Tag: Windsor Writers

Writing tasks

Camera Ready 3, 2, 1 Live

Windsor Writers Group

We’ve got a real treat for you here. Mike Moss embraced the September writing challenge bringing back a historical figure and placing them in today’s world. The only criteria given was that they had to have been dead for more than 50 years. Can you guess who’s been brought back to life in this short piece?

‘Well, tonight we have a real treat for you, and he needs no introduction. He’s sitting here next to me. Welcome, John.’

‘Great to be back, my dear Norton.’

‘Back indeed, especially as you died so young. What was it, tuberculosis?’

‘Yes, and I was only 25. Curable now, I’m told.’

‘So true, and I hear you’re planning to sue the descendants of your mother’s executors?’

‘I was deuced, by God. You might think I’m milking the pigeon but it was total incompetence or downright theft. They withheld my inheritance from both my grandmother and mother. A princely sum of £2,800. Worth almost £300,000 today. That would buy a lot of coal to keep one warm in winter.’

‘It’s all gas these days, and you’re right. But my advice is to buy a jumper.’

‘A what?’

‘It’s a sort of wooly coat. And will you go back to live in Hampstead.’

‘Yes, my old house is still there and I’m currently negotiating with the team who run it as a museum. I was quite overcome when I found out. A museum, to me. Perhaps I should write an ode. Anyway, they seem very keen to have me move in, but I have insisted I must have six hours quiet a day, to write you understand. I can’t have well-wishers traipsing about when I’m musing.’

‘Quite right. And have you started writing again?’

‘Oh yes, I need the money. My sponsors have all passed away so I’m on the look out for an agent.’

‘Well, I expect the phones will be buzzing before the show ends and…’

‘The what?’

‘Phones, you’ll soon get the hang of them. But I guess what your many admirers really want to know is, what are you writing now and will you be travelling round the country, a one man show, maybe?’

‘A show’s a capital idea. I’ll look into that. As to writing, I’ve started a new ode, Ode to the Millenium.’

‘Fantastic. So, there you have it, folks. John’s back, writing and coming to a town near you. That’s all we have time for tonight. Bye.’

Photo by John-Mark Smith

Writing tasks

Double Image in Dallas by Kanthé

Windsor Writers Group

Warning! This contains references to the final violent moments of John F Kennedy’s life.

A man gets off a plane in November with his wife all dressed in pink and he is called a Traitor. There are black bordered adverts in the local press where 7 reasons are given for why he is wanted for Treason. On a bright Autumn day it’s this  black cloud of dissent that forever lingers  on the horizon. And in the mind.

“Mr President, you can’t say that Dallas doesn’t love you!” says the wife of the Texas Governor. Who could argue with such a sentiment? Indeed, to calm troubled waters, was the reason that he was there. To be dead – in the heart of Texas – was how he ended up.

The first bullet hits Kennedy in the throat. The second blows his brains out.

The vast majority of Dallas residents, and indeed the wider world are shocked and appalled by witnessing the senseless slaughter of a World leader. A handsome man – a charismatic man; a husband and a father – cut down in his prime. A man who faced down the might of the Soviet Union when the Earth tetered on the brink of World War 3 and Nuclear Armageddon.

The vast majority of people are dazed and confused. A whole nation undergoes a collective trauma. Everyone can remember where they were when they first heard the news. A thousand conspiracy theories are born.

The people on the fringes of Dallas society are not dazed or confused. They are sure about their intent. They whoop and holler and discharge guns in the air. They drink to his passing. Their rejoinder: ‘Camelot in Smithereens.’

To them – Kennedy is a Pinko. A Liberal. A Fornicator; An Adulterer. A Papal Stooge. Sent to bring down a great nation. To take away their guns. These cries are still heard today 59 years later . As Kennedy himself once said about Dallas:  Welcome to Nut Country.

There is a Double Image in Dallas. It’s outward face and it’s internal psyche. There are multiple Lee Harvey Oswald’s moving around Dallas. Is he a Communist? A Marxist? A Right Wing Nut? He loves Fidel Castro but hangs around with known Fascists. He is truly a riddle wrapped in a mystery encased in an enigma.

Dallas is the whole world in a microcosm. Big…Bold…Brash. Where the Truth gets splintered by a bullet. Where one man lost his life to the insecurity felt by others.

Writing tasks

A Walk in the Park, by Robyn Kayes

Windsor Writers Group

My name is Teddy, and I’m a Labradoodle. Today, my mum and I had a lovely time on our walk. It was warm, and sometimes there was a bit of rain, which I enjoyed as it cooled me down a bit. I shook myself to clear away the water, and I laughed to myself to see my mum’s face. Then I met two friends and we ran about the park, chasing each other. It was great fun. My mum spoke to the humans that belonged to my new friends. Then she gave me some treats and some water. On the way home, the cat from next door ran in front of us and I started to bark at it because it always hisses at me, and I don’t like that. But it ran away very quickly and finally we got home. My mum gave me a bath and then dried me with a towel. I lay down in my basket in front of the fire and had a lovely sleep. When I woke up, I had my food and some water, and then went out to the garden, for a little run around the rose bushes. When I came back inside, my mum was talking to someone on her ‘fone-thingy’.

“Oh mum, I had a dreadful time on my walk today. The weather was miserable, it was so cloudy and then it started to rain, and I got wet. Teddy kept running away, and splashed into some puddles and got all muddy, and then when he came back to me, he shook himself, so all the mud landed up on me. And you’ll never guess who I bumped into with all that mud all over me! It could only be my ex and his new girlfriend, with their two big Labradors who chased Teddy all over and he got even more muddy. So eventually we came home, and I had to give him a bath, and got wet again in the process. I had to light a fire because the heating wasn’t working, so I had to call the plumber, but he can only come tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t have a shower, but I managed to heat up some water so that I could have a wash. Then I made some soup, which helped. Now I just want to forget that this day ever happened.”

News!

Writing for a Good Cause

Windsor Writers Group

Mike Moss (Windsor Writer’s Group secretary) has produced a series of books, based on true events, about Izzie the dog: a little terrier, big in personality. Born in Dublin, lost as a puppy, she survives as a stray with the help from the new friends she meets along the way, and from Benni the streetwise dog. Her adventures include life in Dublin, how she comes to be chosen as a Hearing Dog and her travels to England for training.

Mike decided to donate royalties from the book to Hearing Dogs for Deaf People. FACT: It costs £25,000 to train and maintain a Hearing Dog!

You can buy Mike’s humorous, hopeful and happy book ‘A Small Dog Story’ from Amazon. You can also donate to the Hearing Dogs for Deaf People charity directly.

Recently, Mike got to entertain the children of Windsor with readings from his book plus ‘Izzie’s Journey’ games and he even taught children how to sign their name in BSL. Well done Mike! More people know about your fabulous books and the wonderful charity now.

Uncategorized

Technology – You’re a Pain…

Windsor Writers Group

Always ruining things. Here’s what we came up with when asked to write about when technology got in the way…

Ollie Looked at the Ring – by Mike Moss

Ollie looked at the ring one more time before he called. He had wanted to do it in person but had been called away on urgent business. Still, a proposal is a proposal. Anyway, not everyone proposes from a private jet flying at 30,000 feet. He checked the wifi, and pressed the Facetime call button. Emily’s face lit up the screen and his day.

‘Hi, Em, I have something important to say so let me say it. We’ve been going out for two years now, and I’ve had enough of just being girlfriend and boyfriend.’ Ollie snapped open the ring case. The overnight lights glinted in the huge diamond. ‘Will you marry me?’

Em is clearly shocked, thought Ollie. She hasn’t moved.

‘Em? Blast, the screen’s frozen.’ Ollie looked at the wifi signal. Gone. He sat back and wondered how much of that she had heard. He would call back in a few minutes.

Emily’s mother heard Emily sobbing in her bedroom.

‘Emily, are you alright? Can I come in?’ She pushed the door open to see Emily stretched out on her bed, crying.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’

Between sobs, Emily managed to explain. ‘Ollie called me. He said,’ sob. ‘That we’ve been going out for two years now, and he’s had enough,’ sob, sob, ‘and then he cut me off.’ Howl.

Avec Plaisir by Phil Appleton

The sky was a cloudless azure, with the slapping of the coastal waters on the car ferry sides the loudest sound to interfere with Michael’s gaze at Sonja’s profile. She looked magnificent as she stared out to the French port of St Malo with the docking procedure under way, dark brown hair topping her flawless, olive skin tone with the figure of a gymnast settled comfortably under a light green summer dress.

When he had been introduced to her, Michael knew he could find no better companion. The agency had done its job seamlessly from initial enquiry to delivery. From the first smile that Sonja had shone towards him to the quiet conversations in his English country home, the affection, respect and love between them had grown until he was ready to propose. 

They would take separate first class cabins on the boat, to maintain and save their passion for their first night together. They had breakfasted alone, he nervous that all his meticulous planning would come to nothing, while she remained completely trusting and untroubled.

And so it came to pass, that Michael’s dream of romance was fulfilled in their journey together, through the roads of rural France to his family’s retreat deep in the Brittany countryside. Everything was set: dinner collected from the local restaurant, the sun setting over the garden pond, and fresh sheets on the bed.

It only needed for Sonja to take her final charge for the night before Michael would hold her in his arms for the first time and consummate his plan of perfection. Which was when he realised that he hadn’t brought an adapter for the French two-pin plugs.

SLAYED – A Dreamscape Story by Kanthé

In my dream, I am riding a kid’s pushbike with a flat front tyre and very narrow handlebars. I am making my way from my In-laws place in Wolverhampton to Telford – a distance of barely 17 miles on a disabled bike. For something very important. I think this is what they call an anxiety dream.

On the corner of Lea Road and Retreat Street, I am distracted by two guys busking, as if for penny change. It’s Noddy Holder and Dave Hill – the two most recognisable members of 70’s glam rock band SLADE. A local band that has had 6 UK Number 1s including the perennial Merry Xmas Everybody and has been named the most successful band of the seventies. Why these wealthy individuals would feel the need to busk is governed by dream logic – as is the fact that they look exactly the same as they did 50 years ago.

I think: WOW – Slade busking in Wolves – when am I ever gonna see that again! Noddy in his mirrored Top Hat; Dave with his still ridiculous fringe and rabbit teeth. I whip out my white I-phone to capture this remarkable moment. But a smartphone is not like a camera where you point and click. With a phone – you need to put in the access code. I try to remember the code, try to find the right screen with the right symbol as my phone blips and bleeps at my feeble attempts. Laughing at me.

Noddy and Dave are already packing up due to them having an audience of just me. I try to keep them talking while my fingers press all the available keys to activate the camera function. All to no avail.

I tell them I’m such a fan. They ask me which is my favourite Slade song. None springs to mind. They give me a dirty Black Country look and disappear. I hate the technology that has failed me. I feel SLAYED…by Slade.

Say no to 5G by Vivien Eden

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. As soon as I get there, mic me up and I’ll do the sound check. What time are the delegates arriving?”

“They’re not supposed to be here until nine-thirty, but I’ve seen some in the foyer already. Do you think we’ll have time for one quick run through of the fintech slides?”

“Not a chance. I’m going to have to wing it. What the…?!” Matt slammed on his brake with both feet. A dreadful noise rang in his ears. The car skidded and eventually stopped, leaving his forehead a mere inch from the windscreen. Time hovered. He slammed unceremoniously back into his seat. The line went dead.

“Shit, shit!” Matt clutched his heaving chest with his right hand. His heartbeat was accelerating to a level he didn’t think possible – as if it had decided to live somewhere else and was moving out by brutally bashing its way out through his ribcage.  

A dreamlike sensation descended, yet his instincts knew that if ever there was a time… He switched the hazard warning lights on. A clicking noise played on repeat. Somewhere he could hear cheering.

The driver from the vehicle behind was knocking on the window.

“Oh my God! Are you OK?!”

Matt took in the sight of the severed mobile mast lying across the road before him. The voices approached:

Say no to 5G! Say no to 5G!

On The Beach by Robyn Kayes

Sunny day, blue sky, lying on the beach under an umbrella, surf-board ready for the waves. Early in the morning, it is peaceful and quiet; no one around except for a couple of runners. I continue reading my book, deep in another world. 

“Answer the phone, damn it!” 

I jerk my head up, out of the story as I hear the yelling from someone further down the beach.

“Oops! Sorry!” I shout, as my phone rings on. Hastily, I grab it, fumbling to silence the irritation.

Photo by Alex Knight

Creative Inspiration

An Octopus and Even Stranger Things have been Sighted in Windsor Great Park

Windsor Writers Group

Where to get that nugget of inspiration from? That crumb of brilliance that prompts an outpouring of ideas, adventures, emotions and characters. If in doubt, go for a walk. It’s an age old method that resulted in great success for Sue Blitz when she turned her walk into Battleground Great Park: a short story which will have you pondering what’s really going on with the trees.

Dead trees are selectively left within Windsor Great Park to provide habitats for woodlice, spiders, beetles, butterflies, ladybirds and other insects. Over the course of summer 2020, Sue caught some of these striking wooden masterpieces on camera. Not only are these fallen trees flourishing into wildlife communities, they also provided a flourish of characters for Sue’s story.

Do you see what Sue saw in the trees?

How could anyone fail to see the giant octopus camouflaged as this fallen tree? Given his size he must have been around for some time. What’s he doing there? What’s he thinking?
This snarling crocodile is waiting, just waiting… but for what? Can he move? What’s his prey of choice here in Windsor?
This misaligned eyes, the open mouth as if uttering a blood-curdling cry. This ancient tree has been possessed by an ogre… or was the ogre poseessed by the tree?

Battleground Great park features in Windsor Christmas Tales – a collection of short stories by Windsor Writers Group authors. Official launch is in November 2022.