The Adams are next.

I’ve been handling divorces for fifteen years and I boy can I spot a couple in the throes of despair, smell them like a rat smells rotted peelings in the trash, sniff sniff and I’m there, card ready after I do the ‘bump.’

Six months ago in Morrison’s I spotted the Adam’s, three of them, was four, now three. Snooped around a bit and found the son had high-tailed it to the Borders. Ignored the daughter, whiny, annoying so blocked her out. Mum and Dad, I search the eyes, and the eyes were cold, dead, battered over the head, fish dead, dead skimmed and deboned, ready for eating. Dead I tell you, dead.

Bump.

  Hello, I’m Tony, No 42 St. Mary’s close, their nodding donkeys back to me. Am I right in believing your not far from me.

Indeed, No.14 Tooting St. Nice area, remarks the husband. The pair nod like blanks in a gun. Their mine all mine, I’ll handle this divorce. The wife’ll leave, they always do. Men cheat,  wife’s leave.

   Me, Oh I’m a Solicitor, handle all sorts. I says, divorces, oh I know it’s always a shame, but they don’t need to be painful. Nah, i says as they lean in keen. Pride myself in being gentle, smoothing things over, I’m the UN of understanding. But I do other stuff as well, usual solicitor stuff, here’s my card, if ever you need me, you know wills and stuff. Oh how the raced for it, he got it first, but she’ll get her own back by calling early.   

            Got‘ um snared and rolled for the bagging.   

Listen

A five minute free-write. (vaguely unedited)  -    Listen

Listen, I’m not involved in this haired brained scheme, I just know the fella who’s like conjured it up. Listen, seriously now, cos I ain’t got long, gotta go to Boot’s get me mum’s prescription like, so if you go to the boozer say around eight big Jim will be propping up the bar, usually on the left side, cos he can see the TV and keep an eye on who’s coming in. Just in case, you know the score you look like the kinda guy that knows his way round. So like, as i say, listen right just listen, cos you really need to prick up those ears cos, like a lot of people, heavy people mind are gonna be counting on you, so you can’t mess it up, so like as I say, listen, cos Big Jim, right, he’s got a really quiet voice. 

She loved him

She loved him-

Nadine assumed the position she loved the most, cuddled-up around old’ Bill. Her arms shaped around his barrel of a stomach, his ‘ wonderful, cuddle hump’ that secured her. Her head gentle against his chest, the warmth and security filled her up. She loved him, the way a lonely soul loves a families fireplace in winter. He knew when the whites of her knuckles signified a childhood  memory had resurfaced, he’d then kiss her cheek or eyebrow, giving her a small ‘there, there’ shake.  She loved him, he was her peace, his old style wisdom evened out the high’s and low’s . In  bed the warmth of his body soaked through her, with great pleasure she’d rub her finger in small circles transferring  sweat from one to the other, sharing as she always needed to. Old’ Bill would laugh at those little actions at times, though not in any cruel way, he’d kiss her and stroke her hair. Before she’d cover herself in the blanket of his flesh and he’d stretch one arm across her shoulder, the other on the small of her back, like a loving truss that eased her into the next day.        

Keith Gray speech on censorship ...

Please click the link, the wonderful Keith Gray gives his insights into the trouble of writing teen fiction. The censorship and quiet banning by the mumsy gatekeepers of school libraries and such.

 

www.pen.org/blog/?p=17085

Activity 5.1 – Character creation Big F

Activity 5.1 –    Character creation       Big F

Big F showered, reckoned this was the first time he been clean since the crash, well clean physically. For this new life was his apology, dead that’s how he saw himself, a token ghost for those millions whose life he had stolen from under them. Then Mousy showed-up, poor kid. He wanted to cradle her, take away the whitened slapped face that presented itself to him as he listened to the world service on his dusty old radio. She had recoiled at the sight of him, he didn’t blame her, but he knew hard work and how to win over. Busying Himself he fixed together two boxes, cut’em into one for her. Though his self-awareness grew under her sore eyes, awkward, his blacked body and smelly rags barely covered him, she winced again at his zipless trousers; humiliated he hurried to cover himself up. Before he didn’t care, but the fire in his jellied eyes was lit, Redemption stood before him, a healer; oh how he needed one of them. In return for his box making she got him some underwear and clothes, and the little money left paid for his shower in Paddington Station.
Big F stared in the mirror then started shaving, he hated looking at his face, his once smooth skin was broken and blotched, but there were still hints. He’d fight for her, as father figure or lover he didn’t care; for his heart no longer felt heavy and cold, stealing her silver locket back was redemption's first step. Getting presentable now, Big F smiled, he felt his system rearm bullets into both barrels, his cut-throat know-how gleamed from his grand city education of all the way down, no not down… over, over to being one of the dirty box sleeping nobodies. Yeh he smiled feeling his mind become like a jar of sharpened pencils. Starting with Mousy, with this beatin’up kid he’d make amends… he finished shaving and tears fell, could saving this one child really make-up for what he’d done to the world?

Creative Writing activity 5.4 - Underclass Whore / Artistic Promise

My 5.4 underlcass whore/artistic promise

This was really difficult, i took from all sorts of people... I imagined one of those annoying teenagers that hang around bus stops, trying to get passing adults to buy them booze. They also hang around the car park in ASDA, getting up to all sorts. She's a mixture of borderline underclass with artistic promise.You'll see its not very coherent, that's meant... i wanted to convey the girls psychological aspects through the way she speaks saying things like, like all the time. i think you'll be able to guess her personal history and what sort of culture she came from and what sort of culture she could've gone into... its very much about denial, which is what a lot of underclass and working class (they are not the same thing) have, at least from my era. 

Activity 5.4
That child, god love him, but mornings are a nightmare getting him to school. He’s got double art first thing use to love art. Remember  Mr Stuart saying ‘you got something there.’ God he made me blush took me ages to live that down with my mates at the bus stop. I mean all night when were out drinking cider they’d call me names like Picasso or Van Gough. Though inside I did quicken a bit when Mr Stuart said there was a way out and into a profession. But that’s not for the likes of me, besides after Deeky got me pregnant up against the car park wall I’ve been too busy to take that silly stuff seriously. I mean it would’ve been nice I was touched by Bonnard or somebody who painting his wife having a bath, even after she had died and yeh like i know it was about the light on the bath water and shit but hey he loved her even after she’d died, so you know. Deek’s shagging that Ramona now, he says he cares for little Sam but he’s never around who cares anyways. Besides if I have another kid right, I’ll get a bigger house with a nice garden outback, like that’s cool for the two to piss around in.  Might go up a see that wee exhibition in the town hall right enough, Mr Stuart has some paintings on the go. I’ll have to dodge the fucker though, he’s always got that disappointed look when he sees me.  I mean what the’ fuck , I tell ya he wouldn’t say no to a blowy from me, fuckin work of art with my mouth never mind me w’a brush. I mean it was just high school stuff, right… I earn more money giving blowys than at that painting stuff, god I mean it really did take an age for my auld mates at the bus stops to treat me like normal again after he said about having a talent, I mean shut-up didnae says stuff like that in front ’a  folk. Really got treated like i wiz some sort of freak, ages as I say to get back in with them, but like you no, it helped in the end cos I started charging a £5 for the blowy’s I was giving for free.  I tell yah that Mr Stuart wiz right after all I’ve got an artistic talent except it’s my tongue like.  He is good though that Mr Stuart, he really contrasts his blues, reds and greens he does it by shading them in a way that makes them all work together, cos like you know if they like just like you know stayed in their primary forms it would’ve looked garish, which would’ve been shit really… there’s some other stuff that’s okay, but it mostly the O.A.P.s and they ain’t that good, they just do it to keep their brains going you know.  I didnae’ ken Mr Stuart taught them as well though, he’s much better than most round here, he should be showing his work in Edinburgh or Glasgow.. Fuck look at the time. Got to meet Andy and Skrimpy for the they’re jolly’s that’s a good £25 in ma pocket all fir half an hoors work, no bad that.