Victory Dive
Hippopotami
The Plural of Girlfriend is Trouble
Good Idea, Bad idea, Happy Xmas
Treacle Tart, Custard, Tart
All Cats Are Grey in a Sack
Things to Do With an Oblate Spheroid
Walter Raleigh at Home
Will you please be quiet, please?
And if the World WAS Flat?
Pomegranate Eggs
Chocolate Coated Wire Wool
1945
Henry the Ninth
Between Rock and Folk is a desert
Elvis Lives and Was Seen Wandering at EotW
Sand, Piper, Sandpiper
Cathedral
How Penguins Stink.
Nora Batty’s Underwear
A story beginning, “Now I’ve made it, I can do anything..
In a Jiffy
Girl With an Earring, Pearl
But I don’t Like It
Zinc & Castor Oil Cream
Three Interesting Things About Eczema
Shroud, Banana
Thin Ice, How Not to Fall Through
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
11 PM Prompts 00:30 Deadline
Understanding Urine
Party From Prague
A story beginning, “The lid will be stainless steel
Genevieve
Slow Boat to China
The Importance of Integrity
Professor Flambag and the Cleaning Lady
Tea With Sir Lancelot and King Arthur
Chimes, Pain, Rain
Yellow, Green, Blue
A story beginning, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have
The Children Are Playing
Desert Island
Best American Shirt Stories
How High is a Chinaman?
Mellow, Yellow
Noon, Prompt
The Good Mother’s Handbook
Sleepy in the Corner of the Eye
The Best Thing Before Sliced Bread
Happy as Ding Dong David
Purple, People, Purple
Father Maloney’s Glass Eye
Party From Prague
A story beginning, “The lid will be stainless steel
Genevieve
Slow Boat to China
The Importance of Integrity
Professor Flambag and the Cleaning Lady
Tea With Sir Lancelot and King Arthur
Chimes, Pain, Rain
Yellow, Green, Blue
A story beginning, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have
The Children Are Playing
Desert Island
Best American Shirt Stories
How High is a Chinaman?
Mellow, Yellow
Noon, Prompt
The Good Mother’s Handbook
Sleepy in the Corner of the Eye
The Best Thing Before Sliced Bread
Happy as Ding Dong David
Purple, People, Purple
Father Maloney’s Glass Eye
6PM Prompts (730 Deadline)
Maybe somebody will actually write and submit a flash...
Google “bollock”
At Home With Matt le Tissier
Fun With the Squirts
The Marshmallow Wars
Creepy, Chocolate and Three New Positions
Winston’s Amazing Wang
A Child of Our Time, in Time
James Bond is Gay says Rosa
Google Eyeball Cheese
The Ancestor’s Tale, The Ancestor’s Tail
I Love Rosa Kleb
The First Commuter Train
Flood, Floods
Daylight Saving Time. Daylight, Saving Time
Fry-Up
Walking Up Everest, My Love
How Should Bathrooms Smell?
Dead Famous, Famous Dead.
Chicken Little For president.
The East Wing
Midnight Prompts
Driving in Darkness
Pinocchio’s Secret
Write a story updating or subverting a famous fairy tale (e.g. Cinderella)
Slugs
Why Plants Turn Brown and Die
Google “bollock”
At Home With Matt le Tissier
Fun With the Squirts
The Marshmallow Wars
Creepy, Chocolate and Three New Positions
Winston’s Amazing Wang
A Child of Our Time, in Time
James Bond is Gay says Rosa
Google Eyeball Cheese
The Ancestor’s Tale, The Ancestor’s Tail
I Love Rosa Kleb
The First Commuter Train
Flood, Floods
Daylight Saving Time. Daylight, Saving Time
Fry-Up
Walking Up Everest, My Love
How Should Bathrooms Smell?
Dead Famous, Famous Dead.
Chicken Little For president.
The East Wing
Midnight Prompts
Driving in Darkness
Pinocchio’s Secret
Write a story updating or subverting a famous fairy tale (e.g. Cinderella)
Slugs
Why Plants Turn Brown and Die
Frantic Flash Prompts at 0800 Wednesday
DEADLINE 09:30
Monday: Abergavenny Thursdays v Sheffield Wednesday
Tuesday is Soup
Friday on My Mind
POETS Day
Saturday, Saturday, Cheese
Daffodils
All Garlic No Meal
Pigging Out
The Chef is in the Saucepan
More is Always Too Much
Blood on the Table
Wallowing
When the Teacher is Redundant
Dead Baby Soup
Sitting in Tesco Car Park
The Surgery
Charity Fatigue
Chocolate or Sex?
Useful Ways to Die
Premature Emasculation
Monday: Abergavenny Thursdays v Sheffield Wednesday
Tuesday is Soup
Friday on My Mind
POETS Day
Saturday, Saturday, Cheese
Daffodils
All Garlic No Meal
Pigging Out
The Chef is in the Saucepan
More is Always Too Much
Blood on the Table
Wallowing
When the Teacher is Redundant
Dead Baby Soup
Sitting in Tesco Car Park
The Surgery
Charity Fatigue
Chocolate or Sex?
Useful Ways to Die
Premature Emasculation
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
6PM Prompts 19:20 Deadline
A story beginning. “You put yer left leg in”
A story ending “You pull yer left leg out
Less is More
Eyeless in Gaza
Armless but Dangerous
Legless, Drinking with Dylan
Footless and Fancy-Free
Toothless, but his Bite still Hurts
Apple, Apple, Apple
The Hiroshima DVD
If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
Aspects of the Navel
Even Fighters Die
Able to Look, Doesn’t See
Banzai! Banzai!
Talking to Mr Fuckukami
Albert’s One-Eyed Bed Snake
Monocular in aspic
Travels With My Girlfriend’s Monkey
Why Rubber Trees Grow in Straight Lines
Purple
A story beginning, “They departed, the Gods, on the day of the strange tide”
Write a Zombie story without the word Zombie, or blood
Going North
A Rainy Day in Manchester, a Cafe, Julia
M, M, M
A story ending “You pull yer left leg out
Less is More
Eyeless in Gaza
Armless but Dangerous
Legless, Drinking with Dylan
Footless and Fancy-Free
Toothless, but his Bite still Hurts
Apple, Apple, Apple
The Hiroshima DVD
If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
Aspects of the Navel
Even Fighters Die
Able to Look, Doesn’t See
Banzai! Banzai!
Talking to Mr Fuckukami
Albert’s One-Eyed Bed Snake
Monocular in aspic
Travels With My Girlfriend’s Monkey
Why Rubber Trees Grow in Straight Lines
Purple
A story beginning, “They departed, the Gods, on the day of the strange tide”
Write a Zombie story without the word Zombie, or blood
Going North
A Rainy Day in Manchester, a Cafe, Julia
M, M, M
Language
I posted this today on the excellent blog of Tom Conoboy
Hi all, in the Boot Camp "gridding" process, language has a PAR mark of 10 whereas opening is 11, character and theme and plot 12, pace 12-13 and ending 12.
Why do I appear to "downgrade" language when I so love it, and occasionally write (myself) in a writerly way?
Because a great story can be great with fairly ordinary language. Adequate, of course, suiting the purpose, of course, and perhaps, though apparently "ordinary" (think Raymond Carver) it is actually very polished language.
In that latter case we score for "invisible excellence"
But beginning and intermediate writers and many well-published authors(and BLOODY BANVILLE) need to understand, as Vanessa says, that language is ALWAYS the servant to the story, never the leader.
In BC we would also have the case that if language par was for a fairly arty, "languaged" style then 99% of BC stories would always be marked as (linguistically) UNDER par and the result would be writers adding bells and whistles to try to gain higher marks. UGH!
No, we first learn to write good stories, led by character and meaning, in whatever linguistic weight/complexity serves us at this time.
We then learn to lose the cliches, the stock phrases, the redundancies and accidental repetition or bad, accidental internal rhymes.
and we slowly attain a gentle flow, a more natural, smoother flowing narrative. BUT this could still be (at first glance) "unlanguaged"
A year or two in we are using a single perfect word where once it was a sentence or half a sentence, and we have learned flow and rhythm, pace and pacing, when to hold the reader's hand to the flame and so on.
But IMO this should ALWAYS be, a natural "emanating" thing and never IMPOSED.
I believe character, voice, tone, plot, AND language should spontaneously rise up and come from us. Every one of my quotable lines was NOT engineered, and 90% of them were never edited.
The ability to XXXXXX the right phrases (I'm trying to think of a nicer word than vomit) does NOT come from trying (this is why I LOATHE Banville's Booker winner as pretentious shit (I'm holding back here).. it comes from EATING
eating poetry (you don't need to understand it or be a poet, eating stories, eating songs, eating adverts, eating photography
eating all the arts and most deliberately trying NOT to work them out but let them work on you.
I am working-class, from a bookless family, missed years of school, left at fifteen, read Mickey Spillane and Dick Francis, never did serious literature before the age of thirty (and then not much) but learning to be open to things allowed me to get a feel for language.
as an aside, Tom, I find your ability to read (speed wise and depth-wise) astonishing and I feel intimidated by your academic abilities!
Precisely HOW that happened I don't really know, but it's something about going naked as a reader, almost allowing yourself to be f----, I mean seduced by the writer.
I know that the unconscious or subconscious is a thousand times the writer the conscious ever will be.
I tell Boot Campers to argue, analyse BETWEEN stories, but then to forget everything when they write. Strangely, each story they write has a small step gleaned when analysing but "erupting" and not placed when free-writing.
If that's random, so be it. My preferred way!
Alex
Hi all, in the Boot Camp "gridding" process, language has a PAR mark of 10 whereas opening is 11, character and theme and plot 12, pace 12-13 and ending 12.
Why do I appear to "downgrade" language when I so love it, and occasionally write (myself) in a writerly way?
Because a great story can be great with fairly ordinary language. Adequate, of course, suiting the purpose, of course, and perhaps, though apparently "ordinary" (think Raymond Carver) it is actually very polished language.
In that latter case we score for "invisible excellence"
But beginning and intermediate writers and many well-published authors(and BLOODY BANVILLE) need to understand, as Vanessa says, that language is ALWAYS the servant to the story, never the leader.
In BC we would also have the case that if language par was for a fairly arty, "languaged" style then 99% of BC stories would always be marked as (linguistically) UNDER par and the result would be writers adding bells and whistles to try to gain higher marks. UGH!
No, we first learn to write good stories, led by character and meaning, in whatever linguistic weight/complexity serves us at this time.
We then learn to lose the cliches, the stock phrases, the redundancies and accidental repetition or bad, accidental internal rhymes.
and we slowly attain a gentle flow, a more natural, smoother flowing narrative. BUT this could still be (at first glance) "unlanguaged"
A year or two in we are using a single perfect word where once it was a sentence or half a sentence, and we have learned flow and rhythm, pace and pacing, when to hold the reader's hand to the flame and so on.
But IMO this should ALWAYS be, a natural "emanating" thing and never IMPOSED.
I believe character, voice, tone, plot, AND language should spontaneously rise up and come from us. Every one of my quotable lines was NOT engineered, and 90% of them were never edited.
The ability to XXXXXX the right phrases (I'm trying to think of a nicer word than vomit) does NOT come from trying (this is why I LOATHE Banville's Booker winner as pretentious shit (I'm holding back here).. it comes from EATING
eating poetry (you don't need to understand it or be a poet, eating stories, eating songs, eating adverts, eating photography
eating all the arts and most deliberately trying NOT to work them out but let them work on you.
I am working-class, from a bookless family, missed years of school, left at fifteen, read Mickey Spillane and Dick Francis, never did serious literature before the age of thirty (and then not much) but learning to be open to things allowed me to get a feel for language.
as an aside, Tom, I find your ability to read (speed wise and depth-wise) astonishing and I feel intimidated by your academic abilities!
Precisely HOW that happened I don't really know, but it's something about going naked as a reader, almost allowing yourself to be f----, I mean seduced by the writer.
I know that the unconscious or subconscious is a thousand times the writer the conscious ever will be.
I tell Boot Campers to argue, analyse BETWEEN stories, but then to forget everything when they write. Strangely, each story they write has a small step gleaned when analysing but "erupting" and not placed when free-writing.
If that's random, so be it. My preferred way!
Alex
1505 (1615) Prompts Deadline 1730
Black Boots, Brown Boots
A book, but not as we know it, Jim
Ditch
Cat in a hat
Beneath the Rubble
A Sanctimony of Popes
Moon, Bird, heat
A house full of trees, A hundred horses
Madeleine
His secretary is crying
Very little blood
The ploughman and his plough
FINGER
After the singing, after the crying
Flat White
Gold letter on her front, she sound Polish
Sorry, is that yours?
NAIL
It’ll be another couple of minutes
BISCOTTO
After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
CRISP
If all men are rapists, then all women are typists!
The stars beneath our feet
Black Wednesday
A book, but not as we know it, Jim
Ditch
Cat in a hat
Beneath the Rubble
A Sanctimony of Popes
Moon, Bird, heat
A house full of trees, A hundred horses
Madeleine
His secretary is crying
Very little blood
The ploughman and his plough
FINGER
After the singing, after the crying
Flat White
Gold letter on her front, she sound Polish
Sorry, is that yours?
NAIL
It’ll be another couple of minutes
BISCOTTO
After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
CRISP
If all men are rapists, then all women are typists!
The stars beneath our feet
Black Wednesday
0730 Prompts Tuesday Feb 2nd
Deadline 08:50
Going Back to Miami
CHEESE
How did she ever get to be this alone?
How sad the mouse loves the elephant
ARMAGEDDON
How to Be Alone
I am thinking about my father, my mother
I don't like football any more
PILLS
I remember others summers
Pencils, beer-mats, matchboxes, pens
Prospero
Stand By Me
T S Eliot on His iPod, Dante in His Bag
WINE
The Death of Ivan
The Smell of Cooking Meat, High on the Night
SCHOLAR
The Smile Upon My Face
The taste of purple, the smell of priests
The Tolstoy i-Pod
The Vaguely-Happy Barrista
PAC-MAN
The Waste Land
There appears to be no ridge, no way for it to hold
TXT
Various Methods of Appeal
Watching people rise and scatter
SALT
Going Back to Miami
CHEESE
How did she ever get to be this alone?
How sad the mouse loves the elephant
ARMAGEDDON
How to Be Alone
I am thinking about my father, my mother
I don't like football any more
PILLS
I remember others summers
Pencils, beer-mats, matchboxes, pens
Prospero
Stand By Me
T S Eliot on His iPod, Dante in His Bag
WINE
The Death of Ivan
The Smell of Cooking Meat, High on the Night
SCHOLAR
The Smile Upon My Face
The taste of purple, the smell of priests
The Tolstoy i-Pod
The Vaguely-Happy Barrista
PAC-MAN
The Waste Land
There appears to be no ridge, no way for it to hold
TXT
Various Methods of Appeal
Watching people rise and scatter
SALT
0615 Prompts Tuesday
Deadline 07:35
When I walked beside my father
I smell bacon
I was a snowman, born in July
Lady Sings the Blues
Leaving Soon for Lancaster
My School Cap Flying
Of course elephants can jump
One Or Two Batteries May Work
Peel it back
52 Ways of Looking at Love
A Change is Gonna Come
A wide street in Beijing
A wooden chair in the corner of a cold room
About your credit score
Around the bottom of the tree, but not the tree
Attic Dreams
Boring Letters Home
Fighting Towards Italy
Flowers
When I walked beside my father
I smell bacon
I was a snowman, born in July
Lady Sings the Blues
Leaving Soon for Lancaster
My School Cap Flying
Of course elephants can jump
One Or Two Batteries May Work
Peel it back
52 Ways of Looking at Love
A Change is Gonna Come
A wide street in Beijing
A wooden chair in the corner of a cold room
About your credit score
Around the bottom of the tree, but not the tree
Attic Dreams
Boring Letters Home
Fighting Towards Italy
Flowers
Monday, February 01, 2010
21-30 Prompts a Little Early
You just get extra minutes.
Deadline 22:40
A.M. 180
An honest man here, probably
Books to the wedding
Bruises
Burn one down
but anyway
Chop Suey!
Element of light
Especially when it snows, if it snows
Faith may be they anchor
Great things
He lived next door, a child
I dreamt about Claire, Oh God, and rose at four
I seem them on shelves, on window-sills
I Spy
It's alright ma (I'm only bleeding)
Just a day
Just give 'em whiskey
Kidney
LACW Hall. S, can't you see your tattered dress...
Of the sea, to the sea
One man, one hundred thousand dead, how cool is that? How it should be
Our Bovine Public
Romans
Standing on the last star
Tail-End Charlies
The Blower's daughter
The dead depart? To where?
The Loneliness of a tower crane driver
The smallest cage
Toilet paper
Torn on the platform
True false, fake real
Waving Flags
We fight for diamonds
Where did you come from, down what light?
You were not there
Deadline 22:40
A.M. 180
An honest man here, probably
Books to the wedding
Bruises
Burn one down
but anyway
Chop Suey!
Element of light
Especially when it snows, if it snows
Faith may be they anchor
Great things
He lived next door, a child
I dreamt about Claire, Oh God, and rose at four
I seem them on shelves, on window-sills
I Spy
It's alright ma (I'm only bleeding)
Just a day
Just give 'em whiskey
Kidney
LACW Hall. S, can't you see your tattered dress...
Of the sea, to the sea
One man, one hundred thousand dead, how cool is that? How it should be
Our Bovine Public
Romans
Standing on the last star
Tail-End Charlies
The Blower's daughter
The dead depart? To where?
The Loneliness of a tower crane driver
The smallest cage
Toilet paper
Torn on the platform
True false, fake real
Waving Flags
We fight for diamonds
Where did you come from, down what light?
You were not there
19;30 PROMPTS
Deadline 20-45
SNOW
Something About a Leopard
SUICIDE ANGEL
The Reservation: Celebrity Chiefs
SULLEN
The sea sings because it is moving
TAXI
The Angry Priest
The grass needs cutting
The simplicity of it
The train is empty. It doesn't want to leave
There is a sign of night, clouds
They're sending for a van
To Protect the Quality of Our Coffee
Unrelationshiply making love
VARIOUS BAGS
Waiting for morning, for breakfast
WATCHING
We lie, in bed
We smoke a silent cigarette, look at the rain
When I was a child, I imagined.
Which of the Gods Made Them Quarrel?
WHITSUN
Who's afraid of Jane Austen?
Wondering about small American towns, dusty roads
Your body is too sharp
Zeppelin
SNOW
Something About a Leopard
SUICIDE ANGEL
The Reservation: Celebrity Chiefs
SULLEN
The sea sings because it is moving
TAXI
The Angry Priest
The grass needs cutting
The simplicity of it
The train is empty. It doesn't want to leave
There is a sign of night, clouds
They're sending for a van
To Protect the Quality of Our Coffee
Unrelationshiply making love
VARIOUS BAGS
Waiting for morning, for breakfast
WATCHING
We lie, in bed
We smoke a silent cigarette, look at the rain
When I was a child, I imagined.
Which of the Gods Made Them Quarrel?
WHITSUN
Who's afraid of Jane Austen?
Wondering about small American towns, dusty roads
Your body is too sharp
Zeppelin
Prompts at 18:05
Deadline 19:20
Lost Without His Brother
Love broke out
Madame Curie
My father was claustrophobic
NAIL
No sense of rush, just being
Not really worth considering
NOTE
Now there is no table
One brick, then a second, then three, four
Only still water reflects
PEOPLE ACTUALLY TALK IN COFFEE SHOPS
Pickard woke me
Pigeons gathering on wet slate
POD
Problems with Greek
RED
Slowly the women file forward
The A-Z of useless platitudes
RHODODENDRON
The road to your place, they are digging it up
SAND
Scan it in and fax it
The Last Thing You Read
Lost Without His Brother
Love broke out
Madame Curie
My father was claustrophobic
NAIL
No sense of rush, just being
Not really worth considering
NOTE
Now there is no table
One brick, then a second, then three, four
Only still water reflects
PEOPLE ACTUALLY TALK IN COFFEE SHOPS
Pickard woke me
Pigeons gathering on wet slate
POD
Problems with Greek
RED
Slowly the women file forward
The A-Z of useless platitudes
RHODODENDRON
The road to your place, they are digging it up
SAND
Scan it in and fax it
The Last Thing You Read
12:40 Prompts
DEADLINE 2:05 PM
How old men walk, I hate it so
GRENADE
I am trying to remember, trying to believe it
HAND-WRITTEN
He asked them, "Play the Birdie Song"
A glass door flashing
A Sad House
A Tea-Room Garden, a single bee
DECLINED
He wakes crying
I believe I could believe
I have something not to say
I wanted to love once more so I could die
If, dear
In The Court of the Red Queen
It will be something to talk about at least
It would be nice to have the time
It's like a wound that opens and then opens
It's square, but more round than that
JACK!
Let us compare our lives, our separate sadness
Let's face it. Or not
Locked in
Long, slow railway stations, the darknesses
How old men walk, I hate it so
GRENADE
I am trying to remember, trying to believe it
HAND-WRITTEN
He asked them, "Play the Birdie Song"
A glass door flashing
A Sad House
A Tea-Room Garden, a single bee
DECLINED
He wakes crying
I believe I could believe
I have something not to say
I wanted to love once more so I could die
If, dear
In The Court of the Red Queen
It will be something to talk about at least
It would be nice to have the time
It's like a wound that opens and then opens
It's square, but more round than that
JACK!
Let us compare our lives, our separate sadness
Let's face it. Or not
Locked in
Long, slow railway stations, the darknesses
The Real Thing February 1st 0530 Prompts
Deadline is 0645
Please email "I'm in" if you are doing this session (same goes for evry session) (alex.keegan@btinternet.com)
PROMPTS
A tin-roofed shack, no phone
CHATTER
After the Coma
It could be perfect but a leaf falls, falls
It was in a poem, or an advert
Attic
Back to my high, empty place
Banquet
CLASSICAL
Blessings, Effendi
But then, who does?
Calling Down the Money
Dog in a bath
Dogs
Don't give it a thought
DRINK
Flanagan Starts Running
Frailty
He didn't have a belly-button
CORPUS CHRISTI
He left her photographs of sad caravans
GAS!
From Thursday to Friday
GLOOMING
Please email "I'm in" if you are doing this session (same goes for evry session) (alex.keegan@btinternet.com)
PROMPTS
A tin-roofed shack, no phone
CHATTER
After the Coma
It could be perfect but a leaf falls, falls
It was in a poem, or an advert
Attic
Back to my high, empty place
Banquet
CLASSICAL
Blessings, Effendi
But then, who does?
Calling Down the Money
Dog in a bath
Dogs
Don't give it a thought
DRINK
Flanagan Starts Running
Frailty
He didn't have a belly-button
CORPUS CHRISTI
He left her photographs of sad caravans
GAS!
From Thursday to Friday
GLOOMING
Sunday, January 31, 2010
22:07 Prompts
Deadline 23:45
Pints of beer and warmed up shandies
SIXPENCE
Someone has died at number ninety-five
The alternatives were ghoulish
The Man from the Pru is chasing Mrs Evans
The wood vibrates
Three tanner doubles and a treble on some mares
We could marry down the Reggie, so we did
Well we knew that we were foolish
You said you did not love me, but there was the kid
1939
A Small War, Far Away
After They Leave
And a boy at fifty-two has an odd disease
And a packet of ready-salted or a pie
And Ron from seventeen is in Cardiff for debts
BLACK
Bloody Beethoven
But Robert Wakeham went to nick for twenty years
CRASH
Dad borrowed a quid from Mam, went to the Gaer
Dance like you are going to die tomorrow
Enough left for The Sporting Life and just about four pints
February, March, Late
Forced smiles on a hundred pink-faced women
Pints of beer and warmed up shandies
SIXPENCE
Someone has died at number ninety-five
The alternatives were ghoulish
The Man from the Pru is chasing Mrs Evans
The wood vibrates
Three tanner doubles and a treble on some mares
We could marry down the Reggie, so we did
Well we knew that we were foolish
You said you did not love me, but there was the kid
1939
A Small War, Far Away
After They Leave
And a boy at fifty-two has an odd disease
And a packet of ready-salted or a pie
And Ron from seventeen is in Cardiff for debts
BLACK
Bloody Beethoven
But Robert Wakeham went to nick for twenty years
CRASH
Dad borrowed a quid from Mam, went to the Gaer
Dance like you are going to die tomorrow
Enough left for The Sporting Life and just about four pints
February, March, Late
Forced smiles on a hundred pink-faced women
20:30 Prompts
1066
Fred Murphy made a fortune on the lorries to Llanwern
Grass polished yellow
He had three daughters there, all with bastards
Her Family Tree is a Willow, I am Pine
Hiroshima
How to Be Alone
I cut your grass, took out your trash
I stood beside your bed
In His Cottage Kitchen, Just Talking, About Books
In the shed, in a corner
It has nothing to do with love
It just went on until they all began to die
It’s on ITV 19
It's the same the whole world over
Keep looking till it hurts
Last Tango in Basingstoke
Lawrence of Bulgaria
Married and not even pregnant
Men in sports jackets and open-necked shirts
My mother liked the bingo up Stow Hill
Officially, we are not brothers, but I choose to disagree
On Thursdays Mrs Murphy polished her pill
One Hundred Million Pounds
One or Two Natural Wonders of the World
Fred Murphy made a fortune on the lorries to Llanwern
Grass polished yellow
He had three daughters there, all with bastards
Her Family Tree is a Willow, I am Pine
Hiroshima
How to Be Alone
I cut your grass, took out your trash
I stood beside your bed
In His Cottage Kitchen, Just Talking, About Books
In the shed, in a corner
It has nothing to do with love
It just went on until they all began to die
It’s on ITV 19
It's the same the whole world over
Keep looking till it hurts
Last Tango in Basingstoke
Lawrence of Bulgaria
Married and not even pregnant
Men in sports jackets and open-necked shirts
My mother liked the bingo up Stow Hill
Officially, we are not brothers, but I choose to disagree
On Thursdays Mrs Murphy polished her pill
One Hundred Million Pounds
One or Two Natural Wonders of the World
Sunday 18:32
We are here to help you
SALMON
She whispers from the corners of her eyes, looks with a curled lip
Strong Plunge I Have
Ted is going to buy a cheap radio this week
Telephone Call From Istanbul
Tell the Joker he's not funny; give the Penguin the bird.
Ten Million Green Bottles.
The floor is full, may I have another room?
The House is Sad, the furniture weary
COD
The Simple Truth
The sound of padding dogs
The Thing About Birthdays
The Vacuum Run
The Zombie I met in Tesco
SNAPPER
They're all doing a brand-new dance
Trailer Park Boys
TOUGH
Vinegar soaking through
Way Down in the Hole
MAJESTY
You and your strange ways
You Can Look But You Better Not Touch
SALMON
She whispers from the corners of her eyes, looks with a curled lip
Strong Plunge I Have
Ted is going to buy a cheap radio this week
Telephone Call From Istanbul
Tell the Joker he's not funny; give the Penguin the bird.
Ten Million Green Bottles.
The floor is full, may I have another room?
The House is Sad, the furniture weary
COD
The Simple Truth
The sound of padding dogs
The Thing About Birthdays
The Vacuum Run
The Zombie I met in Tesco
SNAPPER
They're all doing a brand-new dance
Trailer Park Boys
TOUGH
Vinegar soaking through
Way Down in the Hole
MAJESTY
You and your strange ways
You Can Look But You Better Not Touch
Sunday 15:17
Deadline (official start 15:30) is 16:45
I have decided to be slovenly
I think my sight is not what it was
I want to somewhere, on a long dark train, whistling
Kitchen Sync
Lovely Rita
Madness by Text
Maybe We Will Recover
Memories of My Father
Memories TV
Monica Monica Canteen Queen
i-Housemaid
My Auntie is sad because she's dying. My uncle is sad because he can't.
My little enamel table
My new hairdo and clothes have cheered me up
Next door's cat is shitting in my roses
One day I will be a skinny boy, ribs showing
One Mint Left
PING!
I have been having a pleasant day in bed, resting and reading
Please choose music, photos
PLUM
Pull Yourself Apart, Man!
Red Light
Robin
Say it's all right Joe
I have decided to be slovenly
I think my sight is not what it was
I want to somewhere, on a long dark train, whistling
Kitchen Sync
Lovely Rita
Madness by Text
Maybe We Will Recover
Memories of My Father
Memories TV
Monica Monica Canteen Queen
i-Housemaid
My Auntie is sad because she's dying. My uncle is sad because he can't.
My little enamel table
My new hairdo and clothes have cheered me up
Next door's cat is shitting in my roses
One day I will be a skinny boy, ribs showing
One Mint Left
PING!
I have been having a pleasant day in bed, resting and reading
Please choose music, photos
PLUM
Pull Yourself Apart, Man!
Red Light
Robin
Say it's all right Joe
Sunday 13:35
Deadline 14:55
Man on a Bridge
A Plain Wood Table, A Simple Chair
A story of lunches and love
A young women in an apron dreaming of the higgler
All the Way to the Middle
An Awfully Big Adventure
An old man in a rusty wheelchair
Apart from the obvious, there is little to say
As for the hall, they've done the best they can
As the rain falls, as the rain falls
Be that as it may
Black Rain
Blue Avenue
Boots on white linen
Brown paper, about this wide
Clean Sheets and a River View
Crumple Me
Everyday, Every Way
Frog
He's BEHIND you!
I am baffled by you
I am going to start seeing a woman doctor
I Doubt it Very Much, Mrs Havisham
I feel almost smothered when I start to write
Man on a Bridge
A Plain Wood Table, A Simple Chair
A story of lunches and love
A young women in an apron dreaming of the higgler
All the Way to the Middle
An Awfully Big Adventure
An old man in a rusty wheelchair
Apart from the obvious, there is little to say
As for the hall, they've done the best they can
As the rain falls, as the rain falls
Be that as it may
Black Rain
Blue Avenue
Boots on white linen
Brown paper, about this wide
Clean Sheets and a River View
Crumple Me
Everyday, Every Way
Frog
He's BEHIND you!
I am baffled by you
I am going to start seeing a woman doctor
I Doubt it Very Much, Mrs Havisham
I feel almost smothered when I start to write
Sunday before Noon
Deadline 1305
When I am blind I will feel sunsets
I am glass; you shimmer, you are light
The history in a single grain
I am not much looking forward
I look at this scar, long, incredible. I was wide open once.
The sun in scorpio
First there is a forest, naturally trees, but the thing is forest
Maybe my sight is getting worse
Let me put it this way, there weren't six foot posters of him on student walls
Shivering, but it is internal, hands steady as a rock
I will lie down
What do you think of the hat?
They're only bombs, Mrs Tavistock, bombs don't decide
All this is is a table, these are people
Listen, beneath our breaths, listen
There were many of us, now there are few
It's hard to imagine love in Thatcham
Quietly, it must have been a weekend, they took us from the map
What kind of effigy?
All I am is at the window, all you are is not
My grey suit, my grey suit, my grey suit, my pink.
When I am blind I will feel sunsets
I am glass; you shimmer, you are light
The history in a single grain
I am not much looking forward
I look at this scar, long, incredible. I was wide open once.
The sun in scorpio
First there is a forest, naturally trees, but the thing is forest
Maybe my sight is getting worse
Let me put it this way, there weren't six foot posters of him on student walls
Shivering, but it is internal, hands steady as a rock
I will lie down
What do you think of the hat?
They're only bombs, Mrs Tavistock, bombs don't decide
All this is is a table, these are people
Listen, beneath our breaths, listen
There were many of us, now there are few
It's hard to imagine love in Thatcham
Quietly, it must have been a weekend, they took us from the map
What kind of effigy?
All I am is at the window, all you are is not
My grey suit, my grey suit, my grey suit, my pink.
More Prompts Coming
Despite a few crises here expect promts SUNDAY
at
11:30
13:30
15:30
then break
18:30
20:30
22:30
as long as there is demand (at east one writer asking)
at
11:30
13:30
15:30
then break
18:30
20:30
22:30
as long as there is demand (at east one writer asking)
Sunday Morning Prompts
Apologies for the lateness. Domestic Disasters
(no that's not a prompt!)
Stand still a moment, listen carefully
When the day comes, and it will
Staples
Balancing his work, his lover, his writing
We woke up face to face like lovers
NAIL
A small dark dot, someone is waving
We are waiting for the drowned man
The endless emptiness when they are gone
Something has come to our attention
Facing backwards on the escalator
Full of professors and so-o-o-o American
An Orang-Utan, his dog
A stitch of want below the throat
In a filthy alley just below
It's small things, the unreturned email, the pauses
Belching out the Devil
This is one possible way, raise our heads, walk
If candle-flame took the light
Perhaps there is a way we can recover
(no that's not a prompt!)
Stand still a moment, listen carefully
When the day comes, and it will
Staples
Balancing his work, his lover, his writing
We woke up face to face like lovers
NAIL
A small dark dot, someone is waving
We are waiting for the drowned man
The endless emptiness when they are gone
Something has come to our attention
Facing backwards on the escalator
Full of professors and so-o-o-o American
An Orang-Utan, his dog
A stitch of want below the throat
In a filthy alley just below
It's small things, the unreturned email, the pauses
Belching out the Devil
This is one possible way, raise our heads, walk
If candle-flame took the light
Perhaps there is a way we can recover
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Just Before Midnight
Jut got in:
We were more or less accomplices
Old men reading newspapers
But she came to me, whispering, sucking, when she chose
Your gesture is appreciated
It is a trim accountancy
The air is poison
Hear careless children in the schoolyard, dancing on bones
It is kind of you to come
I loved my lover and I tried to love my wife
You drag out your days on your knees
Soup
I remember once, a nurse, not of my country
A face that called me deep, and echoing
The daily struggle ends in whispers
From what we have gathered we are not alone
A sadness waits here, like a tick in grass
Frankly, it would be nice to pause a while and take a drink
See death fly by confused
She loved a man who said he was a singer
They are all holier than I
What I believe is like a light across the moor
I stumble forward but the ground is treacherous
Every city has its ghetto
Of childhood, most, I remember fears
My name is Elias Jones, I have been dead these weeks
We were more or less accomplices
Old men reading newspapers
But she came to me, whispering, sucking, when she chose
Your gesture is appreciated
It is a trim accountancy
The air is poison
Hear careless children in the schoolyard, dancing on bones
It is kind of you to come
I loved my lover and I tried to love my wife
You drag out your days on your knees
Soup
I remember once, a nurse, not of my country
A face that called me deep, and echoing
The daily struggle ends in whispers
From what we have gathered we are not alone
A sadness waits here, like a tick in grass
Frankly, it would be nice to pause a while and take a drink
See death fly by confused
She loved a man who said he was a singer
They are all holier than I
What I believe is like a light across the moor
I stumble forward but the ground is treacherous
Every city has its ghetto
Of childhood, most, I remember fears
My name is Elias Jones, I have been dead these weeks
Saturday Evening Prompts
Here are two days' worth of prompts.
Use half for the 7:15 session (deadline 8:50) and the other half gor the 9 o'clock kick-off
I'll be back to post a set of prompts at 11:30
A grey curtain
Because above all things you wanted me
Begin again when the light rises
Death is never a mistake
Don't CLING
Everywhere will be home
Face
Faster and Faster. Faster!
From unmarked box to unmarked box
Fucking in the shower
I am a hungry bear, a scurrying rat
I have no voice
I see a lighthouse, sending out dark
If I knew how, I would do this delicately
I'll say it, then. No
I'm building a seven-sided cube
It is time to read out the charges
Let me take you through it again
Life spared him. The others were lucky.
Like something has started dancing on your desk
My kids are off to Auchswitz
Nine out of ten humans when asked prefer
No THIS is clutter
PIANO
Somewhere, a woman is singing
Stones scatter themselves, the wind rests then moves on
The hospital, the doctor, the squirting flower
There are soft moments, silences, village cricket, insects
There are voices, ripples on the night
There is an empty chair
There is someone, something, in the ditch
They are manning the barricades, the ditches
This is the third time this week
To be born is to expect pain
Tongue and Teeth
We are too sad to be blind
We are walking to the North end
Why not be a surgeon?
WORMS
Years ago when I was not old enough, I never thought I would be too old
Your hair is wet, your eyes
Use half for the 7:15 session (deadline 8:50) and the other half gor the 9 o'clock kick-off
I'll be back to post a set of prompts at 11:30
A grey curtain
Because above all things you wanted me
Begin again when the light rises
Death is never a mistake
Don't CLING
Everywhere will be home
Face
Faster and Faster. Faster!
From unmarked box to unmarked box
Fucking in the shower
I am a hungry bear, a scurrying rat
I have no voice
I see a lighthouse, sending out dark
If I knew how, I would do this delicately
I'll say it, then. No
I'm building a seven-sided cube
It is time to read out the charges
Let me take you through it again
Life spared him. The others were lucky.
Like something has started dancing on your desk
My kids are off to Auchswitz
Nine out of ten humans when asked prefer
No THIS is clutter
PIANO
Somewhere, a woman is singing
Stones scatter themselves, the wind rests then moves on
The hospital, the doctor, the squirting flower
There are soft moments, silences, village cricket, insects
There are voices, ripples on the night
There is an empty chair
There is someone, something, in the ditch
They are manning the barricades, the ditches
This is the third time this week
To be born is to expect pain
Tongue and Teeth
We are too sad to be blind
We are walking to the North end
Why not be a surgeon?
WORMS
Years ago when I was not old enough, I never thought I would be too old
Your hair is wet, your eyes
Frantic Flash Prompts 004
Deadline 10:10 Hours
============================
Please do not call me, "Nazi"
Of course I have thought about it over the years
Before we continue, may I just say
The street is empty, I smell smoke
My wife bought me a cat because I hate cats
I often wondered about other mothers
It's a small, pretty place, near Milford Haven
Probably isn't definitely
My workers work: I manage. It is that simple
KINDLY
The hand that rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket
Slum Dog Millionaire
Perhaps I should return to my apartment
How Plaster Dries
Something in the night sky, lights
Were they ever rescued?
We went kite dragging, not flying
Another storm is battering at the windows, the wind keens
Music Classses
Clothes lines flapping with white, the sound of children
She was, in the end, more or less unharmed
PINK!
Egg Night
A Small Good Thing
============================
Please do not call me, "Nazi"
Of course I have thought about it over the years
Before we continue, may I just say
The street is empty, I smell smoke
My wife bought me a cat because I hate cats
I often wondered about other mothers
It's a small, pretty place, near Milford Haven
Probably isn't definitely
My workers work: I manage. It is that simple
KINDLY
The hand that rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket
Slum Dog Millionaire
Perhaps I should return to my apartment
How Plaster Dries
Something in the night sky, lights
Were they ever rescued?
We went kite dragging, not flying
Another storm is battering at the windows, the wind keens
Music Classses
Clothes lines flapping with white, the sound of children
She was, in the end, more or less unharmed
PINK!
Egg Night
A Small Good Thing
Frantic Flash Prompts 003
The sound of his voice
How the earth strains before it cries out
A swell, modest time
TACK
Cinema Darling, or Perhaps a murder?
In a catholic country
INCENSE
What are we waiting for, assembled in the halls?
DANCERS
The burnt-out ends of a ragged month
FADE
A newspaper tumbles in the wind
DUST
Blinds are pulled down at dirty, yellow windows
MORE, MORE!
And she was built in pride and made for death
FUTURE
To see them flourish, fall
CANNON
We lived in trees, or waded in the shallows of the lake
FIRE
Fish are rotting in choked channels
JACOB's LADDER
Things will get raw and bleed
FIG
Everywhere stinks
GENIE
It is a small sacrifice, just my son
52 WAYS
Like old men double up and coughing
BLEARY
Death is beautiful slowed down
He is not as he is
Haggard
A constitution of Foibles
Almond Tea
How the earth strains before it cries out
A swell, modest time
TACK
Cinema Darling, or Perhaps a murder?
In a catholic country
INCENSE
What are we waiting for, assembled in the halls?
DANCERS
The burnt-out ends of a ragged month
FADE
A newspaper tumbles in the wind
DUST
Blinds are pulled down at dirty, yellow windows
MORE, MORE!
And she was built in pride and made for death
FUTURE
To see them flourish, fall
CANNON
We lived in trees, or waded in the shallows of the lake
FIRE
Fish are rotting in choked channels
JACOB's LADDER
Things will get raw and bleed
FIG
Everywhere stinks
GENIE
It is a small sacrifice, just my son
52 WAYS
Like old men double up and coughing
BLEARY
Death is beautiful slowed down
He is not as he is
Haggard
A constitution of Foibles
Almond Tea
The Audio File
Posting was done in a hurry. I believe some non-Apple folkses may have trouble accessing (then buy an Apple, that's a real computer).
Meanwhile I will investigate other ways of posting Audio.
Meanwhile I will investigate other ways of posting Audio.
Posting the Frantic Flashes
I am posting the flashes in Boot Camp in a dedicated forum. If you are not a Boot Camper and wish to see them, get a YUKU ID (yuku.com) then go HERE http://bootcampkeegan.yuku.com/forums/260 and post a message. I will fix access. (Obviously we need to keep stories out of the public domain.)
Listen to a Frantic Flash
http://www.capel-bethel.com/Site1/Blog/Entries/2010/1/30_Frantic_Flash_1.html
Friday, January 29, 2010
Frantic Flash Practice 02
You will wake soon, I will go
This will need to be checked out, then we'll see
MAYFLY
I dreamt of the perfect story
BIG BROTHER
Tell me about the future, I want to know
HARDBACK
For five days we waited
TORTOISE
A crisp, fresh page
STICK
Remember me when you are gone
THE WHOLE TRUTH
I am too well to be a poet
AUSTERITY BRITAIN
It is like, after too far in the rain, you see a light
TAPE
There is a cold field somewhere, and gold
WATCH
After, we laid in the sun and wept
Where is the boy now, what is he?
CHINK
Owl, white as light
We could build a bridge, or a castle
CHAIN
At your ear, something breathless, rising
For all the mothers in pain
Where dead feet walked
I walked with sorrow, listening to her silence and understanding
This will need to be checked out, then we'll see
MAYFLY
I dreamt of the perfect story
BIG BROTHER
Tell me about the future, I want to know
HARDBACK
For five days we waited
TORTOISE
A crisp, fresh page
STICK
Remember me when you are gone
THE WHOLE TRUTH
I am too well to be a poet
AUSTERITY BRITAIN
It is like, after too far in the rain, you see a light
TAPE
There is a cold field somewhere, and gold
WATCH
After, we laid in the sun and wept
Where is the boy now, what is he?
CHINK
Owl, white as light
We could build a bridge, or a castle
CHAIN
At your ear, something breathless, rising
For all the mothers in pain
Where dead feet walked
I walked with sorrow, listening to her silence and understanding
Frantic Flash Practice 01
Stories due at the very latest 23;50
We are waiting, listless, breathing shallowly
SUBSIST
A Madness of Ashes
The walls are high enough, for we are small and feeble
It's not easy to admit
There are small heroes, just as heroic
Van & Wheelchair
A pebble in her shoe
Standing Stones
Caravan
iPad, Oh I-PAD!!
Ping, something has arrived
It isn’t just the crying
You are sitting, I am sitting. One of us should speak
Boiled Egg
Old Fart’s Ticket
Books for ten pence
Fiddle! Fiddle!
And BEFORE the big bang?
The boys have been playing poker
My mother has sold my books
Sheds, Pigeons
A little bit of luck would have seen us through
Nail
From the backs of pick-up trucks
If you love me, build
Read to me by candle-light, your soft voice
Wearing an old coat
At least the roof doesn't leak
Progress
Are you happy to be in this picture?
Beef
Drifting, Salt
We are waiting, listless, breathing shallowly
SUBSIST
A Madness of Ashes
The walls are high enough, for we are small and feeble
It's not easy to admit
There are small heroes, just as heroic
Van & Wheelchair
A pebble in her shoe
Standing Stones
Caravan
iPad, Oh I-PAD!!
Ping, something has arrived
It isn’t just the crying
You are sitting, I am sitting. One of us should speak
Boiled Egg
Old Fart’s Ticket
Books for ten pence
Fiddle! Fiddle!
And BEFORE the big bang?
The boys have been playing poker
My mother has sold my books
Sheds, Pigeons
A little bit of luck would have seen us through
Nail
From the backs of pick-up trucks
If you love me, build
Read to me by candle-light, your soft voice
Wearing an old coat
At least the roof doesn't leak
Progress
Are you happy to be in this picture?
Beef
Drifting, Salt
Friday's Frantic Flash Prompts
Women in neon passing the window
Career Path
Plain-Clothes detectives are operating in this store
Tripod
What I was about to say
In my attic
She leaves the nursery and begins to walk
There is a pause in the music
Another Toy
I will choose a child not my colour
All the ships have left, the last plane
A Silver Bracelet
So I opened the parcel
ACID
I stood once, at a window in a storm
Tomorrow or Not Eating
Electricity
SAND
And for another twenty-five pounds, a neat leather wallet
Frozen Shoulder
I Have My Lover's Heart (in the fridge)
Come Live With Me and be my fuck-buddy
Shall I compare thee to a 0-0 draw in Crewe on a wet Monday?
Here, have an onion
Bloody Men!
Flea
Catch a Falling Star and Put Him in Hello
Drink to Me, Leona
Gather a few roses and that
You waste your time and mine
When I consider how my life has whistled past
Had we but world enough, and time
There is no one like Sally
Listen, the Curfew Bell
I had a goldfish
I will have a cat named Beatrice
And when a lovely woman
The harbour is still, the sea is low and swollen
Career Path
Plain-Clothes detectives are operating in this store
Tripod
What I was about to say
In my attic
She leaves the nursery and begins to walk
There is a pause in the music
Another Toy
I will choose a child not my colour
All the ships have left, the last plane
A Silver Bracelet
So I opened the parcel
ACID
I stood once, at a window in a storm
Tomorrow or Not Eating
Electricity
SAND
And for another twenty-five pounds, a neat leather wallet
Frozen Shoulder
I Have My Lover's Heart (in the fridge)
Come Live With Me and be my fuck-buddy
Shall I compare thee to a 0-0 draw in Crewe on a wet Monday?
Here, have an onion
Bloody Men!
Flea
Catch a Falling Star and Put Him in Hello
Drink to Me, Leona
Gather a few roses and that
You waste your time and mine
When I consider how my life has whistled past
Had we but world enough, and time
There is no one like Sally
Listen, the Curfew Bell
I had a goldfish
I will have a cat named Beatrice
And when a lovely woman
The harbour is still, the sea is low and swollen
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