Week Eleven Writing

EXERCISE: In the light of your close reading of "Aftermath", select an autobiographical or 'real' event. 'You' are the narrator/ filter through which we will view this event. Create a list of images or metaphors associated with the event (e.g. the jigsaw, plate, map in Aftermath).

A visit to the museum:

Rain

The gallery of pictures of record holding women

Lacemaking

Weird birds

A Samurai suit

An elephant

A harpsichord

Overview model of Exeter

Ruffle collars and armour

- Select some external sources connected tangentially/ metaphorically with the event. (e.g. the meditation on nationhood; the memory of a history lesson and a compartmentalised map of England in Aftermath).

Scooby Doo movie and the Samurai suit

- Once you have all this in place, begin with an image and see where it leads you. Make sure you interleave direct experience, cultural references, images, snippets of conversation etc.

I turn the corner and can't control my gasp of air.

"Are you alright?" He asks beside me.

I glance at him with that stupid laugh I have; halfway between a snicker and a giggle. "Oh I'm sorry. I've just never seen one of these in real life."

He smiles and takes my hand, leading me towards the glass. I stare up in wonder at the giant black and red armoured suit. It's just as I remember from the Scooby Doo movie; it always was one of my favourites. But it's so big! I can almost picture the spooky eyes of the Black Samurai peering out of that grand helmet, bearing down on Scooby and the gang...

Why on earth am I thinking of that? I'm on a date for Christ's sake! I don't want him to think I'm crazy. Or more likely, incredibly uncool. He's got to know me a lot longer than a few dates before I let him know that.

"So I take it you've not been to many museums in London then?" He interrupts me from my reverie.

That laugh again; where's that coming from? "Not really. The few times I've been in London, I've had more things to do than go around museums."

He smiles again, turning to a giant Buddha figurine. I like it when he smiles; it makes me want to smile. The butterflies in my stomach at that thought are a good sign, right?

I don't know. I don't really know a lot about romance. Scooby Doo movies and Agatha Christie novels are much more my speed. Random facts that no one really cares about or needs in their life. But from what little experience I do have, I know that it's not quite as simple as Fred and Daphne...

I've zoned off and now he's asking me a question. I blink a few times, hoping it's not too obvious that my mind had wandered off. It does that from time to time - I try to tell it to stop, but often its no use. Mum says its rude, and I know it is, but I think my brain is just too busy all the time. Too many thoughts in my head. It's not my fault.

If he noticed, he doesn't seem offended. He smiles that infectious smile again as he walks over to the next display. It's got a dog statuette in it that reminds me of the Hachiko statue in Japan - another thing I learned about in the Black Samurai.

But it's not that grasps my immediate attention. I hang back a bit, looking him up and down for the first time that day. Somehow, the museum is a little less interesting with him in it, the only thing left unexplored and unexplained.

Sounds like it's time to split up and look for clues....

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This was an exercise I quite struggled with, so I tried to give it a comedic feel. I'm not sure whether it's appropriate for life writing to write in first-person; all the other pieces I've seen have been reflecting back on an event. I tried to hop about between the different references and back into the "real-time" story, but to me it doesn't feel as realistic as the other pieces I've read this week, even though it is all based on a true event in my life.

Perhaps I just need more practice with life writing as a format to get more used to the rhythm and style of it.

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Seminar exercise -

Draw a plan of your childhood home, then close your eyes and mark a cross somewhere on the page – wherever the cross is, write a story about that area/room. 10 minutes

It was often quite cold in the lounge, but not as cold as the kitchen thankfully. When I was little, I spent a lot of time in that room on my own. In the summer, when my parents were busy, I would go out into the garden. But when autumn and winter came, I found myself drawn to the lounge on those wet and cold afternoons.

I used to hop up the wooden stairs, trying not to slip over on the polished floors, or scooch up mum’s rug by the fire, as when I’d dislodged it, I could never get it back into the exact place, no matter how hard I tugged. Back before we had to put the small sofa in front of the fire, when Nana could come and sit on the big sofa on the rare occasions she came to visit, there was a nice square space in the middle of the vaulted roof.

Sometimes, I would put my headphones in and act out the soundtrack to one of the movie tracks on my iPod – to me, that small square could become the best stage in the world. And long before I understood the principle of acoustics, I knew that that was one of the best places in the house for singing; my voice would ring out and reverberate against every stone.

And then other times, I would lie on my back on the carpet, and stare up at the endless ceiling. I don’t really know why, but it always fascinated me. I used to look for patterns in the wood panelling, or count the amount of stones that made up the top arch, or even just wonder why and how someone had decided that they needed such a big ceiling. That was before I knew the history of the house of course; in those days, all it’s little quirks were mysteries to me. mysteries I longed to solve.

The best mystery for me was the cryptic letters in the chimney stack. A centre stone, high up in the long chimney, marked with white letters. At that age, I knew what the letters were, and before my eyesight began to fail, I could see them clearly: MCMXCVI

At the time, I didn’t know about roman numerals. I didn’t even know about the Romans. I sometimes wonder why I never asked about the letters in the stone; mum would have told me what they were if I had. But something about the mystery of not knowing was exciting.

I would lie on the carpet and contemplate those letters. Sometimes for a whole afternoon.

Those days, I never sought to while away the hours or pass the time; it was easy to find the best somethings to do on a day when there was nothing to do.