I was, without doubt, my high school English teacher’s least favourite pupil. I can still hear the tuts and exaggerated eye rolls that emerged when I showed my work – I just didn’t get it. What she didn’t know was that I was going home every day after school and sitting for hours at my laptop writing a story (the most ridiculous story, I admit). I let my fingers glide over the keys and couldn’t stop writing, because I wanted to know what happened next. I had no plan, and no idea where the story was going, until from my keyboard sprung a highly ridiculous, elaborate storyline in front of me.
I had one creative writing assignment in English at school, and I went home excited to type up something that might resemble good work.
“This actually looks promising,” the teacher begrudgingly mumbled at me, almost as if my doing well at something went against her (she seemed to pride herself in telling me how rubbish I was). I can recall the exact place, in the exact classroom we were standing in, and the exact look on her face and tone of her voice. It gave me a scrap of hope that I wasn’t as awful at English literature and language as she had made me think I was.
I can remember what I had written about in that assignment, and looking back it was really odd, and at some point I will recreate it as best I can, just for the nostalgia.
This actually looks promising…– Mrs B, English Teacher, 2010
So, after a decade, I decided to get writing again, this time in short and sweet ways. There may be the appearance of extracts of writing from over a decade ago – it won’t be the best, but they’re not doing anything sitting on a plastic memory stick with the USB plug almost broken away, so why not post them anyway? (Well, that’s how I justify it to myself…)
Please read and enjoy. Comments and suggestions are more than welcome.
There’s a first time for everything.
When exactly was it saidthat it would be okayto send them all away with nopromise of returnto families and friends, babies never met. When exactly was it saidthat it would be worthwhileto go the extra mile with nopromise of returnto home and comfort, their own bed. When exactly was it saidthat it would be alrightto […]
Don’t be so – I thought by now you’d have heard, those things you plan are so – like flying with a bird, or with ease reading a word that is completely blurred. That really is –
Comfort in the smaller things It’s more than a roof Behind the curtain sunlight gleams It’s more than a window Out with the cold and hazy day It’s more than words can say.