Leaving Something Behind: February Writing Task by Kuli Kohli

Here is Kuli Kohli’s response to the February Writing Task. It’s a story suitable for young people.

Leaving Something Behind

“What?” Rita said hardly believing what he had said. She stared into his dark eyes for some kind of look that would tell her he was kidding, but all she could see was his serious glare.

“You heard me, I’m getting out of here, I’m leaving, and I ain’t coming back. Okay.” That was all he said before he actually walked away.

Rita’s heart had almost shattered, “But Reggie, you can’t go now,” she told him.

“Why not, what’s stopping me?” he said continuing to walk.

Rita followed him. She really thought he cared. “Because...” She hesitated, she didn’t know whether to say it or not, then tried to pluck courage to speak out, what she had kept from him for so long, “Because... I love you.” She finally splurged out.

He immediately stopped and turned around and smiled. He didn’t look so flattered, and looked more as though he knew it, and seemed to be egotistical about it. He smiled, “Look, I like you, but I don’t love you. And believe me, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to know the truth.” He walked away for the second time and Rita knew that it would be the last time.

Her heart had shattered, and without realising, teardrops began to fall from her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but just couldn’t control herself. Rita’s friends had been right, yet again. They had told her so many times that he was the wrong kind of guy for her. He was a good laugh, but that was all. He seemed to take everything like a comic story.

As she watched him walk away, she thought, ‘Why me?’ The way he walked seemed to indicate, that he couldn’t careless about what had just happened. He didn’t even turn back to look at her. Manju had been watching her through the window of the classroom.

“Another waist of time,” she sobbed, walking into the school building. It felt her world had fallen through and nothing on earth could make her smile again. All she could do was think about all the good time she had spent with Reggie, and connect them with what had just happened. It didn’t make any sense at all. She knew she would never see him again.  Walking through the double doors, then through the abandoned corridor. Suddenly it felt as though she could not walk any more, she stopped and leaned against the wall sliding downwards until she was sitting down on the floor. Wiping her face on her sleeve every now and again trying to dry the tears which kept falling, streaming down her cheeks. Rita buried her head between her knees and sat and wept.

“Hey, Reet,” A gentle familiar voice said. Rita didn’t bother looking up because she knew it was Manju, “What’s the matter?” she asked stupidly.

“Go away,” she sobbed.

“Listen Reet, I saw what happened down there. I know he’s leaving but believe me it’s no big deal.”

Rita suddenly looked up and stared angrily at her, “You, you mean you knew about it!” she stood up, “No one told me anything!”

“Well we knew you’d get upset and we didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upset! Look at me now! Oh yeah I really look as though I have had the time of my life!” Rita paused to take a breath, “Well believe me mate I’ve just been told by the bastard just what he thinks of me. I feel like the biggest jerk ever. He hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she tried assuring her.

“Wanna bet, I just told him how much I loved him, and he couldn’t care less about it.” she said, “That’s just the story of my life…”

“Look, now you know how I feel about Josh.” Manju said.

“What’s Josh got to do with all this,” she asked confused. “He’s got nothing to do with it, and besides he likes you.” Rita told her best friend.

“Does not.”

 “He does and you know it. But at least he’s got his way with me, he was right about Reggie.” She walked away and Manju followed behind.

“Josh’s an idiot anyway.”

“Yeah I know, but you can’t blame him for that can you?” Rita said walking on. Manju smiled. She didn’t feel like smiling at all. Manju was Rita’s best friend and she was always there for her when she felt down, and she usually made her smile and feel better, helping her to an enhanced recovery.

Manju walked with Rita up to the sixth form private study room, “You gonna be all right?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I think I’ll survive until the bell goes.” she told her.

“I better go or the teacher might catch me, cos I told her I was going to the toilet.” She hurried away, leaving her in one of the private study rooms.

Rita put her head on the desk, and felt really stupid and foolish. She had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated that feeling, it just would not leave her alone.

A few minutes later the door flung open and immediately she looked up hoping it was Reggie. But it was the one and only Josh. ‘Oh no!’ Rita thought, putting her head back down.

Josh was kind of cute for his age, he had dark hair and dark eyes, which somehow reminded her of sweet teddy bears. So many girls thought he was gorgeous, including Manju. But ever since Rita had got to know him, she had always considered him as a younger brother, and a very immature and idiotic one too.

“What’s up with you?” Josh asked in his typical cheeky little voice.

Rita ignored him at first, but then when he kept hopping around her, she said, “Just leave me alone!”

“Why?” he asked.

“Don’t give me that, you know very well why,” she snapped.

He thought for a while, then suddenly spluttered, “Oh its Reggie ain’t it, I should’ve guessed.” Rita stared at him harshly. “Oh come on, you could not have liked him that much. I told you that you’d get hurt in the end, besides you can do much better than him, he was a creep, and you knew it right from the start. There are more guys around.” She didn’t want to hear this from him, not from anyone.

“Just shut up!” she cried. Her eyes began to fill up with tears once again. ‘Oh no,’ she thought, ‘here I go again.’ She didn’t want to cry, but it was difficult to control her emotions.

Josh looked at her but she put her head down to stop him from seeing her tears.

“Look I understand how you feel, but you gotta put it past you. He’s gone now and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can do much better than him; you should look around for someone like me: good looking, sexy, considerate, mature and sensible. Can’t you?” Rita could tell he was beginning to feel sorry for her.

“That’s what you wanted,” she sobbed looking up at him and he smiled one of his pathetically sweet smiles.

“I knew what he was like, that’s why,” he said. Rita rubbed her eyes and tried to smile. “Hey,” Josh whispered, “I didn’t know you cried purple tears.” At first she looked at him very confusingly and didn’t quite know what he was talking about, then she realised that she must have rubbed off the mascara from her eye lashes. Rita began to smile.  She could not believe she was actually smiling again. The school alarm for home time rang as Manju walked in.

“You feeling alright....” her voice trailed off as soon as she realised Josh was with her.

Rita smiled, “Love is in the air again...”

“Shut up!” Manju squealed, her face suddenly turned a crimson.

“Gotta get going,” Josh said, “don’t get feeling down again, he was a bastard, just keep thinking that and you’ll soon get over him.” He closed the door behind him.

“Why the hell did you say that for!” Manju snapped.

“Say what?” Rita teased.

“You know very well what, and that was very embarrassing you know,” she hesitated for a while, “Did you see the way he ran out?”

“He did not run out because of you, dumbo,” she tried assuring her.

“He doesn’t like me at all!”

“Don’t be so stupid Manj, don’t be mad.” They walked out arguing and bumped into Jami and Chaz.

They asked Rita how she was handling Reggie leaving. “I’m trying to forget he ever existed,” she told them. It was easy saying it but the hard part was actually accepting it.

As soon as she got home, she ran up the stairs into her bedroom, and put the radio on. Staring out of the window she watched the school kids go by.

She remembered a time when she used to mess around with Reggie; she had pinned up a notice saying, “REGGIE LOVES BOYS!  ANY OFFERS PLEASE GET IN TOUCH” He had been very embarrassed about it all, however, he had denied it. Rita had felt bad and guilty about it for a long time afterwards. Then she remembered chasing him that day and begging for his forgiveness. All he could come out with was, “Don’t worry about it, it was nothing.” As Rita drifted back into her bedroom, one of her favourite songs played on the radio. As she listened to the words, she felt her heart break in two again and broke out in tears. She could not control the way she felt once again. Rita cried and cried until she could cry no more. For the next few weeks she knew she would drive her family and friends crazy with all her misery and sorrow.

February Writing Task by Cherry Doyle

Here is Cherry Doyle’s response to the February Writing Task, where we built up a character suitable for young readers, and used that as a basis for a story. It’s the opening of a story about the main character, Jennings.

Jennings ran his hand slowly through the dog’s long fur. He toyed with it between his fingers as she made whimpering sounds in her sleep. He felt her warm belly move as she breathed and put his head down to nuzzle against her.

            Skye was his best friend in the world; always by his side, she knew when he needed cheering up with her pale blue collie eyes and dappled fur. Now, as Jennings held his ear against her, he wondered about all the biology underneath – what made the pulse throb so much faster than his own, why her paws shook while she was dreaming, why she slobbered all over his clothes with her tongue, lolling like a rich ham.

            The log fire in the farmhouse was violent and noisy, drowning out the drone of his grandfather’s radio and the persistent click-clack of his grandmother’s knitting needles. Jennings pictured himself in green overalls like the vet who came to see the farm animals. He used a stethoscope to listen to their hearts, which he wore around his neck at all times. He carried a black suitcase full of carefully wrapped needles which made such pleasing crinkly sounds as they were released from their packaging. Jennings wanted to be like him.

            If nothing else, it would get him off the farm. Despite Skye’s friendship he did get bored of living, eating and learning between these flowery wallpapered walls. His grandmother gave him a simple education of basic maths and spelling – he would need these for ordering in animal food when he eventually took over the farm.   

            His grandfather, a gruff man, took him out on the trailer to the high fields to watch Skye bring the sheep in. He loved watching her sleek figure dart across the green grass, striking terror into the confused sheep.

            As much as he loved his grandparents, the farm and the little farmhouse, sometimes when he ran past the cow pasture and climbed the tallest tree to look across acres of green and yellow land, he felt a sinking feeling, knowing he wanted to break away from what his grandparents expected him to do.

            The only problem was, Jennings had seen life outside the farm and he didn’t like it - the children of the nearest village were mean to him, shouting names if he ventured to the shop with his grandparents. They always seemed not to hear the cruel comments, and Jennings wondered why they kept their unflinching faces so stony - was this some adult trick to get rid of unhappy things, or were they really that deaf?

            He started to imitate them, faithfully freezing his scrunched face when he spied the kids coming over the village green. He concentrated so hard on keeping his eyes forward, he barely felt the sting of their words, chanting about his old threadbare clothes and smears of grease on his face. His grandmother placed a guiding hand on his ragged hair as Jennings wondered why those kids cared what he looked like or wore.

            As far as he was concerned, his faded T-shirts were all he needed for farm work – after all, his grandfather wore the same green wool jumper every day. There was no point in his grandparents spending their money on posh new clothes when all he did was climb trees and help muck out the pigs. Besides, he often heard his grandparents grumbling that there was no money in farming, and cursing the men who came to collect eggs and milk in big vans.

            “You’re driving us into the dirt!” his grandfather had yelled one day as a particularly frowny man had driven away.

“It’s the market” he shrugged out of the driver’s window. Jennings had watched from the cowshed as his grandfather’s face fell when the man had finished unfolding notes into his palm. It creased with a desolate mixture of distress and concern, and it gave Jennings a tight feeling in his chest.

He knew that things cost money, so he didn’t ask for anything. He just wanted to have fun with Skye and somehow evade a life looking after the farm.  

Eugene Morris: January Writing Task by Cherry Doyle

Here is Cherry Doyle’s response to the January Writing Task, where we used a character profile as the basis for a story. It’s the opening of potentially a longer story or novella about Eugene.

A shaft of sunlight forced its way through the gap in the blinds, burning dust and bending through last night’s empty wine glasses. Blonde hair on marble shoulders shimmered like threads of fire under its persistent rays.

Eugene rolled awake in his characteristically silent way, slipping between the covers out of the side of the bed. Dapples on his dark skin caught the light as he tiptoed out of the room, leaving the sleeping blonde to breathe heavily into his satin pillows. He knew she wouldn’t wake – enough wine and a late night would see to that. It was early yet and he wanted to head out for a walk before his daily routine. He dressed quickly and exited, hoping the blonde would wake and leave before his return. Never mind if she didn’t; she could be easily despatched with an excuse and enough psychology to cushion the rebuttal.

Eugene wandered through dipping early seagulls and men in yellow jackets to his favourite spot at the dockyard; behind some rusting red sheds, by a grim patch of water unoccupied by boats. He stared into the grey water, swirling like galaxies in his dark eyes. Images of his mother, so far away now, flooded him. Her scolding Jamaican accent, the way she goaded him for his promiscuity, the ripe mangoes always over-spilling from the glass bowl on the kitchen table. He remembered squeezing their soft flesh as a boy, feeling it move under the leathery skin.

It reminded him of the violence he’d seen in this spot – behind these unused skeleton buildings where no business or shipbuilders dare set foot. Soft skulls exploding under guns barrels, dead weight in and out of car boots, blood running into the water like a river. All the while so helpless to stop. So against his nature - so cruel to stand by and watch a murder.

After 15 years working undercover, he could hide his emotions well, but his inability to interfere was frustrating – he felt like a small cog working towards…who knew?...and he couldn’t tell whether he had any effect. It was this which prompted his early morning walks at the dockyard.   

But he couldn’t back out now – he could be killed, or worse – his family could feel the effects of his career choice. He longed for his mother’s kitchen, and mangoes in the morning sun, fat on a blue gingham tablecloth. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken to her for months. She understood, he knew. She was always supportive of him, because she was so happy that he had chosen a career instead of time behind bars. When he specialised as an undercover agent she was noticeably concerned, but she trusted him and he thanked her for it. But now he just wanted the sweet smell of spices, fruit and tea which was ingrained in the yellow painted wood kitchen.

  

March 8th Session & March Writing Task

In our session on Saturday 8^th March, Cherry held a session about how to look for inspiration for writing, and how to develop ideas into the starting point for a piece of writing or poetry.

We explored how to use all 5 senses to observe what’s around us, including reading the news, eavesdropping (discreetly!) and keeping a diary to refer back to.

Everyone tried their hand at ‘freewriting’, which can be a bit daunting if you haven’t tried it! We then expanded ideas using the ‘clustering’ technique which uses word association to bring out images to put into your writing.

Another method we used to set up an idea was based on the old party game Mad Libs. We started with a sentence:

(Who) clutched the (What) and ran (How) through the (When) (Where).

Then we each picked out words randomly for each ‘missing’ section: Who, What, How, When and Where. The idea was to end up with a surreal sentence and use a short story to explain the ‘Why.’

You end up with some hilarious sentences this way!

 Santa Claus clutched the cat and ran angrily through the prehistoric pig farm.

Lionel Richie clutched the Bible and ran lazily through the Tudor steam room.

A small child clutched the stereo and ran in terror through the post-war holiday camp.

Hints & Tips

There are some key things we covered to help us in time when we feel uninspired. Try the following to get the creative juices flowing:

Ø      Write as often as possible – it will get you into the habit of producing drafts to look back over. Just remember not everything you write has to be ‘finished’ – even a freewrite can open up inspiration.

Ø      Go through the motions – doing exercises like the ones listed here can bring up surprising results. Even if you don’t feel it’s worth it at the time, you might get a spark of inspiration, either now or in the future if you read back through them.

Ø      Surf the net – there are lots of websites such as http://writingexercises.co.uk/index.php which provide prompts to give you inspiration.

Ø      Join a writing website – a great way to get feedback on your work, and some of them run contests to get you inspired.

Ø      Find competitions – even if you don’t want to enter, the themes might give you some ideas. Check out http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions

Ø      Keep a writer’s notebook - having a notepad to hand means that you can scribble down things you see while out and about, write and re-write drafts, and experiment with your writing. 

Writing task

Our writing task this month is to practice using these techniques to create a poem or short story. There are two options:

Option 1: Use a word from your observations of what’s around you, or one of the following prompts to create a freewrite or a spider diagram (clustering), which you can expand into a poem of up to 20 lines,  or short story of up to 500 words.

Ø      Autumn

Ø      Tokyo

Ø      The weather

Ø      Chocolate

Ø      Coral reef

Option 2: Compile your own list of ‘Who-What-When-Where-How’ words, or use these. Pick some at random to populate this sentence, and use it as the opening for a short story of up to 500 words.

Speaking (How) in the (Where), (Who) gestured at the (When) (What).

Complete this for next month’s meeting on April 12^th, where we’ll meet at 10:45 to go through these before our guest speaker, Jack Edwards, arrives. Have fun guys!   

Who-What-When-Where-How list

Here’s a list of words you can use if you’re playing the Who-What-When-Where-How game for inspiration. Print them out and cut them up to pick randomly, then populate into the sentences below as an opening to a short story. The words give you the Who, What, When, Where and How. Your aim is to explain the Why in your story.

Who

The princess

David Cameron

Batman

Lionel Richie

A small child

The evil count

A tiger

A pack of wolves

Mystic Meg

Santa Claus

What

Skirt

Stereo

Cat

Bible

Concert tickets

Ransom note

Popcorn

Tin of beans

Fishing Rod

When

Ancient Egyptian

Victorian

Gregorian

1920s

Post-war

Prehistoric

30^th Century

Roman

Tudor

Jurassic

Where

Beach

Cattle market

Swamp

Pig farm

Garden shed

Board room

Monastery

Drafty barn

Holiday camp

Steam room

How

In terror

Angrily

Lazily

Enthusiastically

Joyfully

In despair

Nervously

Noisily

Quietly

In a panic

The sentences we used were:

(Who) clutched the (What) and ran (How) through the (When) (Where).

and

Speaking (How) in the (Where), (Who) gestured at the (When) (What).

Have fun!