maidinsheff

Phew! Now I need to find a darkened room and lie down in it Maid

Decisions Decisions – this has been a challenge. However: Fat Dave – Why Babies Cry Wow. You certainly set the bar pretty high with this one. It is an excellent piece of writing. I was drawn immediately into the last thoughts of the dying man. In a few sentences you were able to build a picture of an entire family, their loves and lives and their feelings for their father/grandfather. The story flows from his acceptance of the inevitable, to a glimmer of hope and joy, to reunion and ultimate happiness, and then into rebirth and into the first thoughts of a new life still hung over from the last one ....brilliant. Lady Agatha – Mother’s Day I like the way that you handle that feeling of grogginess, of the slow comprehension of surroundings that grows after waking from a deep sleep and then the sudden realisation that all may not be well. I particularly like the line ‘her guts kicked her out of bed’ as it completely expresses that feeling of utter panic you get when you have overslept and need to get a grip of reality. Another really well constructed and written piece. MaidinSheff – Awakening  Kaimani – The First Movement of a Ghost Rising Creepy stuff this Kaimani. The writing is intricate and demands attention but naughty naughty – the brief was to write a story in 500 words or less – I wonder if this were condensed to fit the brief, making every word earn its place, whether it would be stronger? I really enjoy your writing. It is intense, lyrical, but you do all the work and leave nothing for the reader to do; nowhere for my own imagination to take me. Writing to length is a favourite theme on the OU courses I have done. It really helps hone your skills. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. I don’t think the last sentence, ‘It would be a long week’, is necessary. DeBatz – Hindsight – My Brother the Liar Two clever (and infuriating) interwoven stories and I am still not sure which one of the brother’s is the liar! I get the feeling this is a story about a ‘split personality’ or maybe I’m just imagining things. Hindsight at first gave me the impression of someone struggling with his deteriorating faculties, with Alzheimer’s probably, by creating a better and more illustrious life for himself than he had actually led and seeking comfort in memories that were not really his own whilst making a laughing stock of himself. Then I realised, after reading the second story, that something darker was going on and you hadn’t revealed anything about the creature the first brother had made a bargain with.....intriguing. The protagonist in My Brother the Liar sounds a stronger more lucid character but I get the feeling he’s the alter ego and the more dangerous of the two. This the ‘creature’ with whom the bargain was struck........’my brother has for the last forty years or so, been aware of his mortality’.....he’s the computer literate one, the worldly-wise one manipulating the other brother and the anonimity of the internet.....the devil incarnate....... well done – clever writing but I’m not sure whether this is one story split into two. Clea 4eva – One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila, floor This is another subtly written piece. Melanie struggling with what she thinks is a monumental hangover and so busy trying to justify said hangover that she has no concept of what has really happened. I like the way you have used dialogue too to express Melanie’s internal thoughts and her being ‘not quite with it’ and to develop her sister’s growing panic and exasperation. LFT1 – Awakenings A twist in the tale! I was fully expecting a crash victim being cut out of a vehicle. The way in which you have your character awakening and becoming aware of his surroundings, of the sounds and smells, of light and shade, cold and heat is very well executed and doesn’t give anything away. And it is one of those endings which makes you re-read the story and think ...’Oh, yeah, I get it now.....the kids trying to sneak up the stairs and struggling with the breakfast tray. The jolt back to reality aided by a thump in the stomach from the now impatient minors – birthday jingle at the ready. The humour – Grandad recommending kippers! Just what you need for a hangover. Lady Agatha – The Wake Up Call There is a whole history of a relationship in this story and a wake up call for all three characters. With just a few light strokes you have painted a vivid picture of a strong female, committed to an engagement but realising it is going nowhere and the fiancee is a bit of a waste of space. Even if writing the letter is a bit of a cowardly act she is taking charge, getting out and getting on with her life. A male who clearly enjoys being cossetted. He obviously believes he’s the one in control but is about to wake up to just how dependant and useless he really is. The mother, still wanting to be the focus of her son’s life?.........well, she can have him, and his washing too! Brilliant! Greg2 – Just Another Fresco Greg2, some of your sentences seem to be fragments and this makes for difficult reading at first. I wasn’t entirely sure where the story was going. However, you create an intriguing character in Lorenzo, his almost laconic, fly-by-night attitude, his boredom with the old fashioned expectations of his client/audience and his determination to be a little risque comes over clearly. I anticipated the small shuttered window above Christ’s head would be a touch of irreverence – after all Lorenzo regularly pee’d out of his bedroom’s small shuttered window onto the terracotta roof outside – but then you added another layer to Lorenzo’s character by revealing his sentimental side. Aardvark6535 – “Bay of Pigs” April 1961 I’m old enough to remember the crisis of the ‘Bay of Pigs’ and I distinctly recall the darkness in my dad’s eyes when he remarked that ‘this will lead to another bloody war’ – he was a prisoner of the Japanese in Burma in WWII – so the darkness in his eyes had a special depth. I think your poem could relate to any such crisis as it encapsulates the trance-like self-absorbtion we are all guilty of. I think you need to work on the structure of your poem and there are places where the rhythm goes awry – I really like the line ‘Now the days are getting darker, though not through lack of light’ as it speaks volumes. I hope everyone well welcome my comments on their work. SWG is such a talented bunch of writers but, sadly, there can only be one winner and I have truly struggled to pick which one really caught my imagination. It has to be Lady Agatha for the Wake Up Call. A deceptively clever and witty piece of writing. MaidinSheff April 2011 Competition Theme - Awakening

Crikey Moses - I'm going to have my work cut out judging all these great stories. Thanks everyone for submitting them. Maid

I know I can't win my own competition but I thought I would submit something: Awakening There was blood in the water. I could taste it but I had to drink. There was death in the air. I could smell it but I had to breathe. The thick, coppery, stench of carnage tore into my lungs and I knew they were not far behind. They were on my trail. Sniffing the ground. Hunting me down. Getting closer, ever closer. I began to wade through the river, reaching for the opposite bank. My feet seeking the muddy bed beneath me and the currents swirling like spiteful lovers trying to drag me down. At the other side of the river, a near vertical wall of rock towered darker than the shadows around me. I scrambled out and began to climb, gasping for breath while the boulders and scree slipped away like sand beneath my feet. The faster I climbed the quicker they collapsed, bouncing down into the water. It felt as if I were running the wrong way on some interminable escalator. When I reached the top, I dragged myself up over the precipice, wriggling on my stomach into the grass tufted soil. I stood up to run and found that I was not alone. Other people were racing along and I saw that all of them had the same wierd twisted expressions. Terror drove them as it drove me and we ran as a group through the long whiplash grass yet, try as I might, I could not keep up. My legs became leaden and refused to move. I dropped to all fours, thinking I could crawl faster than I could run and I tore at the grass, grabbing fistfuls as I hauled myself forward. I found myself on a pathway which ran down through dense woods, skirting between trees that were ghostly in the darkness and still I squirmed lizard like, down on my belly in the dirt. In the distance, I could hear the screams and wails of the dying merged with the howling of their tormentors and I sobbed every breath burning deep into my body and setting my throat on fire. Strobe-like lights flickered and I saw the path ahead was criss-crossed with shadows, shadows which slipped too and fro, bending and stretching, and I knew it was them. They were so close now. I searched frantically for a hiding place. I crawled between the branches of fallen trees, curled myself into damp hollows, squeezed between rocks but there was nowhere to hide and if I could see them then surely they could see me. The beasts were upon me, slavering, terrifying. I turned on my back to fend them off and the earth fell away, crumbling into nothing. I fell and the beasts fell with me. Their claws ripped the air trying to reach me. I could hear them, their incessant roaring in my ears, clanging, clamouring. My heart would surely stop. I reached over and pressed the button to shut them up. I opened my eyes to see. It was six o’clock. ©maidinsheff 04 2011

Hi FatDave and Lady Agatha - thanks for the submissions. Just recovering from yet another rejection slip so you guys are helping to keep my mind off suicide

I had a go at something completely different (for me) this month - A bash at 'stream of consciousness' although I am not sure how well it works out. Hope no-one thinks I've gone bonkers! On Reflection So your back you’re like a disease you can’t keep away and I don’t know what the cure is everyday you come back twice a day three times a day staring at me with eyes that match mine and you look at me wondering who I am and who you are and where you’re going with your life I’m going nowhere I only live in here when you are there when you talk to me its depressing hearing all the things that are wrong with your life as if my life’s any better what you expect me to do about it I don’t know I can’t do anything and you look at me as if you’re expecting sympathy well you can forget that for a start I give the same rat’s arse about you as you give about me and your bloody life is sooooooooo boring how about being stuck here staring out at your miserable face and knowing you hate mine and look at me searching for every blemish squeezing spots and smearing pus in front of me and wishing me away as if you can block me out with green scum what I did to you I don’t know I sit here whenever you want me and look back at you and never complain and all you do is hate me and wish me dead those thoughts rattling round your brain I can see in your eyes what you plan but every day you chicken out as if tomorrow is going to be any different as if you sit on a different chair the world will change and your face will change you can go out and look at strangers I can only ever look at you one face in front of me sick of looking at it ugly face never smiles never laughs just stares and finds fault and has me mimic stupid expressions that make things worse not better perhaps you should wear a bag over your head plastic bag with no holes in it and stop breathing stop caring about acne and everyone sad they didn’t listen when you said what you’d do pouring out your heart but no-one gives a monkey’s you’re just a kid you’ll grow out of it don’t see that you can’t stick it anymore if anyone else says there there never mind you’ll go mad stupid sods can’t see how close you are toes over the edge you’re going to jump and smash your face into the pavement then they’ll be sorry no go on then get sleeping pills from mum’s bedroom swallow all of them go ahead pour the bottle of gin down your throat see if I care watch you gagging burns all the way down stare and stare go to sleep don’t expect to wake up don’t expect to dream not dreaming not breathing not seeing can’t find you what have you done? No reflection! Can’t get out. Can’t get out! Madness! This is MADNESS! MadinSheff

What is a 'vandle'?

Oooer - where the heck did I put my thinking cap! Can't believe I won - er I've gone all thingers and fumbs. I'll be back shortly - when I've recovered from the shock! Maid:love:

Hi John I enjoyed this - my sort of off beat story. I am not sure about the accent (made me think more of the Queen with her typically clipped nasal British voice -tirribly tirribly hippy - and all that). I don't agree that this should be edited to hit the 500 word mark. It has the makings of a very funny short story - I think you should develop it further rather than pruning it. I don't understand Emily's reaction at all as there was no real build up to this and no obvious growing relationship with the hero. I also think the piece would benefit from being set out correctly. At the moment it is as bit like a wall of text - particuarly as it would only open as a word.exe on my PC. However, just to say that I think you should work on this - develop the characters and their relationships and I look forward to reading an updated version should there be one. MiS

Position Twenty Seven It had seemed like a brilliant idea. A guaranteed way of getting a glimpse of Rachel’s knickers. Stewart sat with his legs crossed in front of him, back as straight as he could make it, eyes closed, and thoughts, that should have been focused on a clear blue sky, drifting lazily over the superb image of Rachel’s naked body. In his mind he knew every inch of it, every soft mound, every teasing little fold, every mole, every pore....... “Twenty four.” Rachel announced and Stewart changed positions, unwrapping his legs and pushing them forward. Sliding his hands down his shins to grip his ankles, he leant forward, exhaling softly. He opened one eye and took a sneaky peek. “Head down, Stewart.” Rachel ordered and he lowered his head immediately, closing the wanton eye . “Breathe in and breathe out. I want to hear you breathing.” He did as she commanded. He was putty in her hands. Again the soft fertile body was before him, deliciously wrapped in pale pink skin, it smelled of lotus flower and ylang ylang, a heady mix that made him salivate. “Twenty five.” She said and he stood up, his joints cracking as he did so. He felt embarrassed at the racket they made and he opened his eyes to look fully at Rachel. She was watching him and smirking in a way that wasn’t quite what he’d anticipated. “You’re not very supple are you, Stewart,” She commented as she walked passed him. “but work with me and we can change that.” Stewart frowned at her, not entirely sure whether she’d said ‘supple’ or ‘subtle’. If it was the latter then; “Damn! Was he that obvious?” “Twenty five, Stewart.” She repeated and he spread his feet apart, lowering his hands, palms flat, against the mat. This one was agony. Downward facing dog. It was a speciality of Rachel’s and she could adopt the position with an ease that made him feel like a block of wood. This posture gave him cramp and he could already feel the muscles twitching. “Lift your hips skyward.” Rachel raised her voice as if she could verbally hoist his bum towards the ceiling. “She’s got to be kidding!” Stewart gnawed at his bottom lip, wincing at the pain in his calves, his arms were shaking, struggling to hold the weight bearing down on them. “Twenty Six.” Rachel piped. Stewart lowered his backside to lay prone on the mat, raised his arms in front of him and became ‘Superman’. “Hold it...........and relax.” Rachel freed the class from further torment. Stewart exhaled like a man who’d just escaped death by misadventure. As he left the session, Rachel stood so close to him he could almost taste her lipgloss. “Position Twenty Seven, next week.” She purred. “You’ll get the hang of yoga, I’m sure, but we must work on your flexibility.” Stewart grinned and nodded, trying his best to conceal the one part of his anatomy that was anything but flexible at that moment. MaidinSheff February 2011:D

Tarnation! Here's me, a miserable old bat (single parent for 18 years- dumped for something a bit flashier - you know the story) and you have to pick 'ROMANCE!' *&££@@**¬ is all I can say!

A New Start Here's the link to my effort for the January theme. I enjoyed writing it - hope you enjoy reading it. Just a bit of light hearted fun, I hope!

Hey Geza welcome to the group. I read your story but was left feeling a little bit confused and cheated. It seems more like a plot than a story. I would avoid cliche as well - 'stomach curdling' - I think if you leave this out the sentence has more impact. I also think Tom, now aged 13 would have a bit more wherewithall than to go scavenging for food. I would have thought by this time he would be able to care for himself in spite of his aunts neglect. Sorry but I can't work out who the story is based on although Norman Bates springs to mind for some reason.

Hi Mary Yey! I am from a family where dislexia is a scourge - my father, my sisters, my own son are severley dislexic. I have dislexia to a certain degree - left and right get muddled up sometimes and I have to work very hard at spelling. My dad is dead now and my sisters didn't get any help until they were 13+. The then education system failed miserably to help or even identify those with dislexia. My sisters are twins and they were treat as if they were idiots! My son has been helped by various mentors over the years and is now at University and he writes - he is working on a science fiction novel at present and it is good stuff. Go for it - sod the spelling that can be tidied up anytime. Have you tried using a filter for your pc? My son uses 'Parrot Green' which helps him to focus on the words. You can have a test done at an opticians - I think free of charge - it should identify which colour is best for you. Keep writing! MiS

I see plenty of folk have read my December submission. I have spotted a deliberate mistake. 'She was wasn't of their tribe' should read "She wasn't of their tribe." and I would change 'cave' to 'shelter' however, I don't know how to get back to or overwrite the original. Any pointers Ron?

Here's the link to my effort for December 2010. SNOW MaidinSheffield

Hi Sweetie Have you tried the OU? They do some excellent courses online and the level 2 and 3 courses include workshops which are held at the Hallam Uni.

Hi FATDAVE You may want to read the thread on here 'Disaster Recovery' - I don't know how close to Dinnington you are but there is a little shop on Laughton Road which will check your hard drive out for you for a nominal fee. Here's what happened to me...... My laptop died on me! I switched it on and nothing happened. It was perfectly fine the evening before and then it was dead. Of course all my writing, my OU work, my family history were all on the hard disk which was now inaccessible. I have my work in hard copy but it wasn't backed up anywhere else and all my other stuff wasn't backed up at all. My laptop has been my trusted companion for nearly 8 years so you can imagine how much stuff was on there. I felt suicidal. I have just finished my first novel and there it was gone! Fortunately for me, it was the motherboard that had died and not the hard disk and I have a geeky 20 year old for a son who was able to talk me through (over the internet and using a webcam) how to attach my laptop's hard drive to my daughter's pc and rescue all my work. I now have it backed up on a flash drive. Now I am bereft. I have no money for a new laptop and only limited access to my daughter's pc. Like all teenagers she is addicted to facebook and practically lives her life online. I had started a piece of writing for the August project but haven't been able to finish it. I will post the bit I managed to do before the disaster later. What I am trying to say is for goodness sake make sure all your work is backed up somewhere - it cost me £8 for a 16Gb flash drive and I can't begin to tell you how it feels to know that I haven't lost all that work - years and years worth of the stuff!

Hi - I went to Hurlfield Girls Secondary Modern - the houses were Bronte (yellow), Fonteyne (green), Anderson (blue), and Ferrier (red). I was in Fonteyne - no good a ballet but won one or two house points for music and art.

Hi Kaimani I showed your poem to my daughter and, like me, she loved it and really felt for Anna. She is going to take it to college with her and show it to her year tutor if that is ok with you. She says all the productions for this year are already set but that it could be something they would consider for next academic year. Are you happy for her to take it to college? MiS

Hi Scribe I really liked this story - I love off-beat stuff. After my toasting from Mantaspook I don't feel qualified to offer anyone an opinion but for what it is worth, I think the story would benefit from punctuation as sometimes it is not clear what is happening or who is speaking. I am also not sure whether Hoby (or Hobby) is dreaming some if not all of it. There is some great humour in it too - eg being killed by the No13 bus after dodging all the other traffic and you could develop this further. I would like to see an updated/edited version. An enjoyable read nevertheless. MiS

Hi Mantaspook Thank you so much for taking the time to review my first chapter. You have confirmed much of what I already suspected, truth be known. I was getting bored writing this story so it was never going to inspire anyone to read it, I guess. I think I need to go back to the drawing board with it and have a rethink. It is a finished piece of work so far as a complete story is concerned but I have rather lost my way with it and overworked it all. The original (written several years ago) was much fresher (although full of spelling errors and rather dodgy grammar). Maybe a rest from it will help me get back some of that freshness. I will certainly keep all you have said in mind for the future. I for one will miss you on SWG. Sigh. Hope Blanco knows what he is in for MaidinSheff

The whole set up looks suspect to me including the blogs on This Page. Seems to be a staged set of conversations between just a few people. Wonder if some if not all of them were on the payroll!

All hail the great Blanco - er Mantaspook you said you'd give me your comments on the draft first chapter of my story.

As I explained in my post, I was walking in the road (correctly as close to the edge of the road and walking towards on-coming traffic so that I could see any approaching vehicles) as the pavement is covered in snow which is approximately three feet deep at present. I had moved aside to allow the 4x4 to pass me. He could have slowed down but he didn't - he sped up and showered me with filthy slush. This was at 6.45 am this morning, with no other vehicles on the road and plenty of room for him to go past. The roads get gritted, the pavements don't. I haven't taken my car off the drive as I have no desire to get stuck in the snow and cause problems for other people. Shall we add illiteracy to arrogance?