Short Story - Goats.

This is a short story I wrote for creative writing, I'm going to submit it for my portfolio so if you could take just a minute to give me a little bit of feedback that would be amazing. The outline was: Write a short story in 500 words in a world that involves creatures other than humans, in a world where there are psychic abilities, with the characters partaking in a rite of passage. So here you go.. it's a bit far fetched...

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this” I sighed to the choir master. “He’s the second black spot this week. We couldn’t even finish the ceremony on Thursday!”

“Perhaps we can distract the guests, and more importantly the bride?”

“They’re bound to notice it. And it’ll grow more prominent with every lie he tells.” I turned to the window and watched as the limousine pulled up outside the church. The goat-people had been honest souls for thousands of years. Most had complex psychic abilities so lying was pointless. Lies and betrayal brought the young men of the species out in a rash that was known as the black spot. It began in the fur between the horns and could be groomed in such a way that is was not as obvious, but in consistent liars it could spread like wild fire, across the face, out over the shoulders and down over the entire body. It was common knowledge that the rashes could only be eradicated by the sinner overcoming one of the significant rites of passage of life. Hence the rise in Black Spots desperate to marry. I nodded absent-mindedly at the choir master.

“It’s time.” We left the small room and parted ways. I approached the altar and stood next to Black Spot Bill.

“You better know what you’re doing” I whispered. He gave me a sly wink and produced a top hat from behind his back. He positioned it on his head, guiding his long yellowing horns through the tailored holes. It almost completely covered the black rash growing between them. He then dug his hooves into the pockets of his tuxedo and stood nonchalantly watching as the door to the church swung open.

            The hat seemed effective for the majority of the service; his bride was far too occupied with her big day to notice the blackening fur on his forehead.

            “Repeat after me,” I said to him, “I, Bill Grayson take you, Ann Peters, to be my lawfully wedded wife”. He choked on the last word and as he turned back to face me I saw the black spot growing with every lie. He’d struck lucky, found a girl without psychic abilities so he could live his sordid, cheating lifestyle without being caught out by the power of the mind. But he couldn’t hide the black spot. It wasn’t long before she’d notice; almost his entire head was an ominous dark hue now. A couple of guests were fidgeting; they’d seen.

            “To have and to hold.”

            “To have and to hold.” His voice was shaking, he could feel himself changing.

            “For better or worse.”

            “For better or worse.” She was watching his every move from beneath her veil. Her expression concealed whether or not she had noticed; she was focused, but not furious. And it was spreading to his shoulders. I was unsure if I should carry on the ceremony; I could see him willing me to hurry up and say the words that would set him free. His large front teeth bit his bottom lip between repeating my words.

            “I now pronounce you goat and wife.” I said, hesitantly. There was a static that filled the air surrounding him, and before she had lifted the veil, the black rash had vanished. 

Finished

So it appears that I might actually have finished my work for uni. A whole year of uni done. I just need to write two references, compile everything into one document and then submit. This year has gone abnormally quickly. And now months and months of summer are stretching out in front of me but I can't see it yet. I haven't got that 'I'm finished' feeling. Tomorrow I'm going to go into uni and submit it all, and maybe then the feeling will hit me. Or the day after when the actual deadline is. Tonight we're off to Amagi, I need a good night out. I haven't been feeling myself lately. I don't know why.

Heat - Denis Johnson

I just wanted to post the original poem: Heat by Denis Johnson for you to see too. It's in sonnet form, which means a poem of 14 lines, usually in iambic pentameter, which means 10 syllable lines. This sonnet is not in iambic pentameter and neither is the poem I wrote using the end-words of Heat.


Here in the electric dusk your naked lover
tips the glass high and the ice cubes fall against her teeth.
It's beautiful Susan, her hair sticky with gin,
Our Lady of Wet Glass-Rings on the Album Cover,
streaming with hatred in the heat
as the record falls and the snake-band chords begin
to break like terrible news from the Rolling Stones,
and such a last light—full of spheres and zones.
August,
you're just an erotic hallucination,
just so much feverishly produced kazoo music,
are you serious?—this large oven impersonating night,
this exhaustion mutilated to resemble passion,
the bogus moon of tenderness and magic
you hold out to each prisoner like a cup of light?

Sonnet

At the moment I'm feeling like my life lacks productivity, so I thought I'd share some of my recent creative work with you all. Today.. poems! Wait, before you do that 'ugh poems' face, they aren't free verse yawn-worthy poems, they all have structures, and apart from the sonnet are personal to me. The sonnet was just something I wrote in the middle of the night, I think I'll post that one first. It was constructed using the end-words of Heat by Denis Johnson, which is a really beautiful poem. My sonnet is about how love grows old.

Lying awake next to an out-dated lover

The relentless sound of grinding teeth

And overpowering stench of gin

Spilt from the glass, soaked into the bed cover

Unable to sleep in the crippling heat,

The uneasy thoughts begin.

In twenty years you’ve gained three stones

I’m forbidden from nearing your erogenous zones

The sticky humidity delivers hallucinations

Us dancing, echoing ballrooms and 80’s music.

I dream of dark December nights

Evenings gone by were full of passion,

The forgotten chemistry a form of magic

Lost now, decades on, in August moonlight.

Left Arrow Three

Happy Birthday. You are finally 18. I remember back in the day, right in the beginning, your birthday was talked about pretty often. Possibly even the first thing I said to you every time we'd speak. 10 DAYS!! 9 DAYS WOO! and so on. As you can see nothing's really changed. I texted you just now to say Happy Birthday, earlier in the day to remind you that it was tomorrow and yesterday as well? Always more excited than you. But I was counting down, and probably annoying the hell out of you as we didn't really know each other then. But looking back, I just remember your birthday being on the 18th, the same day as your maths GCSE and my retake. And then came your birthday, the day you turn the same age as me for a month and a day. Then last year, of course I remember staying up. I miss that you know. And this year, well you will see when you open it. I really really really hope you like it. And I hope you have an amazing day. We were 15 and 16, that sounds so young now. Both actually adults now, agh that scares me! But it feels like I've known you so much longer. Anyway. Everyone join me in wishing my favourite person a very happy birthday. <3

Vanishing Act

So I've handed in my slightly rushed essay (deadline was this morning and I only started looking at it on Saturday evening) and my next deadline isn't for two weeks. So I'm giving myself a couple of days off. I thought I might use them to get a bit of writing done. I find it strange how I enjoy writing my own things but detest essay writing. And some kind of writer's block has developed over the years; I miss the days when I literally couldn't write fast enough to record all of the ideas in my head. The ink didn't flow fast enough to capture everything I wanted to say in that moment. And that used to annoy me; these days I'd love that to happen. It comes, just trickling from the tap instead of full force. But I thought of a new story idea, and maybe it will entrance me so much that I'll revert to my original way of writing. I've done my fair share of thinking about disappearing over the years, and I was flicking through the channels and stumbled upon a programme called 'Missing'. It's basically about people who just vanish. Drop off the planet. Fade into nothing. Leave no trace. And there was an old woman who had disappeared. One of her family suggested a way she might have vanished and it just struck me as an interesting idea for a story. I, personally, had never even thought about disappearing in that way. Somewhere in my head it triggered the 'that's a good idea' switch, so I've started a story about it. But I won't give anything away since it will probably end up on here if I ever finish it. And just for the record, I'm not thinking about disappearing anytime soon so it's not a reflection on my own life, I just liked the idea. Four little words, they could sprout into pages and pages.

Ignorance

My blog from last night got deleted, there was some kind of error with blogspot. I hope it comes back, I hate it when things I write get deleted, which is why I'll probably never end up pursuing a career as a writer; it's all about deleting. It's more about deleting than it is writing, if there's one thing I've learnt from uni this year. I had a good day today, I will blog properly about it later or another day. But it was a good day. A better day than yesterday. I want my blog post back, but I know at least ten of you read it, so at least I got things off my chest a little. What I want to say now is too clear, so I'll be misting it up a little. Code is easier. I still haven't replied. I still haven't worked out what I want. It's cruel to leave them waiting but I don't know any better. But something clicked about five minutes ago and I was going to tweet it but here is easier. And there is no word limit. I think I know why I don't know. It's because we're in the same position, except her's was real and mine never really was. I just wanted it to be, and it could have been. But I stopped it. So to use the same excuse would be wrong but actually, it is still true. There was a post on here a while back, I can't remember when, which outlined the plan. It's a lot of months later now. I still went through with the main part, but the repercussions, they never really worked. There was something, an untold something, a message undelivered. So I'll never know. But I hope this makes you smile. I think, actually, that's what I was put here for, to try to do just that. And I think that's why I don't know, because I never knew. So I'm not replying. I'll say maybe tomorrow again. And again probably, until it turns into forever. It was just a blip.Or was it? This would be so much easier if I knew, and if I was better with words. Everything is so jumbled up in my head, I wonder how the words come out in a legible order at all.

Maybe Tomorrow

Today is the 12th of May. What would have been Jordan's 19th birthday, the day I won an award for Academic Excellence at uni, and the day you decided it would be a good idea to speak to me again. That's a lot of things for one day. This time last year Charlotte took me to lay flowers down, and then we went to my lake and talked. I wish I could have done the same today but I can't get home. But Jord, know I'm thinking of you. And Happy Birthday, I love you so much, and I miss you every single day. I should have left the sad bit til last, I'm all upset now. I won an award at uni today. Right now I don't really feel it. I'm still ill, yesterday I was at the hospital most of the day being tested for Glandular Fever. So after the ceremony I came back to halls and fell asleep til just now. And I find a text. The first half was good text material. The rest: the sort of thing you have no idea how to reply to. And I haven't figured out in my head yet whether or not I want to reply. I don't know what I want, but I definitely didn't want what happened, well I did but not the way it panned out in the end. I've never felt like such a twat in my life. Afterwards I went into central and met Yaz, and it all just poured out, as soon as I saw her I started crying and she gave me the longest hug. I was doing so well and it was about five steps back, when I'd only come about 6 steps in the first place. Then I cried all the way home, and convinced myself that 'let's not talk for a while', meant 'let's not talk again ever'. But here we are, and now I'm the one who has to differentiate between the two. I really, really don't know what I should do, I need a hug, I need some guidance. Because texting back here doesn't just mean texting back, it means something else. Forgiveness maybe? Friendship. Understanding. And a large amount of bounce-back-ness. And I still have to think about whether I want, or can do those things. And whether I'm the kind of person who can do that. I haven't thought about it because I was under the impression of 'let's not talk again ever'. So I didn't need to think about it. But now I do. And that will take me time. I'll just try to keep the time under two days and eight minutes; Imogen Heap says that's too long. I think I'll follow the advice of Snow Patrol, 'Don't think, just do'. But not today. I'll do on a day that isn't important for as many reasons. Tomorrow maybe. Maybe tomorrow.

Short Story - Feedback Please!

Right, here's a short story I wrote for Creative Writing, I've been editing it but I'd really like some constructive criticism from you all, it would really help me. Have a read and let me know what you think, what needs changing, which bits you like, which bits you hate, anything! We had to take the first line from a short story that already exists and carry the story on from there. Comment with your suggestions or tweet me at @missfranklin on Twitter! :)

Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet. She ached to sit down but she hadn’t time. She had been left, once again, to right her father’s shoddy work, whilst he lay snoring heavily in his basement bedroom. She had received a predictable phone call at 3am; her father slurring and hiccoughing between pleas for a favour. A favour that she hadn’t minded too much on the first couple of occasions, but that had become a great burden to her over time. The morning light was beginning to creep in through the windows and she knew she’d be hard-pressed to get the house cleaned thoroughly before Mr Sullivan and his perfectionist wife returned. They had been to one of their company balls and would undoubtedly return a little worse for wear a few hours after sunrise. Lily’s father had taken the rare opportunity of having the house to himself to invite a couple of his old drinking pals over for a party of their own. He had always been an opportunist. It was incredible how much mess three sixty year-olds could create in one evening.

The house reeked of alcohol wall to wall; beer had been trodden into the shagpile carpets and bottles lined the windowsills. It looked as if twenty men had been drinking there last night, but Lily knew her father didn’t have that many friends. There was a large amount of salt poured over the dining table, almost as even as a fresh blanket of snow, only three names had been traced into it with a drunken fingertip. Beside her father’s name were the names of his partners in crime, Terry and Bill. Together the three were a lethal combination and always managed to cause a considerable amount of trouble. She shook her head. Lily was used to cleaning up after her father, but this was definitely the worst she’d seen it. Her father’s drinking had become completely out of hand; she threw her bucket to the floor and decided that this would be the last time she’d cover for him.

Lily wondered how her father had managed to afford such a large quantity of alcohol on his basic wages. She rolled her eyes and feared the worst. She darted into the kitchen, where the cupboard doors were flung open, and the bare insides told her everything she needed to know. She cursed him under her breath; he was fast becoming a wreck of a man that she could barely recognise.

She scrubbed at the walls and mopped the floors, wiped the table clean and picked up countless bottle caps. She knew their game; they flicked them across the room purposely, competing on distance and sniggering hoarsely at each other’s efforts. She collected all the bottles and threw them into a black sack. She sprayed the kitchen and dining room with air freshener in a last attempt to mask the stench and rehearsed the scolding she planned to give her father. Rolling her eyes she mopped her brow and took a step back. Looking around the room she deemed it almost passable. She was just straightening the chairs around the dining table as she heard the front door swing open in the hallway and ricochet back off the wall. Lily froze in the dining room.

“David!” Mrs Sullivan screeched. “Try a lighter touch. My head is already pounding.”

“I’m aware.” He replied. “You’ve been moaning about it for the entire journey.” Mrs Sullivan sighed heavily. Lily bent down to pick up the cleaning supplies, biting her lip in an attempt to remain as quiet as possible. As she heard footsteps nearing she pelted across the room. Just as the door opened to the dining room, Lily closed the door to the basement behind her, and stood with her back against it, mop and bucket in hand. She muffled her panting with a fist and listened intently for the reaction of the Sullivans. There was a lingering silence and Lily held her breath. But after a few seconds she exhaled, hearing the staircase above her creak. As they climbed, she descended, down into the basement to yell at her letdown of a father. With each step she thought of more insults to shout at him; her anger inside her was boiling over. She’d almost been caught and she was fuming.

            From across the room Lily saw that the duvet was pulled up around him and the overpowering smell of alcohol stung her eyes. She blinked, adjusting to the dim light and then the thunderous silence hit her. He wasn’t snoring. She grabbed a corner of the duvet and pulled it away, revealing a large pool of vomit. It smelt vile, almost toxic. Crouching down she stared into his glassy, vacant eyes. Dropping the bucket by his bedside she offered a tentative finger out to his cheek and stroked his cold, unshaven white face. The usual purple hue had drained away. Lily gulped back her own vomit and picked up the vodka bottle from the floor. She swigged it, replaced it, and left, never looking back.

Please let me know what you think!

Thank You!

Just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who helped me out with the questionnaire for my English coursework, all your responses were brilliant. Some were absolutely hilarious as well and I got some really funny looks in the library laughing out loud at some of them. Thanks for taking the time to fill it in, together you gave me around 2,500 words to work with, fantastic! You are all such stars. My essay is now a work in progress, at 650 words at the moment so it's coming along nicely. I'll let you know how it all goes when I've finished it and when I get the results back, you will all get a big thank you then too I'm sure. Thank you so, so much! :)

Product Name Questionnaire - Please Help!!

Right guys, I need your help for my English Language coursework. If you could fill in this questionnaire I would be really grateful. Just leave your responses as a comment below if possible or you can tweet me your answers at @missfranklin on Twitter. Thank you!!!

Look at the follow brand/product/business names, and tell me what you would imagine the brand/product/business sells or produces and what impression you would gather from the company from the name. Try to imagine that you have not heard of the name before, basically what I need to know is what impression an English speaker gets of a product from the product's name. If you haven't heard of the name before that's even better, just think about what you think it could be selling. Try not to look them up!!

For example:

Directline. This name implies that you get straight through directly over the phone line, or it could also come across as a travel company, implying that you get straight to your destination via the quickest possible direct route or line.

Here are the brand/product/business names I need you to help with.

• Nescafe
• Addictionary
• Powerade
• Red Bull
• Calgon
• Talk Talk
• Easyjet
• National Express
• Mothercare
• Fanta
• Utterly Butterly
• Netgear
• Playdough
• E-harmony
• HMV

Thank you so much!!

Brighton, Pete Bennett & Joe Mcelderry

I have so much work to do, and blogging is the last thing I should be spending time on but I feel like I've been neglecting it and I need a break. And this kills two birds with one stone. So here I am. Had a brilliant weekend in Brighton. Met Pete Bennett from Big Brother.. remember him? Bumped into him in Revenge and had a chat; looked like most people were too drunk to recognise him so I took the opportunity whilst it was there.. he's a really nice guy!

Then on the Saturday night Joe Mcelderry was playing at Coalition where we were, and he played his cover of Nerina Pallot's 'Real Late Starter'. He's not to my usual taste but I couldn't resist dancing to a song I knew so well! It was a great live performance and 'Ambitions' also sounded incredible. 

One of the best weekends in a while, definitely! There was going to be a point to this blog post, I was leading somewhere but I've completely forgotten.. so expect another one when I remember what I was going to say!!