fiction – don't confuse the narrator

decisions, decisions, decisions…

We had another Live Lit event last week. The theme was “Once upon a word” and, once again, the decision about what to read proved problematic.

Naturally, given the theme, my mind turned to stories and fairy tales; but fiction isn’t my strong suit and I don’t usually write what I would call narrative poetry.

It’s just occurred to me now that I could have told the story about little Johnny in class when the teacher is explaining the four elements of a good story:
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genre shifting

I spent this afternoon in a sound studio, taking part in a radio show that centres around local writers and writing. Today the subject was living with animals and, as the only studio guest, I had the chance to read some of my work and talk a little bit about it.

Anyone who reads this blog must realise that I care about nature – animals, birds and plants – even if the photos of flowers are usually better than my attempts to shoot a moving target, which animals so often are.
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new every morning

I’ve said before that I dislike poetry readings and author appearances where the writers spend more time explaining than reading their works, so I should probably avoid giving any explanation of the where, the what, and the why of this piece except, perhaps, to label it as a first draft of creative non-fiction.

Since it is a draft and I expect the finished piece may end up being something quite different, I’d be particularly pleased if anyone wants to make comments.

New every morning

Anne lies with her eyes shut.

She is awake, but the world is not yet ready.
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glove story

Despite springtime’s associations of life, hope and rebirth, it’s a sad time of year for gloves: with Winter behind us, many are left abandoned in the street, often separated from their loved ones and unable to find their way home.

Some try to creep into doorways for shelter.

Others perch on window sills, wistfully watching their more fortunate relatives. While we know they will never again be allowed to cross into indoor warmth and comfort, it seems unlikely that they realise they will soon be chased away.

A very few are lucky enough to remain with their partners and attempt to set up home together in unnatural habitats.

Yet others gather twigs and debris and attempt to build nests.

Perhaps even mismatched couples can share such endeavours and find brief happiness together.

A few let themselves go completely, adapting so well to their new environment that they blend in almost unnoticed.

Others give up all hope and hang themselves on park railings or drown themselves in puddles.

Spare a thought for these poor creatures and do not reject them when they stretch out their hands to you for help.