
Bleeps and buzzes and hums
With wires in my head
And tubes in my arms
I’m unable to move
From this bed with locked wheels
And plain white sheets
Parents arrive at my side
Ask if I’m okay
Not okay but alive
But still extremely tired
And able to sleep for a day
I’m lying in bed
On my road to the cure
Of an epileptic life
To be free from worries
And able to have more fun
The road is long
This is just the beginning
But I’m willing and ready
To be attached to a machine
For the long week ahead
Thursday 10 February 2011
1st writing of semester B
And so it has begun. Semester B, a time for us to fall asleep in lecture halls, listen to lecturers ramble on and do the odd piece of work. Having finished one piece already, I get a strange feeling that this semester may be a little harder than last sem. but, by the words of Daft Punk: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.
I've now finished my project about Sony Erriccson's Xperia Play mobile which got me a little food money but nothing huge. Oh well, the owner of the site I found the ad on made me a featured writer.
I'm also about to begin writing for another publication which apparently sends out it's work to hundreds of other publications. Is this a potential for more work? Who knows.
Now that I've written a fair amount, I'm going to stick a blog up with links to every piece (those which are still not yet online I'll post up with words.
Annnnnnnyway, moving on, here is my first piece for the semester in which we had to write about how we get into our emotions as a writer, what is the strongest of our senses and the earliest smell we can recall.
Enjoy!
---------------------------
To tap into my emotions as a writer I try to think of past events such as a family member suffering from alchoholism for two years which almost caused my family to break apart.
On another occasion I may be angry at something, and using this feeling I’ll put it onto paper in the form of a diary entry or scribble in a notepad and look at it at a later date and use the words to write something.
Another way to get into my emotions is with music. Being an eclectic listener, I’m happy to listen to almost any genre which suits my mood (currently some Saxon and Gary Moore*). Many songs which were released in the 90s and early 00s (Most notably, Daft Punk‘s ‘One More Time‘) will bring out a feeling of euphoria.
Like many people claim, my strongest sense is probably smell. I can usually remember if something smelt like a piece of fruit or how a certain area had it’s own smell. I can only remember someone’s voice or accent if it is very distinct or sounds like another person’s voice. However, most of the time I don’t take too much notice of a voice.
The earliest smell I can recall is that of rotten eggs. Not the best of smells but one that’ll undoubtedly stick in my mind for a long time due to it‘s strength and how many times it happens.
The smell came at the same time of year, every year, without fail. It would be a hot summer’s day (does anyone remember what that felt like?) a week or so before the summer holidays would kick in and all the 16 year olds would be leaving so, of course, they used this to their advantage. The following became something which we knew would happen but we didn’t know when.
So what was this advantage? It was that of being able to crack open a month-old egg and causing the whole block to smell of said rotten eggs without the risk of being expelled from the school for a length of time.
It would always be on a hot day when a group of us would be sat on the wall, eating what we once thought constituted lunch when, after a while of eating a smell would begin to emerge from one of the blocks. The smell would continuously get worse until it came to the point that we were running in the opposite direction, trying to get away from it. If you’d like to know what we had to suffer with, take a walk past the flats being built of Gallion’s Reach retail park. You’ll then be able to feel how we felt on those once-existent hot, summer days.
*Guitarist of Irish band Skid Row (not the 80s thrash band), Thin Lizzy and solo work who was recently found dead. May a legend R.I.P.
-------------------
To criticise my own work, I'm going to say I'm not too impressed with it (however, it is better than a piece I had to write about pensions whilst incredibly drunk) but I am happy with it and using this as my finalised piece.
Just for a treat here is some Gary Moore followed by Skid Row:
I've now finished my project about Sony Erriccson's Xperia Play mobile which got me a little food money but nothing huge. Oh well, the owner of the site I found the ad on made me a featured writer.
I'm also about to begin writing for another publication which apparently sends out it's work to hundreds of other publications. Is this a potential for more work? Who knows.
Now that I've written a fair amount, I'm going to stick a blog up with links to every piece (those which are still not yet online I'll post up with words.
Annnnnnnyway, moving on, here is my first piece for the semester in which we had to write about how we get into our emotions as a writer, what is the strongest of our senses and the earliest smell we can recall.
Enjoy!
---------------------------
To tap into my emotions as a writer I try to think of past events such as a family member suffering from alchoholism for two years which almost caused my family to break apart.
On another occasion I may be angry at something, and using this feeling I’ll put it onto paper in the form of a diary entry or scribble in a notepad and look at it at a later date and use the words to write something.
Another way to get into my emotions is with music. Being an eclectic listener, I’m happy to listen to almost any genre which suits my mood (currently some Saxon and Gary Moore*). Many songs which were released in the 90s and early 00s (Most notably, Daft Punk‘s ‘One More Time‘) will bring out a feeling of euphoria.
Like many people claim, my strongest sense is probably smell. I can usually remember if something smelt like a piece of fruit or how a certain area had it’s own smell. I can only remember someone’s voice or accent if it is very distinct or sounds like another person’s voice. However, most of the time I don’t take too much notice of a voice.
The earliest smell I can recall is that of rotten eggs. Not the best of smells but one that’ll undoubtedly stick in my mind for a long time due to it‘s strength and how many times it happens.
The smell came at the same time of year, every year, without fail. It would be a hot summer’s day (does anyone remember what that felt like?) a week or so before the summer holidays would kick in and all the 16 year olds would be leaving so, of course, they used this to their advantage. The following became something which we knew would happen but we didn’t know when.
So what was this advantage? It was that of being able to crack open a month-old egg and causing the whole block to smell of said rotten eggs without the risk of being expelled from the school for a length of time.
It would always be on a hot day when a group of us would be sat on the wall, eating what we once thought constituted lunch when, after a while of eating a smell would begin to emerge from one of the blocks. The smell would continuously get worse until it came to the point that we were running in the opposite direction, trying to get away from it. If you’d like to know what we had to suffer with, take a walk past the flats being built of Gallion’s Reach retail park. You’ll then be able to feel how we felt on those once-existent hot, summer days.
*Guitarist of Irish band Skid Row (not the 80s thrash band), Thin Lizzy and solo work who was recently found dead. May a legend R.I.P.
-------------------
To criticise my own work, I'm going to say I'm not too impressed with it (however, it is better than a piece I had to write about pensions whilst incredibly drunk) but I am happy with it and using this as my finalised piece.
Just for a treat here is some Gary Moore followed by Skid Row:
Sunday 6 February 2011
More freelance stuff and the return to uni
So, as the title suggests, I've scored myself a little bit more freelance work - writing 3 pieces about medical schools/universities. Done one piece and waiting for feedback but I was happy with it so hopefully that's another tenner in my pocket. As the weekend is over I should be getting three more pieces from Pension Calculator (he did mention having plenty of needing to be done) and by placing some ads here and there online I'll hopefully be gaining some interest - persistence and cockiness can sometimes pay off, ya know?
I might stick up a post with links to every piece I've written just in case anyone is slightly interested in childs' savings news or pension advice. Or maybe you want to know about Bristol Med School or the city itself?
Part 2 of this blog is one of the better halves. Why? Semester B begins tomorrow which means more assignments and a weekly update of this blog (unless they give us something rediculously stupid). I'll also be able to use profanities in the work - being a big boy and all that crap (see what I did there) - and complain about the lecturers and time-tables (only one 9am start this time though).
Right, I'm just babbling now.
To finish off I'd just like to say R.I.P to Gary Moore - legendary guitary, I mean guitarist, of Skid Row (the Irish version before it was sold to the 80s metallers) and one of the classic line-ups of Thin Lizzy. Anyone who has heard his works will know what I mean. If not, here is the great Parisian Walkways with the also passed away Phil Lynott:
I might stick up a post with links to every piece I've written just in case anyone is slightly interested in childs' savings news or pension advice. Or maybe you want to know about Bristol Med School or the city itself?
Part 2 of this blog is one of the better halves. Why? Semester B begins tomorrow which means more assignments and a weekly update of this blog (unless they give us something rediculously stupid). I'll also be able to use profanities in the work - being a big boy and all that crap (see what I did there) - and complain about the lecturers and time-tables (only one 9am start this time though).
Right, I'm just babbling now.
To finish off I'd just like to say R.I.P to Gary Moore - legendary guitary, I mean guitarist, of Skid Row (the Irish version before it was sold to the 80s metallers) and one of the classic line-ups of Thin Lizzy. Anyone who has heard his works will know what I mean. If not, here is the great Parisian Walkways with the also passed away Phil Lynott:
Thursday 3 February 2011
Hello, new freelance work!
So, have I mentioned a few times previously I was having a bit of trouble with my previous freelance work and was dropped from it without a full mention. However, with an exchange of emails between myself and the owner of MY Egg Nest, Mr. Owner contacted another colleague who runs a different site and is now sending me some work to do.
Two pieces are completed. One is confirmed as fine and dandy, just waiting for the next one to be confirmed.
This means a number of things: no confusion, a job/something to do in my free time (other than the usual stuff) a bit of monies so we can attack Camden again and play lemonball and I can finally eat some expensive junk food. Oh, and my portfolio can continue to grow.
So, despite my legs feeling dead after a trek from Beckton to Tower of London and back, today/night has been a good one.
Both links are now online. This is what I'm now writing about for monies:
Average age for retirement on the rise
Pension time bomb
Two pieces are completed. One is confirmed as fine and dandy, just waiting for the next one to be confirmed.
This means a number of things: no confusion, a job/something to do in my free time (other than the usual stuff) a bit of monies so we can attack Camden again and play lemonball and I can finally eat some expensive junk food. Oh, and my portfolio can continue to grow.
So, despite my legs feeling dead after a trek from Beckton to Tower of London and back, today/night has been a good one.
Both links are now online. This is what I'm now writing about for monies:
Average age for retirement on the rise
Pension time bomb
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