Deeper water

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:

Hadge says:  Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song  for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song.

It’s almost a tautology to use Paul Kelly’s song Deeper Water for this exercise. Every song he writes is a narrative, this one in particular. Nevertheless, I have loved this song as much as my favourite novel because of the images it evokes. This is my version.

The waves broke and sprayed. A seagull swooped and disappeared under the water.

‘Mum! Dad! Watch this!’ Justin ran against the waves and threw his fine muscular body into the surf. Seconds later, he emerged, tossing his hair. ‘Did you see that? Frickin’ awesome!’ he yelled.

Megan and Andrew  sat close to the shore, under a red striped umbrella, which fought against the wind. Megan waved and smiled, but her sunglasses concealed her eyes. The familiar ache began in her chest and spread across her shoulders, down her back and up her neck, clasping her throat. My beautiful boy, she thought. That is all he will ever be to me. And then the sob began to rise until it reached the dam wall, which was her throat. It stuck there until, in one swallow, it was gone. Don’t cry, she told herself. The doctors had given her a year, and she couldn’t waste it crying.

‘You ok honey?’ Andrew put his warm, rough hand on her knee.

‘Uh-hum,’ she smiled at him, and leaned against his shoulder.

Write on Wednesday ~ The mighty mighty rewrite

Write on Wednesday Exercise 14 – The Mighty Mighty Rewrite…

I did a workshop with literary author MJ Hyland, who teaches Masters in Creative Writing at Manchester University. She asked us to choose our favourite book, take the first paragraph and then write our own content into the paragraph, keeping the structure, tone, language etc.

This paragraph is a rewrite of the first paragraph from God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. I first read this book when I was much too young, read it again when I was older because I knew the book contained secrets, and a third time when I was older still because I remembered loving it. I have never since read a book three times – I am a sucker for novelty. So I thought I would rewrite the first paragraph to try to understand why it was this book, in particular, I read three times.

The Might Mighty Rewrite: January in Echuca is a hot, stifling month. The days are brittle and dry. The river shrinks and magpies furrow for worms in brown papery grass. Plants fade. Flowers die. Bored flies hum in the stagnant air. Then they sun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, flatly baffled in the sun.

God of Small Things ~ Arundhati Roy: May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on mangoes in still dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jacfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuuously in the fruity air. Then they sun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, flatly baffled in the sun.

 

The thing about copying a paragraph, or even transcribing a paragraph of someone else’s work (particularly a classic, or a Booker Prize winner), is that you really start to analyse the structure and style used. When reading these great works,  you don’t analyse them – and that is what makes them great reads – the words fall off the page and seamlessly enter your consciousness, and your subconscious, and you just sit there thinking you are in another world.

Write on Wednesday ~ One liner

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 13 – A Great One Liner…This week you need to come up with one good line to describe a part of your day. It can be ‘real life’ or fiction. But it must tell us ‘who did what’. It has to be an amazing line, like a tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance (figuratively speaking) with only a few folds … Every word in that line must earn its place, or be cut as excess baggage. Let’s get thinking about each sentence as though every word counts, like working one group of muscles to show how much weight they can carry.

I unfold your letter, and like in a vacuum, I am sucked back to that time when we thought about what we would wear to the footy, and you were still alive.

 

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As a recent member of Write on Wednesdays, I have been honoured to read some wonderful pieces of writing, and know that my stories are being read by others…

Today I read the most beautiful story on The Rhythm Method – it is incredible, moving, so sad, and the author is so brave. Take a box of tissues.

Zannix

Write on Wednesday ~ A day at home, in the sun

This week’s Write on Wednesday exercise feels familiar…write 100% truthfully about any part of your experience…hmmm, I think that is what I do every blog post. OK, occasionally I add artistic licence, put the words in a particular order so they sound better etc., but the content is every bit as real as can be. But anyway, Write on Wednesday, here goes…

I am not sure why my heart rebels so when I am threatened with a day at home, with no work to do, no study. Just me and the little one, while Daddy does over a twenty-four hour shift at work, comes home for lunch, then goes again for another eight-hour shift. Every part of me is protesting inside, when such a day is proposed. Oh no, I think, how will I survive? I had better get to calling people, and making arrangements. I must keep myself and the little one busy for the day.

But why, I ask? Why does my heart rebel so, when in fact spending the day at home, with just me and the little one is so utterly beautiful?

Today the sun shone like it was summer. The air smelt heavy of heat, and the sound of the mower whirred in the distance. We spent the day, just me and the little one, gardening. I pulled up bindiis one by one, while the little one scurried around with a bare bum and red gum boots, filling dolly’s tea-pot with soil, and drawing across the concrete bricks in chalk. Just me and the little one. Occasionally, she would come to me with a: “Mummy?” and I would say, “Yes, darling,” and she would say, “Dodle upa-alotle, dotle, upanupa?”. And I would nod, and agree, and then we would hold hands and sing ring-a-ringa-rosie and all fall down together in a patch of grass where no bindiis grew. And then I would resume digging grass, or plucking weeds, and she would resume wandering around the garden.

We stopped for lunch, and ate sausages and bread under the shade of a tree in the garden. I drank tea, Elfie drank water.

And then we played with toys in the bath, the day’s red soil turning the bath water brown. We ate prawn salad together for dinner. She at most of the prawns. Then she helped me wash up. We read together, sitting side by side on the couch. And we did our bed-time routine, brushed teeth, drank milk etc. until at last, we lay together on the family bed and fell asleep.

Why was it again I was itching to arrange for us to be busy today? I can’t remember, now.

The truth is, it felt wonderful, moving from one activity to the next. Sometimes it was a mummy directed activity, such as folding washing, and at other times it was an Elfie directed activity, such as strapping dolly to the back as if in a sling using a scarf, and walking around the garden. I wasn’t thinking about the next five minutes, or the next. Elfie is such divine company.

Having a child has been a lesson in living in the moment. Of not hanging out for the future visit from a friend, or the time to check my email. As my little daughter grows into a bigger one, we form a friendship, which at this stage is based on silly language, hugs, and kisses. And one day might be based on affectionate, yet philosophical conversation. Here’s to the moment, to my day spent with a little one.