There are many flash fiction websites, so I decided to try my hand. What a great way to make every word count. Writing thousands of words can be so much easier, you have room to breath. In 100 words, every sentence needs to count every word needs to be presice. This is my first attempt;
Nothing is Black and White, Even WritingWhere does fiction end and real life begin? My fictional writing obviously has to be based on some facts but is my factual life based on my fiction?
I woke up at 3am. Laying in the dark my tired brain started blaming me for all the wrongs; mine, yours and everyone else’s. Then rolling over I start worrying about all the could be’s And shouldn’t be’s and maybe’s.
‘Sod this Darling!’ Harry said
He carried me up the stairs in his strong arms and plonked me down in the chair. He opened my laptop and we started to chat as I started to write. I was so pleased he was back. I thought about apologising for not giving him a voice in the last book but I knew he would just tell me to shut up so I let my fingers do the talking.
Fiction is definitely my love, I am an escape artist of epic proportion. However I am starting to enjoy factual writing and even transcribing. My client recently asked me to record and then transcribe a conversation with his dying brother. I knew this would be hard. I carry with me at all times a big bubble of emotion but that had no place in this situation I had to be in control, professional and then I had to do my job. Continue reading
I have never understood physical endurance tests. One of our good friends once did the Marathon de Sables; five and a half marathons in five or six days, set in the Sahara Desert. I am currently writing with a guy who has swam the English Channel. Why? Was my first question. Surely life is difficult enough without giving yourself more challenges. However I have realised that giving yourself these bigger challenges makes very easy work of everything else. Isn’t it true, that through struggle we grow?
Feeling physically fit is mentally empowering. Being a Pom in Melbourne can sometimes feel like a fish out of water. Aussies are a beautiful race and generally seem a lot more active than us Brits. Beach Road is more of a cycle track than a road. Swimmers don’t just go to the beach to muck about, they go to swim five kilometres, ten kilometres. Even around the bay!
It was busy on the train into Flinders Street but Sarah managed to get a seat. The man opposite catching glances in her direction was about her fathers age and ruggedly handsome. Sarah’s phone beeped and she looked down.
Running five minutes late, meet you inside the NGV
She looked out of the window noticing some of the tin roofs passing by. It had been a long time since she had stayed with her Gran in Warburton. She loved thinking back to the nights she had spent laying in her bed listening to the rain hammering on the roof. The sound would send her off to sleep and at other times would wake her up with huge crashing thunder and lightning. Luckily their house never got hit, she knew a few in Warby that had.
Every work of fiction is based on a truth. There are many things I am learning, whilst I write but the truths that I learn every week are by far the most interesting.
I read aloud my book at the writers group I attend and listen carefully to the other members work. I have never been comfortable speaking in front of a lot of people. However I am comfortable reading my book, it’s part of me now. We all share our souls, some pain and some love. In all of our work even when fictional and funny there is a truth that we share. How powerful the written word is when the writing is honest and we are really listening. It cuts through the mess, can disrobe the barer, it can even disrobe the listener if they are willing.
As well as my book, I read one of my blog pieces out last week and had to read the word petrified. I had practised the short piece at home a loud before hand and it was fine. However as we went around the table and I knew my turn was coming I could feel my stomach tighten. It was my turn and as I started to read my throat got dry and my voice was shaking, I came to the word I did not know until now was a problem, petrified. As I said the word aloud my hands were shaking, I was an eleven year old again, petrified. My throat seized and the anger rose from my stomach, I shook my head and let out an exasperated sigh. I passed the writing to our teacher and he carried on reading it. I knew if I could get past the word the end was sure to get a laugh and it did but just not from me.
It is amazing how one word can hold onto a memory as if you are still there, but we are not still anywhere. We can only be in this moment, yes we can remember and yes we can project into the future but we can only ever be right here, right now. I have practised that word over and over in front of the mirror and it now has no hold over me, I wonder if everyone has one word they find hard to say aloud? If they are even aware of it?
At the end of our road is a beach that is supposedly a nudist beach. I have only ever seen people walking their dogs or playing with their children, it is hard to think that these people in a couple of months when the sun is hot will be naked. However if they are, good for them. I can understand the liberation of being unclothed. That is their truth, however lumpy or bumpy, wobbly or knobbly. How beautiful to let it all hang out and be comfortable with every inch of your skin, every inch of your being. I’m not sure I am ready to brave the nudist beach, however I will keep writing my truths and baring my soul, if not my skin just yet!
My book Sharks & Lovers is available to download here: