If you read my previous blog you will see I have included the creative pieces from that, plus something special.
Please remember that these are raw drafts, they haven't been drafted or edited bar one piece.
And the title of this blog is a lyric from the song I'll Be There by Hollywood Undead.
This piece, well I'm not sure where it came from. I was just thinking about how hard it is for writers to think of plots and characters and this just came into my head. Being a writer really is hard sometimes!
Staring down at the paper,
Pen gripped slightly between shaking fingers.
It was always so simple,
Words would appear from thin air,
When she least expected it to happen.
When the inspiration struck,
And an idea formed behind tired eyes.
It was so easy.
Now, now it just wasn’t.
Where did the motivation go?
The inspiration that could boil her blood,
And set her heart racing,
As hands scribbled words down,
Her mind ten pages ahead of her pen.
Writing for hours on end,
Ink smeared on crisp paper to create something she could be proud of.
Now it was different.
There was no motivation, no inspiration in sight.
It has all disappeared.
She threw the pen on the desk,
The clatter ricocheted in her chest,
As trembling hands swept black hair from her eyes.
Perhaps she should have picked a different carer,
Something that didn't require inspiration.
Something that required manual labour,
or maybe a desk job in an office.
Something that didn't require her to use imagination.
The empty paper glared at her.
Scowling, she leaned further into the leather chair,
"Writers' block, my arse,"
The muttered words hung in the air.
Then grasped blindingly for the discarded pen.
Chewing her bottom lip, she began to write.
I wrote this a while ago, it has been edited and drafted so its not really a stream of consciousness but I hope you enjoy!
Tom stood by the window, his hands firmed planted on the sill, fingers curling around the peeling paint. He gazed down at the street, the sea of cars and busses. The pedestrians, no bigger than ants, scurrying along the pavement. It all seemed too ordinary, far too mundane for his liking. Where was the excitement, the thrill of the chase, the adventure?
“Are you gonna open it or not?”
Tom turned his head and stared at Leah.
“Funny one, you are. Go on, I’m sure it won’t bite.”
“That’s debatable,” Tom mumbled, turning his gaze back to the street outside.
“I’ve told you to leave it, Leah.”
“She’s your mum, Tom. She’d want to know whether you got in or not.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers clutching at his shirt. He paused, he could hear Leah sighing behind him and the faint clink of a mug being set down on a table.
“She lost that right a long time ago, Leah.”
“I know. I’m not saying you have to forgive her-”
Tom spun around, his back bumped against the windowsill painfully. He gritted his teeth and stalked towards the coffee table. Leah held her hands up in defense as he snatched the laptop up and walked into the kitchen.
“She told them it was my fault Joe died! That lying cow tried to ruin my life, she deserves everything she gets and more,” Tom spat, dumping the laptop on the counter. He reached for the kettle and flicked it on. Leah sighed once more as Tom clutched at the counter, digging his fingernails into the wood.
“It wasn’t your fault, it was an accident. You do know that, don’t you?”
Tom sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as the kettle began to bubble in front of him. He turned slowly, meeting Leahs’ concerned, and pixelated eyes for the first time since him Skyped her half an hour ago.
“I know it wasn’t.”
Leah beamed at him as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Go on, go and fetch it.”
Tom stared down at his grubby converse, slumping against the counter and ignored Leah’s tutting through his knackered speakers.
“Tom. The longer you leave it, the less time you’ll have before the semester starts. You need to start getting ready, get packing.”
Tom raised his head as the kettle whistled and clicked itself off. He stared at his childhood friend, his heart hammering against his chest.
“And what if I don’t? What then?”
Leah grinned at him.
“We’ll pass that bridge when we come it to. Go on or would you prefer me to come over and open it for you?”
Tom held his hands up but smiled back. He tapped his hands against the counter twice, before pushing off and walking back into his living room, tea was forgotten about. He picked up the laptop as he went, Leah remained quiet but she was grinning up at him. Gently, Tom placed the laptop back down and stared at the cream envelope that sat on the table.
“Come on, Tommy. It’s now or never.”
Tom scoffed as he reached down, sending a two-fingered salute to Leah in the process. Her laughter bounced into his ears as he picked the envelope up, fingertips running along the smooth edges. His name glared up at him, bright blue ink staining the pristine paper.
Letting his eyes fall close, Tom took a breath and exhaled slowly, his fingers tentatively creeping under the sealed flap. A rip filled the air as he breathed deeply, his heartbeat slowing by the second. A single sheet of paper slid out onto his hands. At last, he opened his eyes.
“Well? Did you get in?”
Tom stared at the paper.
So here is the extra piece I promised. It is inspired by my adoration for music which has helped me a lot these last few weeks. It is a raw draft so it hasn't really been edited apart from spelling and grammar. And this does contain some swearing.
Nick bit his lip,
Hands trembling in his lap.
Legs twitching against the chair.
He had to do it.
There was no more running away,
Pretending it didn't exist,
Or trying to find a way of escape.
There were no more excuses.
His lectures were growing tired of him.
Their frustrated expressions when he retreated to his shell.
He had to show he was capable.
That he could do things.
Even if it was really fucking terrifying.
He could feel the blood thumping through his veins,
Heart threatening to leap from his chest.
His skin twitching with every tick of the clock.
He could do this.
Fingers reaching for the headphones around his neck.
He shoved them on his head,
Blindly reaching for the button.
His heart slowed,
As every violin note drifted into his ears.
He could breathe.
Leaning back against the cool tiles,
Nick let his eyes fall shut.
The violins played on.
His shoulders relaxed.
He was fine, he could do this.
It was only a bloody presentation after all.
Blood cooled in his veins.
He was in control.
A sudden touch on his arm.
Nick jumped, swearing loudly.
Headphones slid to his neck with a thump.
Ashe stared at his lecturer who smiled apologetically.
He glanced at the clock.
It was time.
Pausing the music, Nick stood.
His legs no longer trembling.
"Let's get this over with."