Posts Tagged creative writing

Jenny and Mary out to play

Chris Killip image

Photo by Chris Killip

Another rough and ready bit of creative writing – the result of a second ‘story circle’ exercise we were set during the digital storytelling course I attended over over Easter. We had to very quickly create a story from a photograph we were shown. Above is the brilliant photo by Chris Killip. Here’s what I came up with:

School was finished for the day and there were still a fair few hours left until teatime. Jenny’s grandmother, anxious to have Jenny out from under her feet whilst her parents were still at the factory and she was busy cooking, told her to go out and play. It was the usual daily routine.

Jenny went out and was unsurprised to see Mary already out on the street. Jenny sat down next to her on the kerb of the pavement and saw the she was sucking on a bright orange lolly.

“Where did you get that?” asked Jenny.

“That guy with the camera over the road just give it me,” said Mary. “I’ll bet if you asked him, he’d give you one too.”

Jenny pondered on this for a moment. She’d been told not to accept sweets from strangers, that it might be dangerous. But Mary seemed fine and the lolly didn’t appear to be poisoned. Jenny knew her parents wouldn’t like her getting sweets from strangers but she very much wanted a lolly…

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Grandmother takes the tube

random words

One of ‘story circle’ exercises we were set during the digital storytelling course I attended over over Easter was to very quickly create a story from a series of random words we’d all come up with. Above is the picture of the words we were working with. Here’s is the story I came up with:

Grandmother didn’t know what possessed her to take the journey at rush hour but she regretted it when she found herself struggling to get on the train from the packed platform. She found herself swept up by the tide of people onto the train, where she was wedged in between the crowd and a plastic panel.

Luckily a young lady beside her made a fuss and got someone to give up their seat for her. Grandmother didn’t normally like a fuss but it was worth it in this case. She sat down and arranged her shopping basket on her lap, which was full of tins, bread, milk, sausages and some yellow daffodils poking out the top.

The tube train thundered along. Someone in the carriage was obviously smoking, the smell of burnt tobacco caught in the back of her throat. She wished she’d had some water.

Just outside Tower Bridge the train inexplicably ground to a halt. Even worse, all the lights went off and the carriage was plunged into black darkness. Grandmother was very alarmed but also confused – no-one else seemed at all put out by this and the other passengers carried on staring fixedly into space. She could hear muffled drumbeats from several ipods, their owners absent-mindedly nodding their heads along to them.

Just at that moment, the worst possible thing happened. A spider dangled down from the carriage roof, right in front of Grandmother’s face before coming undone and landing, ‘plop’, on her her hand. Grandmother hated spiders and one landing on her in a pitch-black, overcrowded tube train was more than she could take.

She screamed long and loud. The other passengers seemed to suddenly wake up and react. As the lights came back on, everyone was staring at her, silent and open-mouthed. Grandmother vowed never to take the tube again.

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