Writing Examples

Birthday Cluedo

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Sorry I haven’t posted in a while! I hope this makes up for the gap. I wrote this piece of flash fiction as a friend’s birthday present. It’s actually the first piece of flash fiction–as opposed to drabbles, which are the fan fiction equivalent–I have written in years, that I am entirely happy with.

Personally I prefer the word ‘drabble’, but anyway … on with the piece.


The detective steepled his fingers, doing his Holmes impression whilst the suspects all filed into the room.

Colonel Mustard came first; stiff military stature, an air of cold indifference. Mrs Peacock followed shortly behind, fanning herself to try and disguise her shaking hands. Reverend Green was the first to appear calm; confident in his own innocence. Miss Scarlet slunk in alongside Mrs White, despite the intense dislike shared between them; and bringing up the rear was Professor Plum, nervously mopping his brow.

All with motive, all with opportunity. Yet, the detective had explored every option, and as they lined up nervously, waiting for him to pronounce which of them were for the noose, his eyes flickered to the guilty party, and he smiled.

“So?” The Reverend spoke first. “Which of us did it?”

“I expect you did,” said Miss Scarlet. “I saw you going into the library with the candlestick!”

“No! I thought it was Mustard with the pipe—”

“How dare you!” the Colonel blustered. “It was obviously Mrs White—”

They began squabbling amongst themselves.

“You’re all wrong,” the detective said loudly. They fell silent, miraculously.

“Well then, who was it?” the Professor asked after a moment’s pause.

The detective pointed, and they all craned their necks to see who he was indicating.

“It was,” the detective said amongst murmurs of disbelief, “the cat.”

To Be Or Not To Be Steampunk

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It is National Poetry Month, and for that reason, I will be focusing on poetry–mine and others’–in my blog postings during April. I’m moving my micropoetry (formerly referred to as Twitter poetry) to The Micropoet’s Society, and linking there instead.

The otherday I mused on whether or not I was a steampunk. I have considered this before and usually come to the conclusion that I am not. I do enjoy some steampunk, but don’t seek to write it, although elements of the aesthetics do creep in now and then, for example:

If only
They would hinder the cogs,
Every click bringing closer
The hands that say ‘This
Is final’

(from “To Ascend, Maybe”, a work in progress)

However I found my conviction when I was inspired to Google “steampunk poetry”, and realised that none of it is really even close to what I write. That’s not to say I didn’t like it, but I know now I merely have a streak of streampunk in me.

Out of interest, I found these among the search results: Twelve Steampunk Sonnets, and a neo-Victorian poet whose work I will be reviewing shortly.

Pin of the week:

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Prize Twitfic!

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So, I learned a new word this week, as well as a new literary form. I’ve read one or two sentence stories before, but never attempted any until the competition run by the North London LitFest.

I entered three times in the last couple of hours before the deadline, and one of them won third prize!

 

The other two entries were:

(The last one should read TO pop)

Fiery Villains, Yearbook Dilemma, Anthologies

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I’m currently agonising over the last question for my yearbook profile. “What experience at uni will you always remember?” Well to be honest, most of my good experiences over the last three and a bit years have nothing to do directly with my uni. Most of the friends I’ve made during that time are through outside things–NaNoWriMo and church. The friends I made in Fresher’s Week I had a great time with then, but lost somewhere down the line. Because I’ve never done much social stuff at uni, I was out of mind.

Okay, I’m going to stop this here before it turns into a poor-little-me routine. That’s not the intention. I’m just expressing my dilemma. I will probably end up saying something about Fresher’s Week, but I wish I knew what to write.

Anyway, moving on, I spent an interesting Monday morning plotting one of my villains for Aquila. It’s the second time I’ve used my giant whiteboard, which is a great tool as long as I write it all down somewhere permanent and wipe it off fairly quickly. I took a photo this time, although I’ve had to black a few points out to avoid spoiling too badly. OK, half the points.

Here’s a little taster:

blackedoutversion

I’m getting there with the first draft. I reached the end of my plan with 2,000 words to go, but since plotting my villain(?s) out I’m making progress with filling the gaps. It still reads a bit stilted to me, but maybe I’m being a bit hard on myself. I need to print out the whole thing and scribble on it. That always helps. I might even post an extract.

One last thing. I’m considering submitting the Aquila original short story in a competition to be published in a YA anthology. Maybe one of my other stories as well (it accepts multiple submissions). Watch this space! Unfortunately one of my poems, Reasons to Sing, might not now be published due to the anthology not receiving adequate funding. This is the donation link.

 

Call For (Constructive) Criticism, Aquila Extract

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My Aquila project has officially begun. I have drafted a plan of the pilot and begun researching the genre and other things. You may find I am talking about superheroes a lot for the coming months! I’ve invested in plenty of books on writing for television, as well as a few box sets to work my way through. I need to be a superhero expert by the time I come to write my critical essay, so that seems like a good place to start.

I began writing the plan out in script form, and feel it’s falling rather flat–it’s also turning out a lot shorter than it needs to be, which is worrying.

Extract:

Hospital Waiting Room

(DAD is staring at a magazine without reading it. FIONA comes rushing in.)

DAD: Fiona! (stands up quickly) Well?

FIONA: I’m fine. Just a bit of a bump, nothing to worry about.

DAD: Sweetheart, you have amnesia. I’d say that’s something to worry about.

FIONA: Dad, I’m fine. Look, they’re letting me go, see? And if my memories come back, they come back; if they don’t, well, I can live with that. Come on, let’s get out of here. Please.

Fiona’s Bedroom, Night

(FIONA is in her own bed, asleep but fitful. The flashes continue.)

DAD (v.o.): Sweetheart, you have amnesia. I’d say that’s something to worry about.

NURSE #1 (v.o.): I can’t make out what this is–it looks like some kind of implant …

(The words BEWARE REDTHORN is superimposed over her.)

GEORGIA REDTHORN (V.o.): Come on in my dear, let’s get you dried off and warm, and then something to eat …

(FIONA sits up with a gasp.)

Major’s Kitchen, Morning

DAD is brewing coffee. ALFIE is in school uniform eating breakfast, wide awake. MUM is on the phone, holding a list.

MUM: … I know we should have called, but it was the early hours and our primary concern was getting her to bed safely. … Of course, I’ll give her your love. Bye, Dad.

(Phone is replaced. MUM crosses a name off her list.)

MUM: So that’s Grandad notified …

FIONA enters in her dressing-gown. The room stills as they all look at her.

FIONA: Um, morning.

MUM: Morning, love. What do you want for breakfast?

DAD: Do you want some coffee? Or tea, I could put the kettle back on.

MUM: You could let her answer, Doug.

ALFIE: Mm, Daddy’s being rude.

DAD: Alfie!

FIONA: Do we have any bacon?

MUM and DAD look at each other.

MUM: No, but I could pick some up when I drop Alfie off at school. Come on, Alfie, you’ll be late.

(ALFIE finishes his breakfast speedily while DAD proffers the cafetiere at FIONA.)

FIONA: Coffee, please, Dad.

(FIONA sits down while DAD pours her a coffee. MUM ushers ALFIE out into the hall.)

ALFIE: (from hall) Fiona, you’ll still be here when I come home, right?

FIONA: Of course I will.

(Sounds of MUM and ALFIE leaving house.)

DAD: Are you all right, sweetheart?

FIONA: You’re all acting so weird.

DAD: You can hardly blame us, it hasn’t exactly been a normal few weeks.

FIONA: No, it hasn’t.

DAD: We all want things to go back to normal as soon as possible.

FIONA: I know, Dad. I just wish it were that easy.

Fiona’s Bedroom, Morning

(FIONA is alone with her laptop, and searches REDTHORN online. Too many results. She tries REDTHORN SUPER EYESIGHT and REDTHORN IMPLANTS but also gets nowhere. Tries variants with RED THORN, still nothing useful.)

School Gates, Morning

(FIONA stands in a milling crowd of students, nervous. She looks around, noticing minute details. She looks behind her and reads the menu of a cafe the other end of the road. Swallows, but with great reluctance joins the crowds.)

VICTORIA: Fiona?

(FIONA turns and sees VICTORIA and EMMA standing behind her.)

FIONA: Vicks! Emma!

FIONA goes to hug them both but they don’t respond.

EMMA: Where’ve you been?

FIONA: I … I’m not sure. Amnesia.

VICTORIA: That’s not what I heard. Everyone’s saying you ran out on us for the Gymnastics Championships.

FIONA: What? They’re not! That’s not what–

EMMA: No, you just chose then to do a disappearing act on us, your teammates. We always said you were a drama queen.

FIONA: But–I didn’t–really–

VICTORIA: Have a nice life, Fiona.

(VICTORIA and EMMA walk off, arm in arm. FIONA stands there, stunned. The bell goes and she runs into school.)

I’m looking for some constructive criticism (not about the format, I had to do some jiggling to get it to be readable as a blog post). This is the first time I’ve posted something on this blog specifically for feedback, I’m hoping to do it  more in future. I’m very very sorry for neglecting my blog, but the stress has I’m afraid been getting to me.

Funny-Pictures-Anti-stress