Greebo and Toad LeStrange

‘What a strange place to begin writing about your life,’ said Toad

‘The Pond?’ said Greebo

‘Yes Greebo, The pond. It’s hardly the place to start writing about one’s life. It’s not where we started. It’s where we end up! Figuratively speaking you understand’ replied toad

‘I began life in a hole in a ground…There was nobody else around…I could hear myself farting!’ said Greebo

‘That’s you! Greebo!’ said toad laughing.

‘But writing is a vocation, a calling not a profession in an isolated white clinical room with no windows,’ proffered Greebo

‘Right! my friend. But wrong also,’

‘The hole in the ground, where it all began. I was nothing but a caveman without a plan but I recognised my calling…’ uttered Greebo.

‘Such a fine story for one so young So where did it all go wrong?’ asked toad.

‘Wrong? It did not go wrong wrong like cameltoe thong just sing along I’ll be gone in w while’ sang Greebo.

‘Not wrong then. But delayed,’ returned toad.

‘Nothing a spell can’t help with’ offered Greebo

‘No we don’t need your spells Greebo. Something will come along. It always does,’

‘A spell of Fine Weather my friend. That will put things right in the end,’ Said Greebo with authority.

‘The End Of the Beginning. The beginning of the End.Whats the difference?’ sang toad

‘None.There’s none at all. We got to fall to stand up again and look around’ said Greebo

‘Like from a  hole in the ground,’ said Toad

Dusk falls…

‘Disappointed…’ said Greebo

‘In what?’ asked toad.

‘In the glum,’ replied Greebo

‘Sitting there in the sun waiting for the clouds to arrive again.’ Said Toad.

‘Shadow,’ said Greebo with a sneer

‘And light,’ said toad

‘depression,’ said Greebo

‘Happiness Greebo,’said Toad triumphantly. ‘Happiness shines lights into the shadows and illuminates our minds’ exclaimed toad.

‘thoughts and deeds’ finished Greebo

‘Pity we don’t have any tea. I could do with a cup now,’ said toad

‘Hows about newt piss and rain?’ Asked greebo, grinning.

‘Capital idea Greebo. Capital.’ said toad.

And that night went by so . No. Thats life!

Terrible

Please.You have to admit its worth seven for effort alone (See previous piece of writing). All those nights sat down with a virgin writing mind staring at the screen with memories of all those famous authors running through my mind of their books stories challenges overcome halting starts small successes then eventual world domination! And I couldn’t even write my name without getting stage fright. But. So. A writer. Someone who writes for a living. Those six words would sit like a drill on a shelf in the garage just waiting for someone or something to light the touchpaper of the firework ‘aspirations and dreams’ then it would scream like drilling into masonry. Then it would all go quiet and I would see that I had managed to gather those essential writing paraphernalia of a pen, notebook and a full packet of fags (I was still a dirty smoker then) Its was like being in some personal drama where all it took for the worlds of my imagination to come to life was to take the pen in hand (left or right) and gently apply pressure. After all the words I had assiduously read weren’t clever or difficult just flowing conversations narrative and what not. How difficult could it be? Stories from the recesses of my mind would be transported via the magical sensory part of my brain into cognitive sensationalism which i would naturally transcribe patiently knowing that there was a never ending supply. I suppose I believed in fate too. One thing leads to another and ….

…serpent words like Chinese dragons would come a dancing trailing words like mystical dust that contained the magic ingredient- narrative. What do dragons eat? Villagers? So I could expect some skulls and the like in it. Skulls. Very gothic and evocative. Funny I never let onto myself that one thing did lead to another or I would have been writing progressive sentences earlier. I remember I just set myself the goal of writing. It did not matter what I wrote so long as the ink got eaten up along the papyrus (lined paper) road by a Bic or Steadtler Dodge Van Or pickup truck (Its OK, Its just the way I think). Sometimes I even wrote the line with no words .e.g. ————– and draw pyramids, eyes and cubes.

I have no idea of how I am going to end this. Will it be on a message of hope, a cadged piece of humour, some chicken wisdom? Yes, I like the sound of the last one. Cluck! cluck, cluck, cluck. Cluck cluck cluck cluck cluck. cluck cluck. cluck cluck cluck.

Thank you for reading.

Nowadays I still get stage fright or it’s writing equivalent which is like having a bad trip ( I have heard of those) with the words you choose. It’s funny but every word is chosen even when you are going fast. It’s incredible really the capacity of the human brain for a fear of the written word.

 

A Writers Tale

Glued to the spot. My hands already finding the keys, the story not formed in my conscious mind, I swallow my pride and type. Immediately I have a thought. A bit to the left it goes. Huh? A bit to the left of what? The left-hand side of the keyboard? Where are the Q,A,Z? It’s more than likely to be rudder left because when I write Its like  I am in charge of a little ship, somewhere out at sea and the writing is my course and trajectory home to port. That’s port as in dock, not left. Sometimes you think you have found port but it turns out to be an illusion or you do reach port but it’s still wrong because all you have written seems shallow and pointless, worst still uninteresting and boring. But it’s getting to port that matters! Huh! I hate being boring.Throw me a line, Let’s go chase a whale!

Re-writes. I hate re-writes. If it’s being edited for publication then Hey I am accommodating as hell We all want the same thing right? That’s OK but rewrites I do not do. Not like I used to. I would go and add entire paragraphs or even chapters but now I’m happy with what got written so go fly a kite Mr Re-write and leave me be to write something else.

Grammarly. Thank the gods for  the editor-on-the-fly that is Grammarly. Never has it been so easy to fix common mistakes made by all writers ostensibly for free. You have cleaned up my work when all I want to do is publish. and I feel better knowing some clever computer algorithm is doing a job I hate doing.

Erasers are so Last millennium but if you want to use one then draw doodles all over your book making clouds with erasers. You will look so artistic – your friends will love you.

That’s about it for ‘A Writers Tale’ today. We all like going on a journey so if you are thinking about writing get down that first few words and see where it takes you. Happy Reading!

Chick Lit – How To Write It -Poems/Sketches

Chick lit

A Nice opening, A good passage, Open and enter into the world of feeling context and meaning, literary writing, allusions, references, textures and meaning. Did I say meaning already? Well, are you the type for searches for meaning or is it all nothing to you?

The hero, the chisel-jawed type perhaps, or the reluctant fetishist is maybe your cup of tea? Or the sporty type? Are you thinking clearly?

IDK What do you see?

Start with the eyes – adjectives, verbs, nouns, reflex verbs, Proper Nouns in simile, strike a metaphor. You tell me – What are words for?

Then the location – Is it warm or cold, Is there vegetation, a road or a path, the horizon or not? indoors or out. What is it like? Affluent or Seedy? Cultured or yobbish? comfortable or basic? Open Or Closed? Give the setting a part…the cooling shade made her draw a quick breath…

The protagonist? – Who is he? Student?, Painter?, Musician?, Scientist? Type A or B, Honest /Treacherous Does he defy description? Father figure, twinkly-eyed, poser, intellectual, lad, bloke, sensitive, feminine. No labels are required, but some knowledge is better than none. …He stared as if transfixed by her/his nemesis

The Antagonist? – Who is he or she? Is it you or me? Can you write a potted biography?

If you are still reading then you might be interested in trying a POEM/Sketch exercise…

…Coldly, he raised his eyes towards her. In them was a reflection of the Eiffel Tower. The smell of coffee grounds in her nose she breathed in deeply and looked again. No, it was impossible but they were still here, together under the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, the city of Love. He pressed the muzzle of the gun into her rib cage and murmured something in French ‘depeche toi, depeche toi’ ‘No, tell me why did you kill my brother and why did you bring me here?’…

You see how I made up this piece using the rules above. Of course you can build your own scenerios or Premises. The romantic meal for two in a dimly lit restaurant…, the chance meeting at an equestrian event…, skiing in the Alps…, …Shopping on the High Street…, the possibilities are endless.

And don’t feel constrained by the rules. They are there to be broken!

Enjoy!