Okay, today's Thursday, which means I've just had my creative writing lecture, so this means today's an easy one as I actually wrote in my lecture. Here we go:
The first is a poem based on a picture of screaming fans. There was a kid in this picture so I wrote from his perspective and thought of those clips of people screaming at The Beatles.
The day I saw John Lennon,
His glasses so lilac and pale.
I heard the shot and saw him fall
As his heart began to fail.
The crowd was hushed to silence
And then the screams, they started,
No longer joy at fever pitch
But shock and sorrow for our departed.
Imagine all the people,
I soon heard in my mind,
So lost without their icon
Taken before his time.
I'd never heard his music much.
I went there with my Mum.
But even I could understand
The horror just been done.
And then the next thing we had to do was come up with something we were passionate about, so I chose comic books. We then had to associate a group of people to this topic, so I chose superheroes. We then had to write as a collective mind from their perspective and try and put across a political viewpoint.
Worshipped as gods
High in our heavenly watchtower.
The world cries out for heroes
Because it cannot save itself.
We are the agents of justice,
Spandex clad warriors of hope.
But do we not cause harm,
Interfering with this world and
Fuelling complacency?
We cannot live forever.
Our time someday shall come.
And what then of those who we protect?
Who'll be the first to raise a gun?
So that's it for today folks. I'm now going to take part in a local ghost walk as a tour guide. Fun times!!
Thursday 28 October 2010
Tuesday 26 October 2010
In continuation.
Okay guys, something rare is about to happen... I am about to continue a story!!
I'm gonna carry on from where I left off the other day with my homage to Supernatural.
Jared span the cylinder within his pistol to make sure it wasn't going to jam before pressing on, pulling the collar on his jacket higher to try and keep the cold at bay a little more, but to no avail. He knew by now that when dealing with the ethereal cold associated with the creatures that he hunted, there was nothing material that could keep a body warm.
Frost was visible on the walls of the alley now and the floor was slick in parts with patches of black ice; Jared was close, he could feel it. He held his pistol ready and kept a close watch on the alleyway. There was a sudden crunch, like the splintering of wood. He turned to face the corner at the end of the alley where the sound emanated. There! Barrelling around the corner! It was Feral One. The legend goes that they were once normal men, but were driven from their homes and forced to live in the wilds, making pacts with dark spirits to survive the hardships before them, the dark energies of these spirits corrupting and twisting their flesh to the point where their muscles had contorted so much that the skin had literally begun to peel away and hung in tatters from their steel, sinewy muscles. It bounded down the alley and criss-crossed out of instinct to try and avoid the sight of Jared's gun, it's eyes glistening with a keen, wild ferocity. Jared braced, taking a step back and let loose two shots. The first went wide, punching a hole clean through a dumpster. The second shot ripped off the beast's leg at the shin as it leapt up and pounced, forcing Jared to the ground, its long, razorlike claws gripping and slicing into the flesh of his arm. Jared could do nothing but cry out in pain as he tried to wrestle the beast off of him, bu the creature's jaws were getting closer to his throat; he could feel the Feral One's breath on his neck, as icy cold as the alley, causing his skin to ripple with goosebumps, only to shiver and the cold needle drop of saliva that dripped upon him.
He had only one option left. It'd hurt like hell, but he'd live... With a roar indistinguishable from that of the beast that had him pinned, Jared twisted his arm, shredding his own flesh within the beasts claws so that his gun now pressed into the left eye of the creature.
What happened next, he'd never know. The next moment Jared knew, it was morning, and there he lay, still in the alley, now warm, surrounded by a congealing pool mixed from the beast's and his own blood. His clothes where a mess of red and black stains; the headless corpse of the creature still lay atop him and the only sensations he could feel were relief at still being alive, intense pain from his shredded left arm and an indescribable numb throbbing throughout his whole body, no doubt from the loss of blood. He smiled the faintest of smiles, coughed, and his eyes flickered closed, once more drifitng into unconciousness, unsure as to whether he would see another day.
So there you have it. Will there be more? Who knows? Not even I do at the moment!
I'm gonna carry on from where I left off the other day with my homage to Supernatural.
Jared span the cylinder within his pistol to make sure it wasn't going to jam before pressing on, pulling the collar on his jacket higher to try and keep the cold at bay a little more, but to no avail. He knew by now that when dealing with the ethereal cold associated with the creatures that he hunted, there was nothing material that could keep a body warm.
Frost was visible on the walls of the alley now and the floor was slick in parts with patches of black ice; Jared was close, he could feel it. He held his pistol ready and kept a close watch on the alleyway. There was a sudden crunch, like the splintering of wood. He turned to face the corner at the end of the alley where the sound emanated. There! Barrelling around the corner! It was Feral One. The legend goes that they were once normal men, but were driven from their homes and forced to live in the wilds, making pacts with dark spirits to survive the hardships before them, the dark energies of these spirits corrupting and twisting their flesh to the point where their muscles had contorted so much that the skin had literally begun to peel away and hung in tatters from their steel, sinewy muscles. It bounded down the alley and criss-crossed out of instinct to try and avoid the sight of Jared's gun, it's eyes glistening with a keen, wild ferocity. Jared braced, taking a step back and let loose two shots. The first went wide, punching a hole clean through a dumpster. The second shot ripped off the beast's leg at the shin as it leapt up and pounced, forcing Jared to the ground, its long, razorlike claws gripping and slicing into the flesh of his arm. Jared could do nothing but cry out in pain as he tried to wrestle the beast off of him, bu the creature's jaws were getting closer to his throat; he could feel the Feral One's breath on his neck, as icy cold as the alley, causing his skin to ripple with goosebumps, only to shiver and the cold needle drop of saliva that dripped upon him.
He had only one option left. It'd hurt like hell, but he'd live... With a roar indistinguishable from that of the beast that had him pinned, Jared twisted his arm, shredding his own flesh within the beasts claws so that his gun now pressed into the left eye of the creature.
What happened next, he'd never know. The next moment Jared knew, it was morning, and there he lay, still in the alley, now warm, surrounded by a congealing pool mixed from the beast's and his own blood. His clothes where a mess of red and black stains; the headless corpse of the creature still lay atop him and the only sensations he could feel were relief at still being alive, intense pain from his shredded left arm and an indescribable numb throbbing throughout his whole body, no doubt from the loss of blood. He smiled the faintest of smiles, coughed, and his eyes flickered closed, once more drifitng into unconciousness, unsure as to whether he would see another day.
So there you have it. Will there be more? Who knows? Not even I do at the moment!
Sunday 24 October 2010
Here we go again!
Well guys, I thought I'd try something a bit different again tonight, some observational poetry, and seeing as I'm sitting here currently in rehearsal for a show I'm in on Wednesday, what better opportunity to observe than with a variety of wonderful peoples around me. This one's close to my heart because we've, I think I'm well within my rights to say this, lost access to the drama studio at the last minute and have been basically bent over and violated as a society... So yeah, there we go!
Spotlight's on us
The stage is set, the actor's prepare,
Donning their outfits and doing their hair.
Some say this show's a shambles,
But we don't really care.
We're going to give you a show,
One you'll never forget.
Well worth the price of admission
Though we've no real costumes or set.
We've comedy, and songs and even some poi.
This is a night you'll always remember
For its laughter, its mirth and its joy
So close to the month of November.
This is no ordinary show my friends,
I'll tell you how it goes.
This is our protest to make amends
Against our lack of studio.
So roll up roll up,
Come one, come all,
This isn't the greatest show on earth,
But we're damned if we're gonna fall!
Spotlight's on us
The stage is set, the actor's prepare,
Donning their outfits and doing their hair.
Some say this show's a shambles,
But we don't really care.
We're going to give you a show,
One you'll never forget.
Well worth the price of admission
Though we've no real costumes or set.
We've comedy, and songs and even some poi.
This is a night you'll always remember
For its laughter, its mirth and its joy
So close to the month of November.
This is no ordinary show my friends,
I'll tell you how it goes.
This is our protest to make amends
Against our lack of studio.
So roll up roll up,
Come one, come all,
This isn't the greatest show on earth,
But we're damned if we're gonna fall!
Saturday 23 October 2010
Take 2 - Let's see how this goes.
Okay guys, it's been a lousy two days so far. Been suffering with a head cold (Not the man flu before anybody says that!) so this ramble comes in the form of some fiction for you that I'm just gonna go with and see what comes out. So here goes nothing I guess:
Jared watched as the heat from his breath created a cloud of mist on the cold night air. It was dark; Jared always felt uneasy in the dark. There were, things, in the dark. It had been ten long years since the death of Jared's parents and he still to this day was tracking down the organisation responsible for their murder, a sacrifice to ancient spirits from what he'd gathered. Ten long years since he'd vowed to train, to improve, to study and learn all he could about the creatures that dwelled within the darkness. Jared knew of the dangers that lurked all around him, within the alleys, the sewers, the very shadows themselves and he clutched the gun braced beneath his long coat for comfort. He knew that whatever would try and get the drop on him, or whatever he would try and confront, it would lead him one step closer to finding the cult that killed his family; whether providing him with information, or just sharpening his skills to an even finer point.
A crash, down the alley! Jared swung and raised his flashlight to try and get a better view. Nothing. Not a creature at least, just a lid from a trash can, still spinning before clattering to the ground. Jared sighed and moved his hand to actually grasp the handle of his gun before turning to continue along the side street.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Jared could've swore that it had become colder the further down the street he walked. Unholstering his gun, an oversized eight-chambered magnum with the title "Virtus" engraved along the barrel. He closed his eyes briefly and held the gun to his chest, offering a short, silent prayer to guide his bullets; his own special blend of flechette rounds that mixed the regular charge with silver nitrate and halite, rock salt, one of the purest substances known to man. He moved his flashlight and braced his pistol overarm so that he could aim directly into the light's beam and continued walking, noticing his breath misting even more and the ambient light becoming more scarce; something was near.
So yeah, that's what you get today. I might carry this on another day, but for now I'm gonna leave you with that. And yes, I have been watching a lot of Supernatural lately, so this is kind of a little homage, what with the rock salt and the character being named Jared (Padalecki - Sam Winchester from the series) So who knows, maybe I'll continue this, maybe I won't (Sorry Carrie.)
Adios for now!
Jared watched as the heat from his breath created a cloud of mist on the cold night air. It was dark; Jared always felt uneasy in the dark. There were, things, in the dark. It had been ten long years since the death of Jared's parents and he still to this day was tracking down the organisation responsible for their murder, a sacrifice to ancient spirits from what he'd gathered. Ten long years since he'd vowed to train, to improve, to study and learn all he could about the creatures that dwelled within the darkness. Jared knew of the dangers that lurked all around him, within the alleys, the sewers, the very shadows themselves and he clutched the gun braced beneath his long coat for comfort. He knew that whatever would try and get the drop on him, or whatever he would try and confront, it would lead him one step closer to finding the cult that killed his family; whether providing him with information, or just sharpening his skills to an even finer point.
A crash, down the alley! Jared swung and raised his flashlight to try and get a better view. Nothing. Not a creature at least, just a lid from a trash can, still spinning before clattering to the ground. Jared sighed and moved his hand to actually grasp the handle of his gun before turning to continue along the side street.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Jared could've swore that it had become colder the further down the street he walked. Unholstering his gun, an oversized eight-chambered magnum with the title "Virtus" engraved along the barrel. He closed his eyes briefly and held the gun to his chest, offering a short, silent prayer to guide his bullets; his own special blend of flechette rounds that mixed the regular charge with silver nitrate and halite, rock salt, one of the purest substances known to man. He moved his flashlight and braced his pistol overarm so that he could aim directly into the light's beam and continued walking, noticing his breath misting even more and the ambient light becoming more scarce; something was near.
So yeah, that's what you get today. I might carry this on another day, but for now I'm gonna leave you with that. And yes, I have been watching a lot of Supernatural lately, so this is kind of a little homage, what with the rock salt and the character being named Jared (Padalecki - Sam Winchester from the series) So who knows, maybe I'll continue this, maybe I won't (Sorry Carrie.)
Adios for now!
Thursday 21 October 2010
A new project?!
Okay, I was going to wait until January to start this, and it may not start properly until then, but I'm creating the blog now while I think on.
The purpose of this blog is first and foremost as a place to develop my abilities as a writer: What this means is that I shall be updating regularly with little snippets of original poetry, or short fiction that my mind creates, with the intention of, from January, updating with a piece of original writing a day!
Now, don't fret, I'm not going to let this distract from my responsibilities from the Three Guys site at all (Which by the way, is currently on hold until we get around to refilming the footage for our big 30th articleversay!)
So, to get the ball rolling, here are a few choice offerings from my notepad that I'd like to share with you.
First, some haiku:
Massive astroturf.
Field of battle and sporting.
Slippery when wet.
Oxfam ensure life.
Three pounds a month they ask for.
Sponsor a child please.
And then a short poem created as part of a defamiliarisation exercise where we were given, as a class, a variety of items and told to relate them to a person we know, so here's what I came up with:
My brother is a bucket,
Wider at the top than at the bottom,
And holds a great many things.
As solid as steel
But never as cold,
And holds a great many things.
Sometimes, he's like a sandwhich,
Brown or white on the outside,
And holds a great many things.
Perhaps he might be a briefcase;
Official, and hinged at the base,
And holds a great many things.
Though he's definitely more of a box,
With many sides and uses,
And holds a great many things.
My brother is a Father,
With a wife and sons kept close.
He holds a great many things.
So that'll do you for now. I'll hopefully whack up a bit of short fiction by the end of the day, see what my mind comes up with, but it's only now that I realise that, with all this time I'm dedicating to writing, I could just direct it on writing my actual novel I'm working on, but more on that another time.
This is Mr Craiggy, signing out for now!
The purpose of this blog is first and foremost as a place to develop my abilities as a writer: What this means is that I shall be updating regularly with little snippets of original poetry, or short fiction that my mind creates, with the intention of, from January, updating with a piece of original writing a day!
Now, don't fret, I'm not going to let this distract from my responsibilities from the Three Guys site at all (Which by the way, is currently on hold until we get around to refilming the footage for our big 30th articleversay!)
So, to get the ball rolling, here are a few choice offerings from my notepad that I'd like to share with you.
First, some haiku:
Massive astroturf.
Field of battle and sporting.
Slippery when wet.
Oxfam ensure life.
Three pounds a month they ask for.
Sponsor a child please.
And then a short poem created as part of a defamiliarisation exercise where we were given, as a class, a variety of items and told to relate them to a person we know, so here's what I came up with:
My brother is a bucket,
Wider at the top than at the bottom,
And holds a great many things.
As solid as steel
But never as cold,
And holds a great many things.
Sometimes, he's like a sandwhich,
Brown or white on the outside,
And holds a great many things.
Perhaps he might be a briefcase;
Official, and hinged at the base,
And holds a great many things.
Though he's definitely more of a box,
With many sides and uses,
And holds a great many things.
My brother is a Father,
With a wife and sons kept close.
He holds a great many things.
So that'll do you for now. I'll hopefully whack up a bit of short fiction by the end of the day, see what my mind comes up with, but it's only now that I realise that, with all this time I'm dedicating to writing, I could just direct it on writing my actual novel I'm working on, but more on that another time.
This is Mr Craiggy, signing out for now!
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