Week 2 Creative Writing with WEA

Q In 400 words or less describe or imaging your first memory, remember to develop your writer’s voice.

My First Memory

My hand was in hers as she led me along, all the while her summer dress white with little pink rose blooms fluttered behind and in my face. She was excited, I could tell by the way my feet hardly touched the ground as she lead me outside “Look what daddy has brought Sarah” Moms high tingling voice would always make me laugh. Then that sudden feeling I had of weightlessness. His rough strong hands lifting me high up, he placed me into something brightly coloured, this something I had never seen in our garden before.

The air on this day was warm and dry. They had sat me in the something which was full of warm soft dirt, the same colour as mom’s straw hat. Normally dad wouldn’t let me play in his dirt; he kept telling me something about the beans not being able to grow if I kept taking them out and if I wanted to stay out of the pram I needed to stay clean.  This was nice dirt I grabbed handfuls of it and wiggled my toes in. Mom handed me something equally as bright blue as the large something I was contained in. Mom held my hand around it under her own then made a motion to move the dirt from one place to another. She was so happy when I tried to do this on my own, “Gordon she got it already, she’ll soon be helping you out” dad was kneeling at the edge watching. I thought I’d better offer him some of the dirt as he always seemed to know what to do with it, but the summer breeze blew grit into my face, this dirt did not taste as good as dad’s and my eyes wouldn’t stop blinking, they were so itchy. I must have begun to cry because in the following moment, I found I was once more safely in my daddy’s arms.

Week 1 Creative Writing with WEA

Q; In 600 words or less tell me about a special occasion in your life.

A Special Occasion.

My most treasured occasion was the birth of my first child. Paige had been a surprise instalment to my plans for the future, for a start I had never planned on having any children at all. The closer the event came the more I began to realise Paige was going to be special. With only two months left we found ourselves in hospital under close monitoring and confined to the hospital bed.  Now a day I’d enjoy the rest and read a book, but at that time I was seventeen. I had never liked hospitals – the echo sounds down each bland corridor, that unmistakeable “I’m very clean” smell that even made our school changing rooms seem inviting in comparison. To me the worst thing was how lonely the hospitals make you feel. Rookwood hospital had those long wards like in the old black and white movies my dad watched, it was like looking down  two train carriages, the tall windows gave that broken light effect you get on the moving train only it was as still and silent as a photograph, I could barely see the nurses’ station at the end it. They insisted on me staying in the bed and I insisted on at least getting dressed and lying on top of the bed. They saw an annoying teenager and I saw condescending adults. It’s the tone in our voice not the words we ever said to each other that made our stand very clear – this was going to be the longest six weeks on record.

Nurse Arkhem was to be my arch-nemesis; she was as stern as she looked in her dark blue well pressed dress with classic flat white shoe. When she passed by your blood turn cold, her eyes did that scanning thing you imagine cyborgs do in sci-fi movies, and she moved as silently as a ghost. Our first battle was the make-up “you don’t need that on in here, go and wash it off” she said as I put the final touches to a perfectly mascaraed set of lashes. “The trick is not to blink, not to move at all” I responded as if she had actually asked the question I wanted her to ask me. As I regarded my left eye in my little bed side mirror a heavy smell of flowers suddenly assaulted my nose and I looked up to see that Nurse Arkhem had moved without actually moving at all, all the way from the end of my bed right up to my bedside table. “In an emergency the doctor will only wish to perform one procedure to remove something not two.”  Still stunned by the magic trick my response was slower than its normal teenage wit generally reserved for answering my dad. “well, when you feel like a hippo with a bad case of indigestion what are you to do but try to cheer yourself up with TLC” I shrugged and gave her my most honest looking face, “you will have years of Halloween face painting ahead of you I’m sure, now, please go and wash it off” she handed me my soap and face cloth out of the top draw as if she had been the one who had put them in there. Spooky!

My Lie

There comes a time

When you have to forget

When nothing is left

When things buried

Have been brought to light

Burned away

And the ashes scattered

To the winds

There comes a time

When nothing is left

When all sounds

Have faded away

Even that

Of goodbye

I would love to say

Part of me still cherishes you

But it would be

A lie.

The Love Of Oranges

The Love of Oranges

A man offered me an orange

He wanted me to try

I would not accept his orange

But I wouldn’t tell him why

Again he offered me his orange

He gently whispered “please taste”

Furiously i shook my head

“NO!” I shouted with haste

See, i’d once been given an orange

I ate it, it had looked fine

But this orange made me ill

Afterwards I suffered a long time

Again the man came to see me

Holding out the orange in his hand

I knocked it to the floor and screamed

“YOU JUST DONT UNDERSTAND!”

The man picked up the orange

He said “But i’ve grown that just for you”

I have tendered and looked after,

The tree on which it grew

I only wanted you to have it

So we could share something nice

He put the orange back in his pocket

He walked away and looked back twice

Now his orange did look ok

But so had the one before

I had suffered so much though,

“Never again!” i had swore

But how could i be sure

This orange would be as bad?

“Wait” i shouted to the man

With all the strength i had

“I will try your orange

But just a small piece for now

And if your orange is a good one

I promise i’ll try the rest somehow”

So I tried the orange

Just a little bit at a time

I’d forgotton how good it tasted

Afterwards I felt fine

I’ve now eaten many oranges

From this kind man’s tree

Although some may have pips

His oranges are healthy and good for me

By Claire Baker

New life old mistakes

“life is like a box of chocolates, you don’t know what you may get” It is one of those nice statements that people always try to throw to you to cheer you up. but if your anything like me and have the unique ability of always being able to pick the coffee ones (I really don’t like coffee creams) then this type of kindness is like a smack in the face. I tried getting used to how my life was (learning to like coffee cream so to speak) but I’m still unsatisfied. I have way too much in my life and someone  sold me the line “that you ladies now-a-day can have it all” Sorry girls it’s a lie. It is true you have all the opportunity you need to do what you want, but don’t be fooled it believing you can have it all.

Have a career, be a great mom, and look amazing with an amazing house to match. you can’t, nor do you need at that and god help us if we are judging others by these, better take that yard stick and hit yourself with it first. you can not do all to 100% quality (burn out!) women can juggle so much but in the end if you are truly honest you have one thing that you do, you drop things for it, you compromise to meet it, you define yourself by it. If you don’t then you need to pick one.

I’m struggling with mine but i do know its being a mom, close second to having a career, not a job, i have one of those and it knows it serves a purpose only. i have in the past balanced all the big three. result? epic fail. Crashed my whole world, risked my children, lost friends, lovely home and got divorced had to leave a patch of heaven for a broken old town. Best decision i ever made! It saved my life, truly. So i cant have it all but i can chop and chance when the opportunity opens the door.

My children thank me everyday for my decision to put them first. God knows i have to fight hard for me but i’d kill for them. To find them happy, trying hard at school, at things they want to achieve (no matter how obscured) the fact they know their own mind, it all lets me know they are by definition my children.

Dare i risk changing my priority to get a career? How much time do i have left to really make one out of whats left of me? Would it even satisfied my “itch” or it this more peer pressure to preform?

Stars

Question your self.

“A man and his young son get in to his car and go for a drive, but disaster strikes and they are involved in a big crash. The man is killed and the young son taken to hospital. At the hospital the boy is rushed to surgery, but the surgeon says “I can not operate on this boy, he is my son”

Confused?
Read it again.

Now ask your self was it obvious to you that the surgeon was the boy’s mother?
Maybe if your Canadian or Australian this might have only confused you for a second or two. however it took me 5 attempts, is this because I’m thick? or do I still live in a male privileged society?

I’m Now A Blogger

This is my first and only blog page, why have I decided that blogging is the right thing for us?

Well I am a writer who has been writing in secret for about 19 years. It all started with a birthday gift from my aunt Ve, I had never see a diary journal before, not a proper one. Its blue leather-bound cover, the newest smell, gold edge paper and its magnolia pages with caramel coloured lines were as if I were looking at a rare pice of art. to be honest I nearly cried when I wrote my name in the front, it’s what it told me to do, it said “this journal belongs to…” See I am very dyslexic and my hand witting appalling, especially at that time. 10 years old and I could barely read, less than a five-year old academically. Ashamed I wrote first my diary then my stories, and know one knew not even my parents. My dad told me some whopper about when he was a child, and I loved them. I could imagine for hour on my own, whole other worlds. I would try to write them down but often I could not write at the speed my mind would race, whole sentences would be missing. and if you can’t read what you have written you can not correct it. This went on for years until I met my high school teacher Mr Bill Young, he had a Welsh name I could never pronounce so he used Bill. He taught me to read, and read and read out loud, then read something else and read it some more. only then could we get to writing. Mr Young listen to me read painfully for an hour after school, he would talk to me about the class work, write my essay notes down as I worked out what the question was asking of me. “your not thick, lazy or slow minded, you have got this far because you’re so smart. you need to un-learn your bad habits and get some solid base knowledge. don’t let this obstacle stop you, get over it.” I’m still kind of slow at reading (have to read each page twice, once to get them words, second to read what the writer is saying) but reading means I can spell words, I can sound out bigger words, I can recognise high frequency words in a second not seconds and I have some vocabulary. most of all it means I can visit other people’s worlds and see my own come to life.

Am I still a bit scared when my children ask me to read to them, yes, but it doesn’t stop me.