Friday, 11 March 2011
"Idea" (a.k.a. Mr. Pondersome's Arguably Convoluted Attempt to Appeal to the Toddler Demographic)
Hullo all,
Please pardon my tardiness; I've been rather busy again. Nevertheless I'm still feeling particularly experimental in the creativity department and so have composed (or at least attempted to compose) a short children's story. I've kept it short for two good reasons:
1. I'm trying to write for 2-3 year old children, an audience whom lenghty plot and detailed character development would be wasted upon.
2. I'm dealing with a rather big abstract issue. To go beyond a seven-word sentence would make matters even more complicated.
The basis of this story is 'What is an Idea'? Now I realise that even fully-grown-up intellectuals aren't exactly sure what the answer to that question is, but I thought I'd give it a crack. Just for the kids.
The story itself will be broken down into eight pictorial blank-background squares and nearly all the illustrated features were computer-drawn by me (I think you'll be able to spot which are Clipart's fine handiwork). I keep the sentences big, short and, wherever possible, colourful. I shall submit all eight individually as short blog posts in their own right as soon as possible.
Finally, before you read them, I want to stress that I am by no means a children's writer and that this is purely an experiment to test my own writing capabilities. If you do have any criticisms, do try to make the constructive and not soul-destroying, eh?
Anyhoo, have fun, kiddies!!! :D.
Mr. Pondersome
Please pardon my tardiness; I've been rather busy again. Nevertheless I'm still feeling particularly experimental in the creativity department and so have composed (or at least attempted to compose) a short children's story. I've kept it short for two good reasons:
1. I'm trying to write for 2-3 year old children, an audience whom lenghty plot and detailed character development would be wasted upon.
2. I'm dealing with a rather big abstract issue. To go beyond a seven-word sentence would make matters even more complicated.
The basis of this story is 'What is an Idea'? Now I realise that even fully-grown-up intellectuals aren't exactly sure what the answer to that question is, but I thought I'd give it a crack. Just for the kids.
The story itself will be broken down into eight pictorial blank-background squares and nearly all the illustrated features were computer-drawn by me (I think you'll be able to spot which are Clipart's fine handiwork). I keep the sentences big, short and, wherever possible, colourful. I shall submit all eight individually as short blog posts in their own right as soon as possible.
Finally, before you read them, I want to stress that I am by no means a children's writer and that this is purely an experiment to test my own writing capabilities. If you do have any criticisms, do try to make the constructive and not soul-destroying, eh?
Anyhoo, have fun, kiddies!!! :D.
Mr. Pondersome
Monday, 28 February 2011
"Among the Magpies" Part 7: A SECRET NEVER TO BE TOLD (The Alternative Ending)
Hullo, all!
A brief note before I show Part 7.2. Having gathered some constructive criticism from some friends and fellow writers (you know who you are, m'dears) and having looked it over myself, I realise that the last ending may have been a little too extreme. I was testing out my capability to incorporate shocks and stings into narrative flow and obviously, for this particular writing experiment, it failed.
So, as to compensate for the disappointment which some of you may be feeling, I have made a second alternative ending. I promise that this one is much more nourishing to the human mind and soul without all the bird-chomping yuckiness of the original. I hope that it is, at the very least, a more tactful ending:
The magpies have gathered in their favourite spot. Never seen so many. As I approach them, six fly away. One remains on the grass, laid down on its side. It has been there since the evening, it had stared at us. Indignantly. I tried shooing it, but it didn’t move far.
I pick it up with spotless palms. Maybe a little bit of it went with her. I bring it close, brush aside the feathers. I gaze into its black bead eyes; all glazed over, and see it. See her lips part open, see her fist reach out, see her fall under. It’s all too shiny, these curving reflections. Shiny and upside down. They’re boring me.
I carry the dead thing to the bin and drop it. A little feather clings on, curling between my middle fingers. I blow it away.
Her giggle passes overhead, but it’s just the birds.
So, what did you think? Aside from a few bumps and knots in the narrative, I'd say it was quite a fair success. Who knows, I may even broach the world of (semi)realistic contemporary serial fiction again sometime. Maybe...
Mr. Pondersome
A brief note before I show Part 7.2. Having gathered some constructive criticism from some friends and fellow writers (you know who you are, m'dears) and having looked it over myself, I realise that the last ending may have been a little too extreme. I was testing out my capability to incorporate shocks and stings into narrative flow and obviously, for this particular writing experiment, it failed.
So, as to compensate for the disappointment which some of you may be feeling, I have made a second alternative ending. I promise that this one is much more nourishing to the human mind and soul without all the bird-chomping yuckiness of the original. I hope that it is, at the very least, a more tactful ending:
I came back that way again, this afternoon. I know the cobbles too well and they know me. I’m not going to look at the place any differently now, though; don’t need to. I got her back and in the sweetest way. A night together. Enough.
I don’t see her anymore. She eventually got away from me. Flew off in the morning, like the rest. I hope to catch her again sometime. I won’t.The magpies have gathered in their favourite spot. Never seen so many. As I approach them, six fly away. One remains on the grass, laid down on its side. It has been there since the evening, it had stared at us. Indignantly. I tried shooing it, but it didn’t move far.
I pick it up with spotless palms. Maybe a little bit of it went with her. I bring it close, brush aside the feathers. I gaze into its black bead eyes; all glazed over, and see it. See her lips part open, see her fist reach out, see her fall under. It’s all too shiny, these curving reflections. Shiny and upside down. They’re boring me.
I carry the dead thing to the bin and drop it. A little feather clings on, curling between my middle fingers. I blow it away.
Her giggle passes overhead, but it’s just the birds.
So, what did you think? Aside from a few bumps and knots in the narrative, I'd say it was quite a fair success. Who knows, I may even broach the world of (semi)realistic contemporary serial fiction again sometime. Maybe...
Mr. Pondersome
"Among the Magpies" Part 7 - A SECRET NEVER TO BE TOLD
I came back that way again, this afternoon. I know the cobbles too well and they know me. I’m not going to look at the place any differently now, though; don’t need to. I got her back and in the sweetest way. A night together. Enough.
I don’t see her anymore. She eventually got away from me. Flew off in the morning, like the rest. But there will be more, of course. Plenty more chances.
The magpies have gathered again. Never seen so many. As I approach them, six fly away. One remains on the grass, laid down on its side. It has been there since the evening, it had stared at us. Indignantly. I tried shooing it, but it didn’t move far.
I pick it up with spotless palms. Maybe a little bit of it went with her. I bring it close, brush aside the feathers. My teeth sink into the exposed white underneath. Slowly, of course. It tastes so sweet and pretty and soft. That’s her, alright.
Her giggle passes overhead, but it’s just the birds.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
"Among the Magpies" Part 6 - SILVER
She came. It’s getting to be a routine, our little run-ins. I stepped out and smiled for her.
“Excuse me.”
She looked up from her phone. Those eyes.
“Is this your umbrella?”
They sparked. “Oh, yeah! I was wondering where that had gotten to. God! Where did you find it?”
“Over there, near the bushes.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks.” Her phone chimes at us. “Sorry, just gimme a sec. Could you hold this?”
She passed it back to me. I turned away and gazed over her shoulder. The bottom of the cobbles. Five magpies forming a ring. Closing.
“Oh, hi, babes! Yeah, I know, I’ll be along in a minute. You know the path up from the back of the station? What? No! We came this way three days ago! Remember now? Well...”
Three days ago. Here. Him. I clutched the gilded handle. Fake metal on tightening skin.
“Chat soon! Bye!” She closed her phone. “Right then. Where were we?”
I raised the umbrella. Light. Quick. Cheap. The gold flaked away and revealed a bare shine. Nothing but metal. Nothing but silver.
I like to think she didn’t feel it much. Just the right amount. I brought her home. I carried her all the way.
Friday, 25 February 2011
"Among the Magpies" Part 5 - GOLD
Guess what I found today, wading through the tall grass? Her umbrella.
I was chasing away the recent infestation of magpies (six – numbers seem to be growing) and I stumbled over something shiny. I recognised the gilded handle, slightly scuffed in places but intact. I pulled it out, opened it up and checked if it was alright. No tears or anything.
When I see her again, I’ll pass it on. She will say thank you. I’ll say something funny with regards to the situation. She will laugh. Then, if I did things right, she will ask me out for coffee or lunch or ice cream or something with her. If not, then I have my lighter with me.
She can’t say no. She will have to talk with me now. She must see me.
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