More to Me Than HIV

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More to Me Than HIV

First published in Gscene July 2020 For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library.For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being           Read more

More to Me Than HIV: GScene post Aug 2020

More to Me Than HIV is a project that aims to breakdown the stigma that has historically been attached to this virus.  When I saw my piece in last months Gscene to promote the More to Me Than HIV project, I was extremely proud, but a small part of me was filled with anxiety; but why should I feel this way? I have been on effective antiretroviral therapy since the Read more

More to Me Than HIV: first published in GScene July 2020

For last years World AIDS Day I put together a public project of work joining other people living with an HIV+ diagnoses at Jubilee library. For the project I spoke openly about my journey having being             diagnosed HIV+ 32 years previous. Back then there was no treatment and a lot of fear and misinformation concerning how HIV was transmitted. As such stigma was rife, Read more

writing 101

Writing 101: day Twenty. The Things We Treasure

Day Twenty: The Things We Treasure
Today’s Prompt: Tell us the story of your most-prized possession.
It’s the final day of the challenge already?! Let’s make sure we end it with a bang — or, in our case, with some furious collective tapping on our keyboards. For this final assignment, lead us through the history of an object that bears a special meaning to you.
A family heirloom, a flea market find, a childhood memento — all are fair game. What matters is that, through your writing, you breathe life into that object, moving your readers enough to understand its value.

Ipswich, Felixstowe, Hadleigh, Suffolk, Norwich, Norfolk, Brighton, East Sussex, Bremerhaven, Germany, New York, Amsterdam, my bear has visited them all.

I’m not a hoarder, or into collecting things. In the past people have tried, most notably skulls, which relate to my love of all things Gothic and the many skulls I have incorporated into my tattoos. At one point I hid all the skulls in a patch of garden outside my flat but I removed them when two children told their mum they had found a mass grave; thankfully the mum saw the funny side of it. Those skulls have now found new homes.

Skulls, skulls, skulls

Skulls, skulls, skulls

The only possession from my childhood days to be my constant companion has been my teddybear that my Nana bought me when I was born. Now, this is no Steiff bear, far from it; in reality it has absolutely no monetary worth at all, but to me it is priceless.

When I left home, aged seventeen I didn’t have that many belongings to take with me except my Hazel O Connor scrapbook and poster with everything else, including my bear, in a little black case (So Bronski Beat) and headed off to the bright lights of….Felixstowe!

Hazel O Coonor, me and Jo.

After a short period of commuting via my moped I ended up renting a room in a very big house. My landlady was very strange and I later found out she was nicking my food! This came about when I had decided not to go home to visit my Nana one weekend. While laying in bed with my bear I saw my bedroom door open and in walked my landlady, with her grandson in her arms; not realising I was there she said, “Let’s see what cereals we have.” She then turned, looked at me and my bear and just walked out again.

My next adventure for me and my bear was a move to a little town called Hadleigh, Suffolk where I got a job as a trainee baker. To begin with I once again commuted on my trustee moped, getting up at 11 pm for a midnight start. On one of those evenings my moped packed in before I even got onto the main road and so I packed my bike in the town centre, called up my sister, Dawn and asked her to drive me to work; her reward was a day old Eccles cake!

After my shift I hitched a lift back home. Now, I was very aware that there are all kinds of stranger danger and this I was to find out to be true when I was picked up by a man who talked about his work in computers. I was ready to commit murder by the time he dropped me off!

Now, the thing is when travelling in the middle of the night it was cold and so i was dressed in my duffle coat and scarf, by the time I had finished my shift it was baking hot and everyone else were dressed in shorts and tee-shirts. To make matters worse my moped was now surrounded by a load of really big motorbikes, with all the bikers sitting around in their cut off denim jackets and jeans. I tried my very best to get my bike without much fuss but ended up knocking one bike over which had a domino effect and so all the other bikes crashed over. I think because I looked so odd I was saved a beating as they shook their heads while picking their bikes up.

A bakers life was not really for me and with the help of a man called Tim, I moved from Felixstowe to Norwich and retrained as a chef and silver service waiter at Norwich Hotel School. Here I moved into the college dorm where Norwichmy bear and I where very happy. It was here I was to get my first taste of homophobia. I tried setting up a Gaysoc, but only one guy, called ‘Lumpy Head Steve’ applied and so that never really got off the ground. BTW, Steve got his nickname after two friends decided to give him a hair cut, taking a side each and the hair cut got shorter and shorter until they had to give him a skinhead….

I digress; On my doorplate I had my name under which someone had written “Is gay” to which I added, “So?”

I really can’t be doing with people who try to intimidate me, such bullies are just cowards.

After two years of study it was time to move on once more. Two of my Norwich mates, Davey and Trevor had moved to Brighton and said I should give the town a go and so I upped sticks, got a job at The Bedford Hotel, quickly followed by the Grand when it reopened. I can clearly remember Margaret Thatcher greeting us all when what I really wanted to do was to rush over to the other side of the road and join the throng of anti-Tory protestors.

The Grand was good fun, but there was more adventures to be had when the QE2 relaunched and so I grabbed my bear and took to the high seas. However, for the first month the ship was still in dry dock in Bremerhaven QE2 BearGermany. Each night all staff were given four cans of beer and four cans of coke a cola. Most of the waiters went to the local bar to sing ‘New York, New York’ on loop. For the first week I stayed in my cabin until my bear was kidnapped! I came back to my cabin to find a ransom note, “Come to the bar with your cans of beer or you’ll never see your bear again.”

I went to the bar, paid my ransom and got my bear back!

Since then my bear has been to Amsterdam and back after an ill thought through flight of fancy of a new life over there. And now he sits high up on my shelf with the other bears enjoying a quite retirement.

Home Bear

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writing 101. Day Eighteen: Hone Your Point of View

Day Eighteen: Hone Your Point of View
The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.
Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
First person, second person, third person, whew! Point of view is a type of narrative mode, which is the method by which a story’s plot is conveyed to the audience. Point of view reveals not only who is telling the story, but also how it is told. Consider a recent short story published on The Worship Collective, “Funny Things,” in which the narrator is a child who has passed away.
Need a refresher on first-person narration? Recall Scout Finch, the six-year-old first-person narrator of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Scout tells the story through her eyes:
It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.
“‘Remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.’ That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it.”
Today’s twist: For those of you who want an extra challenge, think about more than simply writing in first-person point of view — build this twelve-year-old as a character. Reveal at least one personality quirk, for example, either through spoken dialogue or inner monologue.
Refer to some of the exercises we’ve done on character, dialogue, and even sentence length to help craft this person. All of these storytelling elements can combine to create a strong point of view.
No one from the neighbourhood, but me has come out to watch them people hammering at Mrs. Pauley’s door. Since from the time I can remember, Mrs. Pauley has always been part of this street. She had sons like me, but they are all grown up and gone now, I can kind of remember what they look like, but they don’t come visit like what they used to do. My Mum said she don’t want me to be like that, she said my time will come when I will want to leave home but I don’t think that will ever happen, but mum just laughs and says, “You’ll see.” and then she says she hopes I’ll come home at Christmas time and on her birthday to say hello and to remember that she has always done her best.
I asked mum if Mrs Pauley had done her best and mum said, “Yes.” and then busied her herself with the washing up and told me to go out side and get some sunshine.

I didn’t really know Mr. Pauley, he seemed to be angry a lot of the time. Whenever he started shouting and stuff, mum would call me indoors and tell me to play in the back garden or in my bedroom.
Three month back, Mr. Pauley suddenly died and there was a lot of noise from the ambulance and police cars that sped into our road. The thing is, it’s not a road as you can only get to the end bit before you have to turn round again to get out. Me, mum, dad and my sister Beverley all stood at our gate and watched as they brought Mr. Pauley out, he was all covered up in a black bag and you couldn’t see his face. Mum said that it wasn’t a good sign and I asked her why and she said not to ask. Beverley told me later that Mr. Pauley had died in suspicious circumstances. I asked Beverley what that meant and she said Mr. Pauley had been murdered by Mrs. Pauley, that she had had enough and had pushed him down the stairs.
When I asked mum, she said not to say things like that because they may not be true. I asked her if they could be true, but mum told me not to mention it again.
I heard mum say that it was a disgrace that none of Mrs. Pauley’s boys had been to see her and that she was going to go round, but dad said it was best not to get involved.
For the next few weeks I would sit right here on the doorstep and watch Mrs. Pauley’s house. I told myself that if she came out of her house I would run over and say that i didn’t believe that she had killed Mr. Pauley and that if she wanted to come and live with us for a while that I would give her my bedroom and I would sleep on the sofa downstairs.
I had thought about saying that I would sleep in her house, but then I thought that Mr. Pauley might come back as a ghost and be angry with me for being in his house and so I decided not to mention that bit.
I think Mrs.Pauley must go out late at night after i’ve gone to bed because I have never saw her come out and I have never saw anyone go in. I then thought that Mrs. Pauley might go out at night and get her shopping from the late night shop down Harper Street. I then got even more worried for Mrs. Pauley as that shop only sells things in tins and nothing fresh.
I got a call from mum to say she had made me a sandwich. I didn’t want to go in as the police and some other people had gone inside Mrs. Pauley’s, but not come out for a long time. I then decided that I would grab my sandwich and take it over for Mrs. Pauley. I ran into the house as quick as I could and picked up the sandwich’s from my plate and mum shouted at me to not drop them and make a mess and then I ran outside and I checked the road and saw the police car and the black car had gone.
There was a note on Mrs. Pauley’s door and I ran over and I read the note but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. The only word I could read was, Eviction Notice. Do Not Remove, Keep Out.

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writing 101. day 16 Lost and found

 

 

Day Sixteen: Third Time’s the Charm

Today’s Prompt: Imagine you had a job in which you had to sift through forgotten or lost belongings. Describe a day in which you come upon something peculiar, or tell a story about something interesting you find in a pile.

For inspiration, ponder the phrase “lost and found.” What do you think about or visualize when you read this phrase? For an elementary schooler, it might be a box in their classroom, full of forgotten jackets and random toys. For a frequent traveler, it might be a facility in an airport, packed with lost phones, abandoned bags, and misplaced items.

On day four, you wrote about losing something. On day thirteen, you then wrote about finding something. So, today’s twist: If you’d like to continue our serial challenge, also reflect on the theme of lost and found more generally in this post.

By the end of Writing 101, you’ll have multiple posts around a theme; material you could thread together in a longform piece.

Questions to think about as you write your post:
What have you learned about loss over the years?
What does it feel like to find an object that was once important to you?
When can reconnecting go horribly wrong?
When are things better left buried and forgotten?
In your “lost and found” tale, tell us something larger — a life lesson, perhaps — about finding and losing something.

15 min’s free writing.

This is one of those odd pieces that I might revisit and see if something better comes from it…..

Lost and found.

In this job all kinds of things turn up, amount the usual stuff like an umbrella, silk scarf or a kid’s teddybear, I’m always surprised by the more unusual things that turn up, like a false leg, a wad of ten pound notes in a carrier-bag and a mink fur coat. But the most unusual thing to turn up here at the lost and found office was someone’s soul.

Now, in all the time I have worked here it was the first time I had come across a soul. At first I didn’t even notice it, it was only when I saw this dark shape shift at the bottom of the box that i even realised it was there. I was really cautious, because I thought it could have been one of those really big spiders that jump out at you and bite, so I put on my long protective gloves and got my ‘grabber’ at the ready. When I tried to pinch it, it let out a squeal and shrunk back down in the corner; it was only when I shone my torch on it I saw it wasn’t a spider, but I still wasn’t too sure what it was.
Sensing that I had to continue handle what ever it was with some caution, I put my grabber to one side, had the torch tucked underneath my chine and gentle reached down and picked it up. Although small and to look at it you would have thought it would have been as light as a silk scarf it was actually much heavier, like lifting a bag of sugar. As soon as I had both hands beneath it the dark edges began to glow. By the time I had lifted it up to my face the whole thing was a ball of twinkling light.
I guess you would have thought I would have been frightened by such an unusual sight, but there was something about it that made me feel calm. I was about to call out to one of the boys in the office to come and have a look when the light in my hand began to burn even brighter. That’s when it showed me it’s true meaning of what it was. With each burst of light I saw the life of a stranger. At first there was his birth, the light was at it’s brightest at this point which filled me with a feeling of long forgotten joy and innocence. Next came childhood with a mix of rainbow colours showing me so much love and laughter, this was followed by more muted colours with occasional the shard of silver and gold as the teenage years flew by. I wanted to call out for Jim to come in from his office to see me but I could not take my eyes of the life that was flashing in front of me
Next was a blinding burst of blue as the teenage years gave way to the excitement of being a true adult; almost blushed as the soul quivered in my hand while watching the spurts of red hot, white and blue.
Next came calming orange, a causal pink, my eyes became heavy as I was lulled into the tranquil emerald only for a violent rush of red nearly scolded my palms,but this was quickly followed by a burning brown which quickly diminished to a black then grey.

I looked around the back of the office and found a box, carefully placed the soul inside and placed the lid back in place before putting the whole thing on the top shelf.

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Writing 101, day 15.

Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You

Today’s Prompt: Think about an event you’ve attended and loved. Your hometown’s annual fair. That life-changing music festival. A conference that shifted your worldview. Imagine you’re told it will be cancelled forever or taken over by an evil corporate force.

How does that make you feel?

 

I couldn’t get into this prompt, so I have revisited an old story and tidied it up to give, Bobby his own distinctive voice.

 

Bobby.

Image from laughingshed.blogspot.com

Charity shop.

 

I work in a charity shop. It’s the one down the road, do you know it? The manageress at work, Mrs. Clarke, she says compared to the others, her charity shop has the best selection of good quality clothes and knick-knacks.

When I get into work each morning, Mrs. Clarke says, “Make us a cup of tea, Bobby. You know how I like it.”
I then say, “Julie Andrew’s, white nun.”
That means milk no sugar. I like saying it, as it makes Mrs. Clarke laugh. I laugh with her, but I don’t really get the joke.

I got myself a really nice suit the other day. The lady that brought it into the shop said it use to be her husband’s. She said he had wanted to get buried in it, but she thought it was far too nice, so she brought it in thinking someone else might get some use from it.

When the lady left, Mrs Clarke chucked it in the rag pile, saying it was out of fashion and stank of mothballs. I didn’t think it was that bad. I asked Mrs Clarke if I could have it and she just rolled her eyes and nodded and sold it to me for fifty pence.Prince of Wales Check

I have a friend called Joe-Joe, who lives in the basement flat from me. Mum don’t like me spending time with Joe-Joe, she said she don’t trust him; she says his got shifty eyes and thin lips.

When I showed Joe-Joe my suit, he said it was nice and that it could be worth something. He said the pattern is what you call, a Prince of Wales Charles Check.

The trousers are too long, but I just roll them up. The jacket’s a little on the large side… Little and Large, Do you remember them? Me and my mum saw them once on the end of the pier in Brighton… The fat one was tucking into a bag of chips and a jumbo sausage, while the skinny one was handing out leaflets about being a Christian. I wanted to take the leaflet, but mum pulled me back, saying I didn’t need me head filled with such nonsense.th

What was the skinny one’s name? Em…Tommy! That’s it, Rock on Tommy… Nah hang on, I’m getting him muddled up now in’t I, that was Cannon and Ball. I love them too!th-1 They were back on the telly a while back. Do you remember them doing that comedy sketch about Double-glazing, ‘You buy one, you get one free, I say you buy one you get one free.’

Mum told me off in the end for singing that over and over. She said it was making her skull crack and I’d better stop, otherwise she’d crack my skull and then I’d be sorry.

Do you know my mum? I’ve always, and mean always, thought my mum to be the spitting image of the Queen Mum. Not now the Queen Mum’s dead, no, before that, when she used to walk around and wave.

My mum don’t like any of the Royals, except Princess Diana. Mum always hoped that Princess Diana would do one of them royal visits and come to our flat. She’s got this tea service from when she was married but never used. She used to say If Diana came to visit, then she could drink from one of the bone-china cups but she never did, and now she’s dead.th-4

My Mum blames Camilla. My mum says Camilla is a nymphomaniac, whereas Diana th-6was a true lady, that’s why Prince Charles liked Camilla more than his wife and that is why he left Princess Diana. Mum says all men are like that.

Me mum, she don’t like me saying that she looks like the Queen Mum, ‘cause she says the Queen Mum had filthy teeth, whereas her teeth are nice.

This morning, Joe-joe came round. Mum was still in bed and so I put her false teeth in and pretended to be Mum. We were making so much noise laughing, that mum came in to my bedroom. When she saw that I had her teeth in my mouth, she really told me off. She said it would be my own fault if I caught anything from her, as she hadn’t had a chance to give them a rinse from the night before.
I spat em teeth, right out, ‘cause I remembered hearing mum being sick in the kitchen sink last night. She had one of her fancy men over. She always drinks too much when she’s entertaining; she says it helps.
Blimey, is that the time! I better get back to the shop, Mrs. Clarke  don’t like me being back late, she says it’s a sign of bad breeding. It’s been really nice talking to you. If you’re passing, pop into the shop as Mrs Clarke says her charity shop has the best selection of good quality clothes and knick-knacks.

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Writing 101:Day 14: To Whom It May Concern

Day Fourteen: To Whom It May Concern
Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. If you need a boost, Google the word and see what images appear, and then go from there.
Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.
You have a number of options: you can write a letter to the word or an image, or an open letter to the world inspired by the word. You could pen a series of imaginary notes between you and a friend, or between two fictional characters, or between old you and young you.
Using a letter format can help you find new ways to build engaging scenes and stories. If your word was “Monday,” you could write:
I have a bad case of the Mondays.
But you could also write:
Dear Monday,
I admit it: I’m never happy to see you. I dread you in the morning, and on the drive to work, and from what I see on my Facebook feed, no one else likes you either.
Get it together, Monday.
Sincerely,
Me

For todays Challenge I picked up one of my favourite books of all time, The Turn of the Screw. On page 29 the word ‘morsel’ jumped out at me. Rather then write a letter to morsel, I am taking all the words my online thesaurus suggests for the word, ‘morsel’ and will incorporate them into a collection of letters from, Billy an ignored inner child. 

The words are:
Morsel
Mouthful
Bite
Nibble
Bit
Small piece
Soupçon
Taste
Sample
Spoonful
Forkful
Crumb
Grain
Particle
Fragment
Fraction
Scrap
Sliver
Shred
Pinch
Drop
Dollop
Whit
Atom
Granule
Segment

 

Letters from an ignored inner-child.

Dear William,

Just a morsel of recognition from you to let me know that you are aware of my very existence is all I ask, but you seem determined to keep me locked away deep inside of you. Why are you so stuffy all the time William? I know our father expects you to be a man already, but that is years away from now… Each morning when we wake up I long for us to get up and out of the house to run and laugh and be free. If I could, I would pinch you, to make you wake up, to feel alive. What is it you’re afraid off? Is it you’re scared you’ll fall over and father might catch you and give you a mouthful for shredding even a single tear, or that Nanny will try and mollycoddle you or worse, give you a spoonful of cod-liver oil and send you to bed early?
Please let me know you can hear me William, just a small piece of recognition is all I ask.

Love always

Billy, ignored inner-child.

 

Dear William,

Today we are fifteen, can’t you feel all of that excitement deep inside? Come on William, bite the bullet, let’s have a true taste of fun. Before we know it we’ll be all grown up, looking back on this small bit of our childhood and wonder why we didn’t sample more of the joys of being young.
Let’s run down to the lake and dare to skinny-dip for a bit, find a rope swing, let’s laugh, let’s scream, let’s live!!

Love always

Billy, ignored inner-child.

 

Dear William,

In a blink of an eye we’re eighteen! Don’t you ever think, “Crumbs, how time is passing by so quickly!”

Of course you don’t, you never have given a scrap of thought about how you’re wishing your youth away. But there’s still time to drop this serious persona you carry around like a dead weight. Don’t you know how horrible it has been to have your angst loaded down on me. Wasn’t it funny when our cousin, Robert jumped on you and gave you a blow back from his joint. For a fraction of a moment a fragment of joy slivered through both of us, I swear I even heard you giggle; but then you threw up and shouted at Robert to leave. You are nothing but a great big dollop of misery William, a great big dollop of misery.

Billy. Ignored inner-child.

 

Dear William,

I feel myself fading with each passing year, but there is still time to put a small segment aside for a forkful of fun. Just because our father was old before his time, does not mean we have to follow suit. A grain, a granule, no not even that! You didn’t even give a whit of hope for a chance of fun that could be had with Jessica Strand. She loves books, she’s bright, funny and intelligent. Every single atom of Jessica Strand shone when she smiled at you and asked if you were going to the end of year ball. So, what did you do? Take Jessica Strand in your arms and nibble her ear? No William, you didn’t even give her the merest soupçon of a kiss, instead you said you had to have an early night as you were going out shooting grouse with Father that day instead.

Regards

Billy, ignored inner child.

 

Dear William,

You win, I do not believe there is a single particle of joy left inside me. You have kept me in the shadows all our lives and without sunshine, a grain of fun, a glimmer of hope I admit defeat, you win.

Goodbye William.

Remember, I always loved you

Billy, ignored inner child.

 

Dear Billy,

This morning I woke up and felt like something buried deep inside of me had died.
For so long I ignored you and although I heard your voice I kept telling myself, tomorrow we’ll have fun, tomorrow we’ll go skinny-dipping in the lake, tomorrow we’ll ask Jessica Strand out on a date. But it’s all too late for any of that now, I just don’t feel the urge deep inside.

I heard that Jessica Strand married our cousin Robert. I meant to go to the wedding, but…well you know there was always something else to do.
Now, as I sit here all alone, I wish I could call you up, to feel just a morsel of the love you gave so freely.

Know this, Billy although it’s far too late. I miss you so much.

Love always

William.

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Writing 101: Day 12. Dark Clouds on the (virtual) Horizon

Day Twelve: Dark Clouds on the (Virtual) Horizon

Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-world conversation.

We don’t write in a bubble — we write in the world, and what we say is influenced by our experiences. Today, take a cue from something you’ve overheard and write a post inspired by a real-life conversation. Revisit a time when you wish you’d spoken up, reminisce about an important conversation that will always stick with you, or tune in to a conversation happening around you right now and write your reaction.

Take time to listen — to what you hear around you, or what your memories stir up.

I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.

– Ernest Hemingway

Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

At its most basic, foreshadowing gives readers a roadmap to what will happen later in your post — a subtle detail planted in the back of a reader’s mind, like a telling piece of dialogue or a strategic mention of an object that hints at what’s to come. When an author tells us there are dark clouds on the horizon, we know something negative will happen soon.

This doesn’t mean your post has to have a Shocking! Twist! à la The Usual Suspects or Shirley Jackson’s classic short story, “The Lottery.” It just means you’ll give readers some clues as you go — a sense of what will happen next, information that might be important later, or a detail that you’ll explain in your conclusion.

We’re ready to go wherever you want to lead us.

Okay, so this a bit of a cheat, using a story from my Blanche Street Tales, but it fits in with the theme and went down a storm at The Brighton Festival last year as part of Tin Can Stories. So here it is:

Sugar Almonds: Based on true events.

“Come on”, said Juliet, tugging at Robert’s arm, “this looks fun!”
The pair grinned with delight at the sight in front of them. Unlike the modern funfairs that ran on the outskirts of town the rides here were more traditional: a carousel, ghost-train and ferris-wheel reaching up high above the trees.
Wandering around the various ‘try your luck stalls,’ Juliet thought that the evening could not get any better, even though Robert had failed to win her a goldfish.
After having a wonderful ride on the carousel the two walked to the far end of the funfair and saw a tent standing all on its own. On closer inspection they saw the tent belonged to, “Romany Rose Lee: Fortune-Teller to the Stars.”
Juliet peered through the beaded curtains covering the doorway and saw an old woman sitting behind a large round table, covered with a green cloth.
Juliet grabbed hold of Robert’s hand as the old woman gestured for them to enter her tent.
With her red headscarf tied tightly across her head, four inch, gold loop earrings and a face full of tramlines, ‘The old woman was really getting into her role,’ thought Robert.
“Cross my palm with silver,” said the old woman, her bony hand reaching across the table. Robert in turn dug into his pocket for change only for the old woman to cough and add, “Or a five pound note will do.”
Tucking the money in her bra-strap the old woman handed Juliet a set of tarot cards to shuffle. She then stroked Juliet’s hand as she took the cards back from her, smiled, then began to place them out in front of her and said, “You’re in love, you’ll have children, one, two, three, four!”
Juliet smiled at Robert, but then turned to see a look of true gravity on the old woman’s face as she continued, “Alas my dear before the night is finished you will experience a horror like never before.”
Juliet fled the tent with the old woman’s cackling laugh sharp in her ears.
Robert ran after his true love and whispered, “I love you.”
As they made their way back through the fair, Juliet saw just how rusty and unstable the ferris-wheel seats looked. The yells from the ghost-train made her quicken her step until they were back in the safety of the brightly lit food stalls.
Still a little shaken, Juliet turned to Robert and said, “What did she mean, I’ll experience a horror like never before?”
Looking at the rolling hot dogs, Robert smiled, “It’s all part of her act, they all say that.” Squeezing her hand, Robert added, “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Robert ordered a hotdog with onions, while Juliet settled for a candy-floss. Still a little shaken, Juliet asked if they could go home. Robert smiled, “Of course we can”
Not wanting the night to end too soon, Robert led Juliet through a tunnel of trees that gradually blocked out the moonlight. A shiver ran down Juliet’s spine, as the words of the old gypsy ran through her head, “Alas my dear before the night is finished you’ll experience a horror like never before.”
Her mind then added a long cackling laugh, “hahahahhaha” for extra effect.
Glancing up at the branches, Juliet saw claws ready to pull her up into their clutches away from her love, never to be seen again. She wanted to tell Robert, but deep down she knew she was just being silly. Robert was right, it was just part of the old woman’s act.
Taking a bite of her candy-floss, Juliet even allowed herself to giggle at how childish she had been to believe such nonsense. Rolling the sugar clump around her mouth, she bit down hard and mumbled, “That’s odd.”
Robert was too busy munching on his hotdog to hear what she’d said, and so she carried on. Juliet bit down on the crispy shells entwined within the sugar strands and savoured the bitter almond taste that squirted across her lips and tongue.
Having finished his snack, Robert stuck his mustard slicked tongue in Juliet’s ear and whispered, “I fancy something sweet.”
Pulling away, Juliet squealed, “This is far too nice, I’m keeping it all for myself.”
With that she scooped up a huge wad of floss and pressed it into her mouth, biting down on the crispy shell, savouring the bitter almond taste.
As she did so the branches of the trees parted and the glimmers of moonlight shone down.
Powerless to move, Juliet opened her mouth and released a long, silent, scream.
Unable to help himself, Robert let out a roar of laughter as he stared at what Juliet had thought had been crispy almond shells. For there cocooned amongst the sugary strands where bugs of all sizes, desperately wiggling but unable to get free. Tears rolled down Robert’s face when he spotted a half bitten carcass, its bitter yellow innards dribbling through the pink sugar strands.
As for Juliet? Her screams echoed into the night as the words of the old gypsy woman’s rang in her ears, “Alas my dear before the night is finished you’ll experience a horror like never before.”

Sugar Almonds

Sugar Almonds

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Writing 101: (Day 11) Size Matters (In Sentences)

Day Eleven: Size Matters (In Sentences)
Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old? Which town, city, and country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?
But first, consider this passage:
The man rode hard through the woods. The black horse’s effort lay in lather. The sun beat down from high overhead. Dark birds circled, drifted, and then returned. The land baked, and dust hung suspended.
Is this not the most boring paragraph you’ve read in a long time — perhaps ever? We’ve got portent, a racing rider, and a forbidding landscape. Together, these should offer excitement and intrigue, but the words lay on the page, limp and dead. Why? Sentence length. Each sentence contains exactly seven words. The repetitive, seven-word cadence lulls you to sleep instead of piquing your interest.
So write with a combination of short, medium, and long sentences. Create a sound that pleases the reader’s ear. Don’t just write words. Write music.

– Gary Provost, 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing
Mixing up the lengths of your sentences creates variety for the reader and makes for much more interesting reading.
Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

15 min free writing:

12.

You’re a kid experiencing the endless summer. You feel something is going to change forever, but you’re twelve, innocent of ‘the new’, as it impatiently waits in the wings.

Remember this calm before the storm,  teenage hormones will soon kick: puzzlement, excitement, fears and thrills; but before then, remember now.

This is the time you’re making homemade fudge and coconut ice with your sister. Sometimes it all turns out perfect, other times it’s brittle or a coconut mess.

Your cousin is more like your brother, has been all your life. You and he have experienced everything together. Both unaware, this time next summer you’ll be like strangers. You’ll stare at the denim clad rocker: all blackheads and Heavy Metal. And you? Well, you’re more disco, glitter and pop!

But for now, you’re laughing together so hard as you both yell at his sister to “Run”, causing that big dog to take chase. Round and round the park they run, Benny Hill style.

The lad up the road is your best mate: playing, rowing, crying, laughing, exploring, sharing, rivalry and friendship.

You’re twelve years old and although you don’t know it, this is the most magical year of your life…so far.

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Writing 101: (Day 7)

Day Seven: Give and Take

Today’s Prompt: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Remember those “compare and contrast” essays in composition class, in which you’re forced to create a clunky juxtaposition of two arguments? Just because that particular form was a bore doesn’t mean that opposition has no place in your writing.

Bringing together two different things — from the abstract and the inanimate to the living and breathing — creates a natural source of tension, and conflict drives writing forward. It makes your reader want to continue to the next sentence, to the next page. So, focus on your two starkly different siblings, or your competing love for tacos and macarons, or whether thoughts are more powerful than words, or…you get the idea.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue. You can create a strong opposition between the two speakers — a lovers’ quarrel or a fierce political debate, for example. Or you could aim to highlight the difference in tone and style between the two different speakers — your call!

writing 101 day 7

Now she’s gone.

www.blingcheese.com
How they ever got together in the first place is beyond me, she’s from this really rough part of town while he was born with a whole canteen of silver cutlery in his mouth. I would have loved to have been there when he took her home to meet his mother. I’ve never met her, never seen her in person. Come to think of it I’ve never seen any of his side of the family in the flesh. Well that’s unsurprising, I’d never go to where they go and they probably don’t even know that this part of town even exist. It was a real shocker to see his mother in the news. At first I didn’t take much notice, well why should I? Just another toff, but then I saw a picture of her, our Claire. Sure it has been over fourty-five years, but as soon as I saw her on the front page, I knew it was her, all grown up and now dead. That day when she walked out came flooding back as if it was yesterday. The things she said, the accusations, terrible things. I don’t like to remember that day; she was all red faced with a mouth full of screams. I like to think of when she was our little princess.
Yeah, of course I wanted to speak out, to scream myself, but it would have bought up all that stuff from the past and at my age with so much time lost and gone, well it was best to watch from the side lines. I guess if her father was still alive he would have kicked up a fuss and made his voice heard.
They said neither of them suffered, but how does anyone really know, none of us were there. I wonder if she thought of me. I’m guessing not. I half expected someone from the press might have tracked me down for my side of the story, but not a peep. Just as well really, like I said, bringing up all that stuff from the past.
It would be nice to speak to his side of the family, but i’ve got nothing less then thirty years old to wear. I’ve kept the cuttings from the news paper, in the before photos she looked happy, they both did. I so wish I’d have made the move to get in touch with my Claire and now I never will….

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Writing 101: (Day 5) Be Brief.

Day Five: Be Brief

Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

Glogster.com
“I can’t go on”, is all the note said
Over and over those few words I read
Where you so lonely, no one to reach out too
Or was it simply you could not make it to a date or interview.

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Writing 101: (Day 4) Loss, Part 2.

Loss (part 2)
15 min free writing.

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Things I have lost.

My mother at 18 months old through a divorce, my cat Sooty through either Sooty getting fed up of being dressed up in dolls cloths or he died. Loss of animals, budgies, rabbits, gold fish. Nearly losing the school tortoises who was penned in with the homemade rabbit run (chicken wire and canes, but found a hole and could move at some speed for at tortoise. Losing the fights against a group of bullies at school, which only came to an end when I left school, losing out to jobs and not knowing where to go next. Went back to College to stud catering. Lost my inhibitions on the dance floor when I move Norwich (to study at Norwich Hotel School). Lost my Ipswich accent when I moved to Brighton. Lost any longing to move back to my home town when I realised Brighton was the place I was meant to live. Lost the need to work at The Bedford Hotel when The Grand Hotel reopened after massive refit following the Brighton bombing, lost the need to work at The Grand when I got a job as a steward on the newly revitalised QE2. Lost more inhibitions when I teamed up with my mate Mark on the QE2 and formed a cabaret style show for the crew, which was so successful we were asked to perform regular shows for the passengers too. Lost in time and missed the QE2 in New York, stranded, but got home safely. Lost the number of times I have laughed till it hurts with my mates. Lost the urge to work in catering, started working and retrained with adults with severe learning difficulties. Lost the urge to work with adults with learning difficulties, retrained as a reflexologist. never really lost the urge to give help with reflexology, but moved on to retrain to be a writer.

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