Fun with words (Pt. 1) : A Four Piece Suite

A glimpse of what I get up to on some Sunday mornings.

As part of my writing endeavours I’m a member of four different writing and critique groups. That might seem excessive, but they do serve different purposes, the common one being retention of sanity. As with sobriety, I’m not sure it’s an essential attribute for good writing, but being ensconced within my small study for timeless hours, with only my novels’ characters for company, can take its toll on both myself and the others (“Hush now, Xiao-Mai, they’re family also…”).

One of these groups is an informal and relaxed meetup that gathers fortnightly on Sunday mornings in a local coffee shop. The group’s membership varies meeting to meeting, but is mostly new or curious writers of any genre, led by an always enthusiastic organiser. Two of the group will have volunteered in advance to read out their novel extract, or perhaps an illustrated or short story, or poem, or even some song lyrics. The rest then have an opportunity to comment on or critique it.

Both reading out loud and receiving feedback on your writing is an essential part of honing your craft. Critiquing in itself is a valuable skill, no matter what or whose material you apply it to, and I admire those who do it well.

But what I equally enjoy about the morning’s get together (unless, as you will see, it’s haiku poetry) are the prompted writing exercises provided by the host as a ‘writing brain’ warm-up. Mid-Sunday mornings, especially after a hearty English breakfast, is a taxing time for most minds, but fatigue often opens mine up, allowing more creativity to emerge in the absence of any meaningful focus. The same thing happens when I’m on an exercise machine, in the shower, or - most effectively, but also regretfully, most forgetfully – when entering a lucid dream-state after waking too early. [Self-critique note: outrageous adverbial excess in previous sentence!]

So in this week’s missive I’ve provided my spontaneous responses to four of these ‘ten minutes only!’ prompts, selected from months of meetups in a fairly random manner. The pieces vary greatly in theme and content (and probably quality!), but I hope you enjoy them for what they represent – and why I’m still here:

Having fun with words.

Take care now,

JR

A T-shirt I often wear after my characters run amok, blaming me for going off-plot.

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#1 – “That’s Weird”

(26th Mar 2023)

• Setting: Not given.

• Prompt: ‘That’s weird’.

The curtains are pink and the mixed scent of musk and roses fills my nostrils. My hand slides down under the sheet. I’m not wearing the clothes I’m normally dressed in. I’m not wearing any clothes at all.

“That’s weird,” I whisper.

A deep voice behind me replies, “What’s weird?”

I turn to face them and—oh my word, the hair: it’s everywhere. And their nose—a hazy recollection intrudes—had also been… My eyes grow wide as last night’s fog lifts. They see and they smile, with teeth fit to chew a horse in half. The memories come flooding back: the party, the fancy dress party.

I shouldn’t have invited them. Or asked so many questions. I shouldn’t have apologised when I removed their glasses. They’d eventually taken their dress off, saying it was too hot. A teasing pull on a scarlet bow had been my final undoing.

I already know what my grandmother will say about acting the fool again. I won’t be able to blame my costume. Or its colour. I turn away to face her paisley-patterned wall, but they still cuddle into me, their breath warming my back once more, like so many dreamt nights before.

A claw gently scrapes my side as their wet nostrils slide down my spine. “You’re my little red riding hood now,” whispers my latest lupine lover.

“Woodland walks and wild rides suit me just fine,” I nervously reply, hoping my father’s honed axe won’t cut things so short this time.

(250 words)

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#2 – 'As Haiku Is Said...'

(5th Feb 2023)

• Setting: Anywhere

• Prompt: ‘Write a Haiku’ (i.e. a poem of 5 / 7 / 5 syllables)

As ‘Haiku’ is said

Heart sinks like stone

I tremble in fear

(12 words)

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#3 – ‘Sophie Raphael-Eaves’

(15th Jan 2023)

• Setting: n/a

• Prompt: ‘Pick a name from this list and write a bio’. I selected ‘Sophie Raphael-Eaves’.

Not her real name of course. The ‘Sophie’ got her a foot in the door for job interviews and the ‘Raphael’ appealed to the arty crowd she’d picked to hang out with at the local coffee house.

‘A bit cliched,’ they’d said, but accepting her nonetheless into their pretentious little circle.

‘Blame my ex,’ she’d replied, conjuring up an Italian from nowhere. Her voice coach had liked the double-barrelled bit - an independent touch, she’d thought, despite being forever single.

In reality, she was just an Eaves, like her useless brother. Like her parents and grandparents, hiding under their roofs of mediocrity, celebrating their averageness.

But not her. She was flying out from under the aspersions of her nominative determinism, migrating to a better place, far from their mundane, TV-bound lives.

(130 words)

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#4 – A Dear Affair

(23rd Oct 2022)

• Setting: The sofa

• Prompt: “Last night’s TV”.

♂️ She wasn’t that good. Not like the previous episode.

♀️ Oh, I don’t know. Sticking the knife in seemed to fit the crime.

♂️ But it might have helped the viewer if she’d said something beforehand.

♀️ I think he knew perfectly well why she did it. As do I.

♂️ Just a touch more explanation, that’s all I’m saying.

♀️ Given what he did, I’m surprised you didn’t work it out for yourself.

♂️ It just seemed overly melodramatic – and she hardly spoke throughout the entire episode.

♀️ So, silence and actions aren’t as obvious as words?

♂️ Well, I…

♀️ It’s quite simple: if he hadn’t gone off with her friend, he wouldn’t be lying dead on the floor.

♂️ If he wasn’t dead, my dear, you wouldn’t be saying the episode was so good.

♀️ Not so good, no. But it’s not the final episode, is it? I’m sure the best is yet to come. Dear.

(148 words)

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Thank you for reading!

For more prompted flash fiction, you can jump over to Part 2 :