Thursday, 18 October 2012

Continued Object Writing and NaNoWriMo

I’m pleased to say that I’ve managed to keep up my daily stints of ten-minute object writes. I haven’t missed a word offered by the website Object Writing since I joined, even though some words gave me no immediate inspiration, power adapter and ladder being two of those. However, I managed to come up with something in the end, and have included both in a small selection of writing below.

Ladder                     Bandwagon                    Bonus
Power Adapter         Bicycle                          The Relatives

As we come up to November I am seriously thinking about taking part in this year’s NaNoWriMo which describes itself as ‘a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing’, and ‘an annual (November) novel writing project that brings together professional and amateur writers from all over the world with a goal of writing a 50,000 word novel by 11:59:59, November 30’. 

The NaNoWriMo organisers stress that the writing is more about output than quality, as the approach forces you to ‘lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly’. I think that might be good for me, as I have a tendency to let go of the flow as I become engrossed in researching some minor detail or editing a section endlessly only to end up chopping it out. Forcing myself to write intensely, leaving research to a later date, getting on with the story and just creating could be a good thing. I have no fear of writing complete rubbish. I’m pretty much used to that!

I’m also looking forward to meeting up with local writers and sharing ‘laughably awful yet lengthy prose’ over a glass of something. Though being new to it all, I will have to gird my loins and brave the getting out and meeting people part. I’m hoping that the fact that I keep misreading the face book page ‘Cambridge Wrimos’ as ‘Cambridge Winos’ could foretell good times to come. Watch this space!


Hop on the bandwagon, leave you own point of view on the step. You don’t need any baggage – the herd will tell you what to wear, who to vote for, when to laugh, how to love. See what’s trending, follow that. Savour the fifty shades of saccharine coated latest fads and never mind the sour underbelly or the rising stench of warmed-up bullshit.

Who cares if you sail blind for a thousand days through indifferent air? Who notices that it’s a bumpy ride, with your jellied spine continuously jostled and jolted by the whims of others? Just wallow in the forlorn knowledge that you are in with the in crowd. Your envy is the perfect shade of green and you can lay all individuality aside as you roll along with the circus parade.

Sunday, 14 October 2012


Stepping down from the raised dais of the cash desk she smoothed the skirt of her uniform, feeing a warm surge of pride. She stood a little taller, striking a pose of puff-chested responsibility. Only sixteen and promoted to supervisor for her Saturday job in Woolworths. It was a pity that the uniform upgrade was so unglamorous. She looked down at the Crimplene two-piece ensemble. It was hardly exquisite, and combined with American tan tights and sensible shoes it was positively frumpy. Still, it was worth it to earn her pocket money and tonight the small brown pay envelope would be thicker. Tonight the Christmas bonus would be there, plumping up the banknotes and coins like weights on the scale dragging her waistcoat pocket down as she signed for her money.

She took her pride for a walk around the shop floor, smiling generously at the girls on the make-up counter, their pancaked faces cracking in response. Over to the sweets next, you had to keep a close eye on those girls, and that’s where she saw him. Her heart sank as she sighed his name, “Grandad”. He had promised never to come here. Never to bring his uncontrollable urge to her place of work. He had sworn he would not. She could see that a certain look of excited pleasure was already suffusing his features, filling him with an exhilarating satisfaction triggered by the thrill of temptation. She was a supervisor. It was her duty to report shoplifting and failure to do so could lose her this job, but rigor mortis had hold of her, painfully locking her knees as she remembered that his name for this counter was Pick and Nix. She turned, and walked away. Stationery was bound to need a tidy.

Saturday, 13 October 2012


Swift my heart flies in a downhill chase, feet stuck out at the end of straightened legs and fingers curled round handles in tightened grip. Velocity picks up and an involuntary scream of terrified joy is torn from my lungs and dragged back, past my ears, by the blasting rush of the charging air.

Wheels spin, sizzling as they eat up tarmac, flying across the road surface with little resistance. Shapes speed past in a blur of green and brown. Hedges and trees passing by in a haze of spring scents, while time distorts, splintering into abandonment with the freewheeling exhilaration of my racing heart. Until at last resistance comes, the ground levels out and I slow to a pace where feet can once more find pedals.

Thursday, 11 October 2012

The Relatives

Red flocked wallpaper soaks up the atmosphere of steamy tea and whisky, and faded prints of pastel watercolours oversee the tearful laughter of the relatives, subdued and straight-backed, perched on chairs pushed to the outer edges of the room either side of her vacant armchair, its antimacassar still bearing a faint greasy imprint. Wrapped in their many shades of mourning they feast, like crows, upon the maggoty remnants of her life, and slip with the passing hours into indecorously singing their music-hall laments.

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Power Adapter

Pull the velvet curtains and block the siren stars. No more distraction from purple dancing skies. Lie back on the bed. Let lavender from freshly laundered sheets wrap around and root you to the mattress where thoughts slide away in a slow melt towards nothingness. Taste silky dreams begin to grace the tip of your tongue.

You see, I prefer my darkness really black, perfect and uncompromising, so even the devilish glint of that one red eye staring at me from the corner has the power to disturb, to dismantle my calm and set up a frenzy of throwing, where sock follows sock in an arc towards the slim, white of the power adaptor. It sits, its gaping wounds, like tiny mouths, punctured in its plastic case by giant industrial teeth, in full understanding that I will not sleep until a well aimed item of clothing shutters me once more in welcome night.