The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #9 was “Warning!”
And here are the results.
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How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Pallavi Agarwal (On Facebook)
Iain Martin
Peter Spalton
Nancy Parra
Nixy Valentine
Christine Segina (New WAG Member!)
Gunnar Helliesen
J. M. Strother - Mad Utopia
Christine Kirchoff
Sharon Donovan
Marsha
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #10: The Professional” As we go through our days, we’re surrounded by people doing everyday jobs: the guy that reads the gas meter, cashiers, bank tellers, security guards, doctors, circus clowns… This week, your assignment is to observe someone doing a job (their profession should be one you don’t know that much about). Describe him/her and also what they’re doing, why they’re doing it (as best you can tell), and how. Feel free to use your imagination, but don’t forget the concrete observation! Special thanks to Lulu for this week’s topic idea!
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #10 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!) Deadline: next Tuesday, May 5th.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Want a Cool Accent? Just Have a Brain Operation!
I'm having a brain-dead day so I'll just leave you with this little gem from today's Independent.
BRAIN-OP ENGLISHMAN WAKES UP WITH FOREIGN ACCENT
Doctors were stunned when an Englishman awoke from a brain operation in the UK and started speaking with a thick Irish accent.
Chris Gregory was born and bred in Sheffield, Yorkshire, and has no family ties with Ireland.
But when he came round after three days on a life support machine in the intensive care unit, he spoke in a Dublin accent for almost half an hour.
Seeing his wife Mary standing at his bedside, the 30-year-old landscape gardener said: "You're the fabbest girl I know", and sung her a version of 'Danny Boy'.
But his accent had disappeared by the time relatives arrived at Sheffield's Royal Hallamshire Hospital the following day.
Now totally recovered, Chris and his new wife are planning to take a trip across the Irish Sea for the first time.
Mary, 36, said: "I just couldn't take it in at first, it seemed so comical, but it didn't matter at all because I'd been so worried about losing him altogether.
"Chris's Yorkshire accent had vanished completely, and he was talking like an Irishman all the time."
Specialists have linked the phenomenon to a little-known condition called Foreign Accent Syndrome which can affect the control of the lips, tongue and vocal cords in extremely-rare neurological cases.
Mr Gregory said: "I just don't a remember a thing about it - I wish I'd been able to listen to it all, but I don't have any recollection of what happened when I came round.
"I've never had any connection with Ireland or the Irish people, that's what makes it so odd, but I'm looking forward to going over there for the first time."
The syndrome was first discovered and named in Norway in 1941 when a young woman injured in a bombing raid woke up speaking with a German accent.
This article is from The Belfast Telegraph
What accent would you have, if you could choose?
BRAIN-OP ENGLISHMAN WAKES UP WITH FOREIGN ACCENT
Doctors were stunned when an Englishman awoke from a brain operation in the UK and started speaking with a thick Irish accent.
Chris Gregory was born and bred in Sheffield, Yorkshire, and has no family ties with Ireland.
But when he came round after three days on a life support machine in the intensive care unit, he spoke in a Dublin accent for almost half an hour.
Seeing his wife Mary standing at his bedside, the 30-year-old landscape gardener said: "You're the fabbest girl I know", and sung her a version of 'Danny Boy'.
But his accent had disappeared by the time relatives arrived at Sheffield's Royal Hallamshire Hospital the following day.
Now totally recovered, Chris and his new wife are planning to take a trip across the Irish Sea for the first time.
Mary, 36, said: "I just couldn't take it in at first, it seemed so comical, but it didn't matter at all because I'd been so worried about losing him altogether.
"Chris's Yorkshire accent had vanished completely, and he was talking like an Irishman all the time."
Specialists have linked the phenomenon to a little-known condition called Foreign Accent Syndrome which can affect the control of the lips, tongue and vocal cords in extremely-rare neurological cases.
Mr Gregory said: "I just don't a remember a thing about it - I wish I'd been able to listen to it all, but I don't have any recollection of what happened when I came round.
"I've never had any connection with Ireland or the Irish people, that's what makes it so odd, but I'm looking forward to going over there for the first time."
The syndrome was first discovered and named in Norway in 1941 when a young woman injured in a bombing raid woke up speaking with a German accent.
This article is from The Belfast Telegraph
What accent would you have, if you could choose?
Monday, April 27, 2009
WAG #9: Banoffee Pie Horror!
The assignment:
Choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as beautiful, appealing, or somehow desirable etc… some ideas might be: a child, a sunset, an attractive shop window, a scenic view, a piece of art, an appetising meal in a restaurant… and write about it in such as way as to make it unappealing or even disgusting, frightening or repulsive to your reader.
My attempt:
It sits on the table, mocking me with its very presence. Squidgy bananas, soggy loaf and stringy, finger-sticking toffee -- who was the sicko that came up with that laughable combination? Its roundness is comically perfect, like a drop of goo flung onto a surface, thick enough to hold its ground. The cardboard-coloured cream icing, sitting rancidly atop, jealously guards its spoiled treasure.
Never have I detested banoffee pie more.
Choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as beautiful, appealing, or somehow desirable etc… some ideas might be: a child, a sunset, an attractive shop window, a scenic view, a piece of art, an appetising meal in a restaurant… and write about it in such as way as to make it unappealing or even disgusting, frightening or repulsive to your reader.
My attempt:
It sits on the table, mocking me with its very presence. Squidgy bananas, soggy loaf and stringy, finger-sticking toffee -- who was the sicko that came up with that laughable combination? Its roundness is comically perfect, like a drop of goo flung onto a surface, thick enough to hold its ground. The cardboard-coloured cream icing, sitting rancidly atop, jealously guards its spoiled treasure.
Never have I detested banoffee pie more.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Great Rubbish Bin Mystery
For the past few months, I've been plagued by the mystery of people rummaging through the rubbish bin across the street from my flat. I sit at my desk, look out my window, and watch normal-looking person after normal-looking person walk by the bin, take a rummage through, then walk off. What oh what is in there? Obviously not much, since I've never seen someone walk away with something. Yet day after day, it seems to drawn people in.
There aren't many rubbish bins on London streets -- many were removed in the 1980s after the IRA bomb attacks. So the rubbish bin is one of only a few on my very busy street. Still, surely that can't be enough excitement to merit a poke through its contents, can it? It's certainly not in my books, anyway.
One of my favourite bin-pokers is a small round man. He's balding on top but he's valiantly trying to make up for it by cultivating patches of curly hair on either side of his scrunched-up face. He trots past the bin at about 8 a.m., performs a search with great concentration, then trots off. He seems to enjoy it as much as anyone can enjoy rooting around in rubbish.
I could go over and take a look, I guess. But then, I'd be one of them. And who knows what happens once you succumb to the siren of the bin?
There aren't many rubbish bins on London streets -- many were removed in the 1980s after the IRA bomb attacks. So the rubbish bin is one of only a few on my very busy street. Still, surely that can't be enough excitement to merit a poke through its contents, can it? It's certainly not in my books, anyway.
One of my favourite bin-pokers is a small round man. He's balding on top but he's valiantly trying to make up for it by cultivating patches of curly hair on either side of his scrunched-up face. He trots past the bin at about 8 a.m., performs a search with great concentration, then trots off. He seems to enjoy it as much as anyone can enjoy rooting around in rubbish.
I could go over and take a look, I guess. But then, I'd be one of them. And who knows what happens once you succumb to the siren of the bin?
Friday, April 24, 2009
It's Crude to Be Rude
I was motivated to write this in reaction to something I witnessed today at my local Tesco's at Notting Hill Gate. In fact, I've witnessed similar incidents more than once: Customers deriding the staff who are only doing their jobs. It's dreadful to watch and, as a former member of the service industry, makes me very, very angry. In my previous part-time job, I was told to 'shut up', called 'stupid', and had my accent insulted. But I'm an educated woman with plenty of other options. I didn't need that job and could just laugh it off.
Most of the people who work at my Tesco's branch are immigrants. They probably don't have a lot of other choices available, and they likely don't make much money. They can speak English (at least all the ones I have encountered over my many visits there for the past five years). Yes, they do have bit of an accent. But it's not exactly a hindrance to scanning a grapefruit. Yet the number of times I have seen customers mock their accents or speak in loud patronising tones is cringe-worthy. And I'm certain those being mocked don't find it as easy to laugh off as I did when it happened to me.
I was standing in the queue with my £3 bottle of wine (among other things) when two men entered the store -- a big guy and his side-kick (possibly his son, but if so that's really messed up). Big Man jumps the queue -- a sin comparable to serial murder in British society -- and heads straight for the middle-aged Asian woman behind the till.
'Why couldn't 'e buy them cigarettes?' Big Man asks loudly in a strong East-End accent. He points toward Side Kick who's busy examining the floor.
The woman explains quietly and politely that it's Tesco store policy not to sell cigarettes to anyone unless they can prove they're over 18. I steal a glance at Side Kick, who looks about 16 max.
'I can't understand a word she's saying,' Big Man shouts back to Side Kick. Side Kick shrugs and the woman, now red-faced, repeats her explanation. The queue, by this time, has now grown exponentially and of course everyone is desperately trying not to look at the scene unfolding in front of us.
Big Man shakes his head. 'Nope, still don't get it.'
It's like a scene straight from 'Little Britain'. By this time the poor woman looks like she's about to burst into tears, and I'm about to clunk the idiot over the head with my wine. I don't want to break it, though.
'She said: HE CAN'T BUY CIGARETTES UNLESS HE CAN PROVE HE'S OVER 18!' I say loudly and clearly to Big Man before I can stop myself.
Big Man swivels to face me. He stares for a second then shouts over to Side Kick:
'Why does everyone in this bloody store have an accent?'
Most of the people who work at my Tesco's branch are immigrants. They probably don't have a lot of other choices available, and they likely don't make much money. They can speak English (at least all the ones I have encountered over my many visits there for the past five years). Yes, they do have bit of an accent. But it's not exactly a hindrance to scanning a grapefruit. Yet the number of times I have seen customers mock their accents or speak in loud patronising tones is cringe-worthy. And I'm certain those being mocked don't find it as easy to laugh off as I did when it happened to me.
I was standing in the queue with my £3 bottle of wine (among other things) when two men entered the store -- a big guy and his side-kick (possibly his son, but if so that's really messed up). Big Man jumps the queue -- a sin comparable to serial murder in British society -- and heads straight for the middle-aged Asian woman behind the till.
'Why couldn't 'e buy them cigarettes?' Big Man asks loudly in a strong East-End accent. He points toward Side Kick who's busy examining the floor.
The woman explains quietly and politely that it's Tesco store policy not to sell cigarettes to anyone unless they can prove they're over 18. I steal a glance at Side Kick, who looks about 16 max.
'I can't understand a word she's saying,' Big Man shouts back to Side Kick. Side Kick shrugs and the woman, now red-faced, repeats her explanation. The queue, by this time, has now grown exponentially and of course everyone is desperately trying not to look at the scene unfolding in front of us.
Big Man shakes his head. 'Nope, still don't get it.'
It's like a scene straight from 'Little Britain'. By this time the poor woman looks like she's about to burst into tears, and I'm about to clunk the idiot over the head with my wine. I don't want to break it, though.
'She said: HE CAN'T BUY CIGARETTES UNLESS HE CAN PROVE HE'S OVER 18!' I say loudly and clearly to Big Man before I can stop myself.
Big Man swivels to face me. He stares for a second then shouts over to Side Kick:
'Why does everyone in this bloody store have an accent?'
Thursday, April 23, 2009
WAG #8: The Results
WAG #8 Results and WAG #9 instructions below. All are welcome to join next week’s adventure!
The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #8 was “Rose Colored Glasses“.
The results:
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Nancy Parra
Peter Spalton
Christine Kirchoff
Gunnar Helliesen
Pallavi Agarwal (On Facebook)
DMW Carol
Marsha
Iain Martin
Lulu
Melanie Trevelyan
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #9: Warning!” Last week the topic was to make something ugly sound beautiful, so this time let’s do the opposite! Choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as beautiful, appealing, or somehow desirable etc… some ideas might be: a child, a sunset, an attractive shop window, a scenic view, a piece of art, an appetising meal in a restaurant… and write about it in such as way as to make it unappealing or even disgusting, frightening or repulsive to your reader. If you did last week’s topic as well (Rose Colored Glasses) I’d be very interested to know which of these was harder for you!
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #8 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!) Deadline: next Tuesday, April 28th.
The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #8 was “Rose Colored Glasses“.
The results:
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Nancy Parra
Peter Spalton
Christine Kirchoff
Gunnar Helliesen
Pallavi Agarwal (On Facebook)
DMW Carol
Marsha
Iain Martin
Lulu
Melanie Trevelyan
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #9: Warning!” Last week the topic was to make something ugly sound beautiful, so this time let’s do the opposite! Choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as beautiful, appealing, or somehow desirable etc… some ideas might be: a child, a sunset, an attractive shop window, a scenic view, a piece of art, an appetising meal in a restaurant… and write about it in such as way as to make it unappealing or even disgusting, frightening or repulsive to your reader. If you did last week’s topic as well (Rose Colored Glasses) I’d be very interested to know which of these was harder for you!
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #8 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!) Deadline: next Tuesday, April 28th.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
WAG #8: Rose-Coloured Glasses
The assignment:
Go out and choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as ugly, repulsive, annoying, etc… some ideas might be: a wad of squashed gum on the pavement, a dead squirrel on the side of the road, an ugly sign, a loud construction site, a tacky sculpture in a charity shop… and write about it in such as way as to make it appealing to your reader. Really sell it! Use whatever words you want and cheat as much as you want, but do your best!
Hm. I'm sitting here, struggling to think of something. Double hm. Triple hm. (Don't worry, I'm not going to go on in this vein for too long.) Well, I'm going to resort to something I saw last night on the Tube. You can always count on the London Underground for something repulsive.
The aromatic fumes grab my nostrils and turn my head. A succulent bit of roasted beef pokes out of a brightly coloured carton. Kermit-green lettuce clings artistically to its side and little bits of meat-mess adorn the bun. Oh, the perfectly toasted, golden bun. Sure, it's half gone but that just makes it that much more valuable.
My belly grumbles in response. Um, um... Burger King.
Right, I just need to make it clear that I DID NOT eat this. Yuck-o.
Go out and choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as ugly, repulsive, annoying, etc… some ideas might be: a wad of squashed gum on the pavement, a dead squirrel on the side of the road, an ugly sign, a loud construction site, a tacky sculpture in a charity shop… and write about it in such as way as to make it appealing to your reader. Really sell it! Use whatever words you want and cheat as much as you want, but do your best!
Hm. I'm sitting here, struggling to think of something. Double hm. Triple hm. (Don't worry, I'm not going to go on in this vein for too long.) Well, I'm going to resort to something I saw last night on the Tube. You can always count on the London Underground for something repulsive.
The aromatic fumes grab my nostrils and turn my head. A succulent bit of roasted beef pokes out of a brightly coloured carton. Kermit-green lettuce clings artistically to its side and little bits of meat-mess adorn the bun. Oh, the perfectly toasted, golden bun. Sure, it's half gone but that just makes it that much more valuable.
My belly grumbles in response. Um, um... Burger King.
Right, I just need to make it clear that I DID NOT eat this. Yuck-o.
Monday, April 20, 2009
An Wardrobe Guide to Nationality
The city has come to life again after its long grey winter. Tourists are back (not that they ever went away) and bare skin is being, well, bared.
Sitting in the park yesterday and sipping my white wine, I devised an interesting game (for me - The Man soon tired): What nationality? Using only what the person was wearing as a guide, we would try to determine from where the individual hailed. The only drawback was that: a. Said person had to be speaking as they walked by so we could hear their accent/language; and b. We had to know enough of that language to identify it or the accent.
Here are my observations (yes, yes, it's a stereotype, I know):
Americans: Very easily identifiable, mostly because of their shoes. White sneakers, on both men and women. I have yet to see a British person wear white sneakers (or trainers, as they're called here). Also fanny packs (known as bum bags here - 'fanny' here means, er, the frontal part).
Canadians: Who knows? I can't actually tell the difference between a Canadian and an American accent. But mostly like Americans, I guess (treasonous, I know).
Italians: Sunglasses, sunglasses, sunglasses. Big ones. Jeans and short trendy jackets.
Spanish: Lots of clothes. The temperatures in London are equivalent to their winter.
French: Scarves. Tied in the way that only French people can tie them.
Polish: Red hair. I will never understand why a 60-year-old woman (for example) would want carroty red hair. It's a mystery to me.
Arab: Well, the head-scarves were a bit of a giveaway, although that doesn't necessarily make them Arabs.
Thus we exhausted our linguistic knowledge.
Sitting in the park yesterday and sipping my white wine, I devised an interesting game (for me - The Man soon tired): What nationality? Using only what the person was wearing as a guide, we would try to determine from where the individual hailed. The only drawback was that: a. Said person had to be speaking as they walked by so we could hear their accent/language; and b. We had to know enough of that language to identify it or the accent.
Here are my observations (yes, yes, it's a stereotype, I know):
Americans: Very easily identifiable, mostly because of their shoes. White sneakers, on both men and women. I have yet to see a British person wear white sneakers (or trainers, as they're called here). Also fanny packs (known as bum bags here - 'fanny' here means, er, the frontal part).
Canadians: Who knows? I can't actually tell the difference between a Canadian and an American accent. But mostly like Americans, I guess (treasonous, I know).
Italians: Sunglasses, sunglasses, sunglasses. Big ones. Jeans and short trendy jackets.
Spanish: Lots of clothes. The temperatures in London are equivalent to their winter.
French: Scarves. Tied in the way that only French people can tie them.
Polish: Red hair. I will never understand why a 60-year-old woman (for example) would want carroty red hair. It's a mystery to me.
Arab: Well, the head-scarves were a bit of a giveaway, although that doesn't necessarily make them Arabs.
Thus we exhausted our linguistic knowledge.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Hidden London: Cheshire Street
Graffiti on a door in Cheshire Street, East London.
It's been awhile since I've posted about my beloved adopted city, so I figured to get back on track I would post about Cheshire Street - just off of Brick Lane - in East London. I'm not sure how 'hidden' it is, given the amount of market stalls and shops, but I'm guessing most tourists don't even know it's there.
It's easy to get caught up in the hubbub that is Brick Lane on a Sunday afternoon. But if you take a dive away from the curry houses, you are rewarded with stalls flogging everything from cheap underwear to £5 plimsolls. Fresh fruit is sold alongside tatty leather jackets and vintage shops line the street. It's a totally different vibe than West London - in fact, you feel like you're in a different country. The infamous Kray Twins once owned a pub there and Reggie Kray's funeral procession even went down the street.
You could easily spend the whole afternoon on that one grubby stretch. But curry fumes were calling, and eventually we succumbed...
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Multi-Task? Me?
Back in my university days, I was the Queen of Multi-Tasking (if I do say so myself). I was a member of the university track team, the president of my sorority (yes, I know, laugh if you must) and had a part-time job in my last year. Not to mention my near-obsession with getting good marks (Type A and all that). I juggled everything without even thinking about it.
I look back at my former self with awe, because now that I'm writing full-time I find my multi-tasking abilities have deserted me. I used to be able to go from running in a track meet, to studying for a Spanish exam, to chairing a meeting -- all with no problem. Now I can barely switch between two projects! Whatever has happened to me?
I like to think it's not me, it's the writing. Creating is all-absorbing, not to mention tiring. It's hard to immerse yourself so fully in one world, pull out to another, and then dip a toe back in. I'm finding I'm not able to dip a toe. I need to spend a few hours -- at least -- to do anything productive.
I admire those writers who can edit multiple projects at a time. But multi-tasking, for me, is not an option. I'd love to hear from other writers. Do you work on lots of different projects at the same time? Do tell!
--End bragging--
I look back at my former self with awe, because now that I'm writing full-time I find my multi-tasking abilities have deserted me. I used to be able to go from running in a track meet, to studying for a Spanish exam, to chairing a meeting -- all with no problem. Now I can barely switch between two projects! Whatever has happened to me?
I like to think it's not me, it's the writing. Creating is all-absorbing, not to mention tiring. It's hard to immerse yourself so fully in one world, pull out to another, and then dip a toe back in. I'm finding I'm not able to dip a toe. I need to spend a few hours -- at least -- to do anything productive.
I admire those writers who can edit multiple projects at a time. But multi-tasking, for me, is not an option. I'd love to hear from other writers. Do you work on lots of different projects at the same time? Do tell!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Good Things Come in Strange Packages
The show is more well known for dancing dogs and other oddities, but this clip from 'Britain's Got Talent' proves that it's not debatable - Britain has got talent. It's just how it's packaged that's the problem.
Susan Boyle, 47, says she lives alone with her cat, has never been married and has never been kissed. She can barely string together a coherent sentence. Her dream to be a famous singer seems laughable -- until she opens her mouth. This clip is a firm reminder that talent can come in many shapes and sizes, and that sometimes dreams can come true.
Enough schmaltz for today! But watch the video - it is heartwarming.
Susan Boyle, 47, says she lives alone with her cat, has never been married and has never been kissed. She can barely string together a coherent sentence. Her dream to be a famous singer seems laughable -- until she opens her mouth. This clip is a firm reminder that talent can come in many shapes and sizes, and that sometimes dreams can come true.
Enough schmaltz for today! But watch the video - it is heartwarming.
Back to the (Blessed) Daily Grind
I may have mentioned before that I am a big fan of routine. Without my writing routine, I putter about aimlessly, waste time and find other, more interesting things to do -- like clean the kitchen floor, for example. I need routine to anchor me.
The past few days have been action packed with everything from Spring Awakening (brilliant, by the way) to tree climbing in Hyde Park (not recommended). But I still missed my routine -- my morning coffee at 7:30, daily tweeting and then settling down at my desk to being the daily slog (or flight) towards 3,000 words. The Easter 'holiday' brought home to me how much I really do love my writing life.
As my brain is still revving, I thought I'd share with you some photos from the past few days.
The stage before the start of Spring Awakening.
The past few days have been action packed with everything from Spring Awakening (brilliant, by the way) to tree climbing in Hyde Park (not recommended). But I still missed my routine -- my morning coffee at 7:30, daily tweeting and then settling down at my desk to being the daily slog (or flight) towards 3,000 words. The Easter 'holiday' brought home to me how much I really do love my writing life.
As my brain is still revving, I thought I'd share with you some photos from the past few days.
The stage before the start of Spring Awakening.
Cheshire Street, off of Brick Lane, East London.
Tower Bridge.
Turkish Delight at Spittalfields Market, East London.
Kensington Gardens. Note the added feature of steam rising from the forbidden pile.
Kensington Gardens. Note the added feature of steam rising from the forbidden pile.
Rowing on the Serpentine Lake, Hyde Park, where an offering of a mobile phone was made (involuntarily) to the goddess of the lake.
The monstrosity that is the Egyptian Escalator at Harrods.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
No Sign of Life
I'd love to post a witty and amusing update on my London Easter, but unfortunately I'm brain-dead from a weekend of speaking in French and pidgin Arabic. My brain is currently resetting and regularly scheduled programming will recommence tomorrow.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Happy Easter!
The next few days will be packed with houseguests from Egypt, France and the North (hey, it's like another country up there anyway!), so I likely won't have time to post until Tuesday.
So... Happy Easter! Have a great long weekend.
So... Happy Easter! Have a great long weekend.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
WAG #6: The Results
The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #6 was “Overheard”.
Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.
And the results are...
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Adam Heine
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Mickey Hoffman
Sharon Donovan
Iain Martin
Criss
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha
Carol
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
WAG #6: Imaginings. This one is people-watching with a twist. Observe a stranger and sketch a brief background for them, including a secret. Then describe why they are in that particular place at that particular time (where you ran into them) and how it will affect their future. Feel free to be creative, but don’t forget to describe the concrete reality that made you pick them in the first place! (Thank you to Christine Kirchoff for this week’s WAG topic!)
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #7 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)
Deadline: next Tuesday, April 14th.
Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.
And the results are...
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Adam Heine
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Mickey Hoffman
Sharon Donovan
Iain Martin
Criss
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha
Carol
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
WAG #6: Imaginings. This one is people-watching with a twist. Observe a stranger and sketch a brief background for them, including a secret. Then describe why they are in that particular place at that particular time (where you ran into them) and how it will affect their future. Feel free to be creative, but don’t forget to describe the concrete reality that made you pick them in the first place! (Thank you to Christine Kirchoff for this week’s WAG topic!)
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #7 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)
Deadline: next Tuesday, April 14th.
WAG #6: Overheard
In all the excitement of last night's UFO, I forgot (gasp) to do my WAG! This week's assignment was to write about a conversation you overheard.
The following conversation takes place between a young couple, standing on top of the Pillow Mound and staring up at White Horse Hill. They have strong Essex accents (think Vicki Pollard but from Essex) and disgruntled expressions.
Man (shielding his eyes): Is that it?
Woman: That bloody well better not be it.
Man: We've been had. That's not a horse. That's a bleeding squiggle.
Woman: What the F$&^? It looks like a McDonald's logo.
Man: Stupid Iron Age.
Woman: Maybe they had different horses back then?
Man casts Woman a withering look and they toddle down the Mound.
Man (half-way down the Mound): I wonder if they had beer?
The following conversation takes place between a young couple, standing on top of the Pillow Mound and staring up at White Horse Hill. They have strong Essex accents (think Vicki Pollard but from Essex) and disgruntled expressions.
Man (shielding his eyes): Is that it?
Woman: That bloody well better not be it.
Man: We've been had. That's not a horse. That's a bleeding squiggle.
Woman: What the F$&^? It looks like a McDonald's logo.
Man: Stupid Iron Age.
Woman: Maybe they had different horses back then?
Man casts Woman a withering look and they toddle down the Mound.
Man (half-way down the Mound): I wonder if they had beer?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Unidentified Foreign Object
The Man arrived home today with a lovely, squidgy package he received from a client in Rome. Wrapped in green foil, we prodded and poked it as we debated what it could be. Cheese? Coffee? Chocolate? Our minds whipped through the possibilities like kids grabbing candy at a sweet shop.
'I think it's a soft toy,' The Man said, trying to downplay our expectations.
'Naw.' I was sure any self-respecting Italian would never give someone a soft toy. It must be something to eat. Something delicious.
Sniffing the air for clues, we tore open the wrapping. Only to reveal...
So there it sits, forlornly, on the table.
Our own little UFO.
'I think it's a soft toy,' The Man said, trying to downplay our expectations.
'Naw.' I was sure any self-respecting Italian would never give someone a soft toy. It must be something to eat. Something delicious.
Sniffing the air for clues, we tore open the wrapping. Only to reveal...
OK, so it's a bad picture. But the reality isn't any more illuminating. Is it cake? Is it bread?
We squinted at the tag to try to shed some light. Of course, it's in Italian.
So there it sits, forlornly, on the table.
Our own little UFO.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Voices Inside My Head
Re-reading Stephen King's On Writing, I came across a sentence that really rang true for me. The first draft, we write to tell ourselves the story. The second draft, we tell others the story.
Right now, I'm 55,000 words into a first draft of a novel. I have no idea how it's going to end! My protagonist has a choice to make. I know what I'd like her to do; I'm just not sure if it's right for her. I tried to plan the whole novel before I started writing, but I didn't feel like I knew her well enough to make the decision. I still don't, but I'm edging closer. I hope by the time I reach that point, she'll do it for me.
Sound schizo? It is, in a way. Characters tend to do things that you never suspected; that you didn't even know they wanted to do. Sometimes when I'm writing, I think: Where did that come from? I love that feeling, as if they're alive and exercising their control.
Ah, the voices inside my head. Am I telling myself the story, or are they telling it to me? (Hums the theme to the Twilight Zone...)
Right now, I'm 55,000 words into a first draft of a novel. I have no idea how it's going to end! My protagonist has a choice to make. I know what I'd like her to do; I'm just not sure if it's right for her. I tried to plan the whole novel before I started writing, but I didn't feel like I knew her well enough to make the decision. I still don't, but I'm edging closer. I hope by the time I reach that point, she'll do it for me.
Sound schizo? It is, in a way. Characters tend to do things that you never suspected; that you didn't even know they wanted to do. Sometimes when I'm writing, I think: Where did that come from? I love that feeling, as if they're alive and exercising their control.
Ah, the voices inside my head. Am I telling myself the story, or are they telling it to me? (Hums the theme to the Twilight Zone...)
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
What Day is it Again?
It's finally spring in London. Leaves are tentatively unfurling; pale winter skin braves the soft sunshine. As I shimmied down the street to the local M&S for my evening meal (yes, my life is just that exciting), I noticed my local pub was so full, punters were spilling out onto the street. What's going on? I thought. Then, I remembered: it's Friday.
Remember those delicious days during the summer when you were young? The days that just passed by, unremarkable except for perhaps a rain shower here or a thunderstorm there? Without a reason to leave the house for anything except play, there was no need to know a Monday from a Wednesday.
Without a 'regular' job now, there is seldom anything to mark the difference for me between weekday and weekend. When I was in the corporate world, each day was duly counted off until the wonderful Friday arrived. Friday night was the height of bliss, knowing that two whole days of freedom lay ahead; Sunday night was the depths of gloom, for coming quickly was another heavy week to struggle through.
Now, every morning when I wake up, I feel a trace of that holiday-like excitement. I have the whole day to do what I want --write! Who cares what day it is? Although not every day is a joy (and sometimes I want to bang my head against my desk until an idea falls out), at least I am in control of me and my life -- no matter what day it is!
**I reserve the right to retract this post at any time in the future, should I feel the urge to return to the corporate world. Well, you never know!**
Remember those delicious days during the summer when you were young? The days that just passed by, unremarkable except for perhaps a rain shower here or a thunderstorm there? Without a reason to leave the house for anything except play, there was no need to know a Monday from a Wednesday.
Without a 'regular' job now, there is seldom anything to mark the difference for me between weekday and weekend. When I was in the corporate world, each day was duly counted off until the wonderful Friday arrived. Friday night was the height of bliss, knowing that two whole days of freedom lay ahead; Sunday night was the depths of gloom, for coming quickly was another heavy week to struggle through.
Now, every morning when I wake up, I feel a trace of that holiday-like excitement. I have the whole day to do what I want --write! Who cares what day it is? Although not every day is a joy (and sometimes I want to bang my head against my desk until an idea falls out), at least I am in control of me and my life -- no matter what day it is!
**I reserve the right to retract this post at any time in the future, should I feel the urge to return to the corporate world. Well, you never know!**
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
WAG #5: The Results
The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #5 was “Life in Motion”.
Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Iain Martin
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Sharon Donovan
Nixy Valentine
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha Moore
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #6: Overheard” Another people-watching exercise this week! This time, let’s listen! Choose a stranger and do your best to overhear what they say, and then write it down. It can be on the phone, to someone else, or even them talking to themselves. What does their voice, word choice, or tone tell you about them? Feel free to write their exact words OR write it as you would for fictional dialogue.
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #6 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)
Deadline: next Tuesday, April 7th.
Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Cora Zane
Iain Martin
Christine Kirchoff
Nancy J Parra
Sharon Donovan
Nixy Valentine
Lulu
Jon Strother
Marsha Moore
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #6: Overheard” Another people-watching exercise this week! This time, let’s listen! Choose a stranger and do your best to overhear what they say, and then write it down. It can be on the phone, to someone else, or even them talking to themselves. What does their voice, word choice, or tone tell you about them? Feel free to write their exact words OR write it as you would for fictional dialogue.
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #6 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!)
Deadline: next Tuesday, April 7th.
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