Friday, June 05, 2009

Friday Prompts




They have killed a white bird
The woman was in a barn
I’ve put him on the transfer-list
They have filled the wells with bodies




One summer thirty years ago
Have you watched a bird kill a bird?
Streets where front doors touch the road
The softest, blackest, most beautiful bat
Talking to God is called praying; the other way round is schizophrenia
A busload of journalists burning, the firemen watching




I have dedicated myself to drink
Those who came before us
Drop the sword and use sharp words
I am blue and my friends are blue
A crap poem about a wheelbarrow
First is expectation
I am the man who holds up the shield when the women come
And nothing changed except perspective
Last night I dreamt I went to Basingstoke again
A place to suck a buck
I have accidentally started. An avalanche
Hitler and various popes, dead.
The leaf, which does not know it is a leaf, is upon a tree.

Thursday, June 04, 2009

DUH!

There are, of course, loads of pictures of the Chapel

Previously known as Capel Bethel

Will be known as Capel Cader Idris

The web-site is here

Capel-bethel.com


(There are many Capel Bethels) This url should get you to the correct one (with Capel Cader Idris mentioned)

Special Intense Course in Wales


I'm running a course at Capel Bethel (LL37 2JU)

Fri-Sat-Sun 19th-20th-21st June

To book, please contact me

alex.keegan(at sign)btinternet.com

Intention to produce to near-finished stories from scratch and
help with improving any existent ones.

Very useful for Bridport, but useful anyway

Leaving another nine days after the course
to tidy if necessary (if entering Bridport)



The Chapel is fantastic. A purpose-designed refurbishment to run
writing schools.

There are two double beds, six beds as bunks, two twins
and 3/4 double sofa beds... the French Oak table seats 12...

Here are two shots of one of the bedrooms







FIVE stereos, one has an iPod Dock


42" Flat (HD) screen, DVD and Blu-Ray Player

Bar Billiards Table,

Thousands of quality books, hundreds on writing prose and poetry

There's telephone and broadband and a wireless network.

Four computers in-house but people usually bring lap-tops

and then there's me (cough)

Cost of the course is £120 for Sat-Sun £150 for Fri-Sat-Sun but I would strongly recommend people attend for the three days.

If you are wondering what Alex Keegan courses are like I think we can provide a few references, not the least being that Boot Campers have won more than 130 first prizes.

Prompts 4th June 15:25


I am baffled by you
Next door’s cat is shitting in my roses
Frog
He’s BEHIND you!
She whispers from the corners of her eyes, looks with a curled lip
They’re all doing a brand-new dance
Boots on white linen
An old man in a rusty wheelchair
Tell the Joker he’s not funny; give the Penguin the bird.




You and your strange ways
A story of lunches and love
The Zombie I met in Tesco
My Auntie is sad because she’s dying. My uncle is sad because he can’t.
Lovely Rita
Vinegar soaking through




I wanted to be a strange girl
Apart from that I am almost healthy
The next time I accidentally smile, tell yourself it’s wind
Eddie has the wrong kind of love in him
I missed last summer. I was in the bath




Ten Million Green Bottles.
Monica Monica Canteen Queen
The sound of padding dogs
Robin
As the rain falls, as the rain falls
A young women in an apron dreaming of the higgler
Brown paper, about this wide

07:30 Thursday 4th. More Prompts




(To York via Sheffield)
A fire breaks out on the line
A moment in time for a Cheltenham hero
All the guards and all the porters
But fifty-seven passengers
But imagine my surprise
Commissionaire




Cool Calm and collected, up stood a porter
Frantic
High Drama on British Rail
I had to post a letter that morning
In a matter of seconds
Looking for Skimble
Oh Love and you so far away. I never spoke to her but she heard every word.




Perhaps a small stick twisted through
Said this job, it will have to be mine
Someone too silly to see the obvious
Thanked the Lord that they had been saved.
The bagmen are playing cards
The bucket he carried was filled to the brim
The raging inferno was reduced to a mountain of soot



There’s a whisper down the track and a whisper coming back
We are Safe. We are Safe.
When he left nobody waved
When I was a pirate
With water (fire-outing) to put
It was true I was in a hurry
Like a butterfly breaking through

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Prompts 19:15 June 3rd

A mortgage payment, an education
Offered as a keepsake
A movie-star of Marilyn’s magnitude
A worn gardener’s hat
About sex and love and marriage
Affording a view of English society
An old rose fancier was dying




And always the bewildered queries
And make them feel her life on their flesh
Asking for money for an operation
Baffled women wanting to become wonderful
But occasionally a container of faeces would arrive
But what she is instead is hard to define





By the time of the congress
Daily the bags of mail arrived
Fifteen per cent were quite insane
Free of charge
Her wand, all sparkly and nice
I received many telegrams
As though she were a fairy
In some cases, for a fee in others.
In the Public’s imagination
Is obviously no longer human
One man invited her down a mine
Several offered to put her out of her misery
She is a form of longing




Some of the letters
That will somehow stop time for them
That’s probably unique
Addressed to her as an institution
The public holds her up before the sun
To collect its rays to a burning point
To go fishing in a Scottish lake
We invented replies
And in that sense Godlike
Without calling up the supernatural

Prompts 07:30 June 3rd

There never is enough water
Everyone will come to their front door
Long dark silence above me



The night of mothers
We should have built our houses higher
Did they speak or sing?
I have lost my tongue
One day when the sun was wicked and the fields stank
Snug as a policeman’s gun
And then my parent’s went, down a gravelled drive
Experts and other liars
In Gillian Clarke’s Porch
An old ewe not worth saving, a barn to pull down
From Bettws I could see her
Monday’s Drowning





Chairs are rising into the sky
They have come for me in a big car with dark windows
My father, reaching out
All things must close, and it wash over
Spinster
The thing about geometry
On the other pillow
I have been removed from books



Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Fourth Prompt Set 06:45 Tuesday June 2nd

01 There is someone here

02 Night cramp

03 Stink of dark creature

04 I want to be not in love with you

05 Suspicious-looking trucks parked in dark cul-de-sacs

06 Too many words for snow




07 A cow doesn't do housework or look in a mirror

08 Or a dirty joke

09 There are different kinds of silence

10 I watched it happening on television

11 It's a shame we are not endangered

12 Cherry Red

13 A man and a woman naked, OK as long as it's dark

14 Bully Sea




15 My You-Tube Suicide

16 Old Songs in the Background

17 This should do. Why doesn't it?

18 Festival of Crazies

19 And now she is cleansed

20 Before she was a virgin

Monday, June 01, 2009

Third Prompt Set 22:20 Monday June 1st

I am talking about California

An evening fades; there is a clatter far off

I am watching the milking

A View From the Bridge

The bath is ready




Chicken, sort of

Just off the highway between Orlando and St Augustine

Fecundity Management

She didn't bother with make-up

Stair-rods

Sheep are desperately stupid



I have forgotten what we were like then

He is becoming invisible

I want to be a pig, a big snorty, honky PIG

I watched them once, then again

When you are old and botoxed and wired on caffeine

It was the joy in you that persuaded me

Second Prompt Set 16:23 June 1st

Indian Food in Piccadilly

It's a problem with John, the dark eyes

I have no preconceptions

I didn't have time to say I really cared

They may not mean to, but they do



He hung it on the back of a kitchen chair, then hung himself

I hear horses

Georgie's Swastika

I am not old, YOU are old

At least I'm not a fish

I am looking after the family's words

When John had a working liver

A door, five windows

He doesn't want to come down

It's just before the end of the world and these guys walk in




With babies and bayonets

They stretched his body on a tree

I am leading a quiet life, just one murder

I wear Egyptian clothing

He is a cat who creeps at night, a snake

Have you ever stopped to consider

Come lie to me and be my love

I'm over at Jack's trying to work out what comes next

Don't Wait.

1 Join the Blast

2 Tell Fellow writers and persuade them to join

3 Do it NOW!


It's free, it's fun, it will surprise you

June "Blast" Come and Join Us

Boot Campers and Facebookers are joining together to "BLAST" their writing for the month of June, share their work non-publicly, and see just how many pieces they can produce in the month.

We have run these blasts before, with great success. We push each other to produce and tell each other that the point is to produce, not worry.

In fact, time and time again we have found that quantity does NOT reduce quality. It does the opposite. The mere act of production and quickly moving on to the next piece makes each piece less threatening. people relax and produce work which is often a cut above their usual standard.

We produce prompts 1-2-3 times a day (here and in Boot Camp and on the BCK Blog)

These can be used singly, mutiply, directly, indirectly or not at all

We post privately via a secretary so that all poems, flashes, shorts are anonymous.

We respond (not usually properly critique [no time] just to note the piece.

We post daily word-counts and cumulative counts and enjoy trying to move up the league table.

I always win. I'm just too good



http://bootcampkeegan.yuku.com/forums/237

Prompts Monday June 1st 2009

The afternoon was flat, grey and ordinary

It is a big sky, too big

Walking into the weather, leaning on it

The fire died in the night






Not much wind, not too cold, not actually raining

Fifteen squaddies, a mini-bus, a football

A car puttered slowly up the road

The muscles of this place, how a house breathes

White-coated assistants in slow-frame

Winter rain rolled over her in an empty street

Doors opened with pinging bells.

Passing soft bread rolls in paper bags to solitary customers

A pastel town breathing in short, shallow breaths

Trying to conserve its body-fat

Cold Monday morning, six o'clock, November.

A winter-emptied window-box freshly forked

She dropped her shoulders




The windows were clean, the curtains drawn

Two black labradors.

It was someone's birthday and we all brought two bottles

They will, and when they do

The smell was no worse and she felt it should be

She switched her face back on

Gethsemane

A man stops. He starts to recite a poem

A little permission is dangerous

Anger is better than despair

There's a dirty little hermit lives above the house

Love doesn't sleep and never should



Action isn't about joining

UFOs

In Tescos they are doing a special, two for the price of three

Peas, possibly onions

Our Father, etc and the Holy Ghost and Stuff

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Great VID!

Check Out

~THIS~

http://saltpublishing.com/

They have a neat video "VIRTUAL REP" and Ballistics gets featured twice. COOL!

Friday, May 29, 2009

Friday Morning Prompts (2) at 07:10

M4, M5, M6, M42

A policeman in white dancing between cars

Stopping off at IKEA

I have stocks in the barn

Before, the shops are quiet, streets wait for feet



Grey brick upon grey

The day is suddenly rich, our friend

It might have worked but God was having none of it

A dirty dream of a rolling sun

I see from the paper that the last one is dead

All the needles, all the spoons

Cigars



Scraping burnt-toast into the sink

Correctly, because he did it for his country

Up, down

His hands are black with blood. He loves his children.

Old, toothless soldiers

His eyes lived, but only his eyes, it was a trick

I would like to be collected

Young Christopher



Cows stumbling, enormous, slobbering cows

We were innocent then, on the banks of rivers

Who will it be, the last in the class to die, the first to live?

Sideways through the night

Prompts Ready for First-Thing Friday

I have know them all already, known them all

The water is bad

Marmalade, careful toast, butter in scrolls, tea

Talking to the old crew

That is not what I meant at all

The day of battle




The sun used to shine while we walked

I have mislaid the key

Rain all through the night, nothing but rain

The village is silent, except for the sound of the smithy, bang, and bang

I am traveling from the borders of sleep

Here love ends

I weep like a child for the past

She bathes and I watch, delirious

He climbed in the dark, looking for the sweet air

My little boat, my love

Her skin is soft, but something in her eyes is hard

I saw a naked man

The land here throws a finger at the sky

I drop a question in your hand

I am dying, I am dying. We are all dying

Cobwebs

The water recedes. It's mark remains

Groping along the wall, step, stumble, step

The soot that falls from chimneys

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Prompts 07:30 Thursday




What’s happening feels like a story

You run towards her even though you know it’s too late

I am not sure what this means or what it will mean

As the man dies she does not know what to do


Standing in the Rain

My neighbours’ gardens

Which is to say, go fuck yourself

Some said it was Satan, others God

In small rooms with small light and small breaths

I would prefer to be nice

Various Churches



Egg

Chairman, The Sad Bastard Club

The sound of clanking tracks

They have fitted me with harness and saddle

Potatoes

That night the sea went out and the beach was broken glass

The wind rose up, we knuckled down

Rorke’s Drift

They are taking down the last tree

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Prompts at 11:09 Wednesday

Last night, had I been sleeping

Beat Me, Hammer Me

There is never enough water

Dark, dark and dark-dark coming

We climbed through steepening woods, smelling pine, earth

The old cowboy always died

A Man, a Woman, yet they are not quite together

Walrus

Her herbs are not as impressive as my potatoes

Love me like you breathe

The foam of dirty oceans beats against the land

What is blocked in us, you, me?

Some bastard nicked the plums from the bridge.

Too tired to turn back, just going

The Book Man

Take it or Take it.

When I get home

Gassing natives is fine, says Mr Churchill

The power in a horse’s chest

A furlong by a chain, my Lord

When I came out of the bathroom

Uncertainty, beautiful uncertainty

August the First, everything shiny

Father forgive me, for I have fucked around a lot since last confession

It was a time of fools and genius

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Prompts Almost Before Noon



Talking over trains

Untitled

It was here this morning


Sunday, when I was even born

They are marked on the map in red

Ripper

From Mountain Tops to Valley Floors

Of Twisted Fingers and Twisted Hearts

Cutting Honey

Cracks are appearing everywhere

Homage to Spike Milligan, May His Aim Never Falter

And Cats Shall Run Over Cars

I hear dirty geese coming in like Stukas

Central Line

Someone has stolen the buttercups and daisies




I dare you to dare me to dare you to dare me

Basically, I don't give shit

Frogs and Toads





I am finished for the day

Do you believe in Dog?

I celebrate my corruption

Sorry your upload is illegal

My love, slicing bread and butter, pouring tea

Monday, May 25, 2009

More Pictures, More Prompts

The way dry dirt sucks water

The next part of this involves the sound of boots

We were five miles out when Jones threw away the oars





Small budget, Big hearts

Nothing ever happens twice, it just looks that way

The camera that saw people





What I mean is NO.

A Sparrow freezing to death

It's a cold evening, fishermen unbuckle their boats




I think of Porthcawl

Chairs, Table, China, Knives

A child looking from a train






You might hear who you are from a stranger

It's hard waiting for the potatoes

Pictures & Words (Prompts) 08:07 Monday 25th




It wasn’t something she’d intended
Midnight, and horses came, led by the whitest one
On lawns as smooth as shining glass





It is four in the morning
The press of dancing bodies
The city shrinks




Pigeons
When I would stare at lovely clouds in Heaven
The sound of angry fists on wood
Fruit of the wrong colour
When we travel to see the eclipse, that feels wrong
History is just one view



I might as well cut my own trail
Hold the time!
He loved her like a snake loves a mouse
LIGHT
Standing on a chair to reach the light
How the fog seeps
This is us, black & white, no argument





Business as Usual
I was with her, waiting, the sirens were a long way off
Lying like a cheap watch
He had to kill the dog first
He ran, with pebbles in his throat
The Collier’s Wife
Somewhere near Charing Cross
Mary Jones was twelve years old
Some places are just sad
Hi!
Signed: Arbuthnot Grimes, Deceased.
Chicken!
Her mother’s name was Tears

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Prompts Sunday 15:55

The ground falls sharply
May, the wind is wet, slapping in off the sea
One day I shall find my skin again
Taking Dad’s bets down to the bookie’s runner
It is calmer here, amidst the danger
Dinner together, as if it was our last meal.
We worship electric gods
When I enter the hospital where my father is dying.
NOT Not breaking the law
Hornet
Your fingers are swollen
They told me to shave off my hair
In the silence of my room
I think about zimmers and high-waisted trousers
We don’t like it when you kill one of us
They rescued me, fixed my leg
It’s early, almost six o’clock
On the table, two small photographs
They are killers, but they smile at the small children
All my birthdays coming at the same time
Damn this place
Where all that money went missing
Things that are hidden, into the light
To ride wild horses, drink with wild men
The eyes were gone, the heart
As you go on it gets harder
On holiday with the public executioner
Do you know REAL darkness
Songs of praise
The trail dies
With hindsight, of course, I might think different
I step in, it’s warm, I go deeper

On Photographs & Writing

On Photo Prompts

I see this morning, a book launched, Twenty Photos, Twenty Stories where every story in the book is joined by the photograph it comes from. See here: http://vanessagebbiesnews.blogspot.com/2009/05/sometimes-far-from-being-negative-thing.html

My story “Miguel Who Cuts Down Trees” came from a series of unconnected (but all haunting) photographs, most of which I saw at an exhibition in the V&A Museum.

At Writing Courses we regularly toss out photographs and magazines and ask all the writers to find 1-2-3 pictures that, for them, ache. Those words, for them, are important.

Dorothea Brande, in “On Writing”, once wrote how two writers seeing something will not react the same. For one the image or incident might not “connect”. For the other the image might cut to the bone, go to the soul, open up dark caverns, release memories.
Brande explains that when things “connect” like that, whether we know it or not, there is something primitive going on, possibly a repressed memory, maybe (this is me) the image connects because of tribal memory, or ghosts, or possession. Who knows (and why should we care?) What matters is we can feel the photograph SWELLING. It has power. The photograph is like a poetry prompt but probably stronger, richer, more resonant, echoing. Bleeding, pulsating.

Can anyone look at the plane hitting the tower and not get a visceral response? Can we look at the belly-swollen child, flies on her face and not feel?

Photographs, move us, great photographs move us greatly.

If you’re stuck for ideas, blocked, or worse, just “flat” search out some photographs and let them do their work on you.


270 Words

Sunday Morning

We lay together after sex, dead angels

Throwing my cap in the air

Daffodils, Catkins, Pussy-Willows

Sunlight and shallow water

A snake slithered over my book

Praise turns to dust

I know how to build a canoe

Such a small wound

Is there anything sadder than fallen houses?

The buses couldn’t make it up Caerau Road, the men got off to push

Their children

Miss Duffner and Miss Wilce, they were, were…

Amaretto, poems, fire

Thank-you for the photographs. Is that really me?

We can start at the top and work our way down

Mrs Bartholemew, Oh, Mrs Bartholemew

Outside it’s raining

ATC

I am hungry, I have clothes.

In German, “clever” is an insult

GPS

My shirt that scares of flies

You wallow in your folly

Tom Evans beats his wife and she is silent

It is dark up there

Using Prompts

On Using Prompts to Find Stories.

Every day in Boot Camp we post at least one set of prompts. These are help around road-blocks, ways to find new directions, grit in the oyster, small, odd elements to make your thoughts a little different.

It is rare we post less than ten. We sometimes post as many as twenty-four. Writers can use one prompt, two, or twenty-two and they can use prompts exactly, partially or use them as inspiration and not directly use them at all. For example, I might post “Hickory-Dickory Dock” and a writer might think of mice and clocks and write about cuckoos. The point is to break out of the box.

Some writers, especially beginners, might freeze when they read a list of prompts. Well, first, remember, no-one says you must use these, any of these, or yesterday’s, or any prompt we have posted. The prompts say, “write”, that is all, and if the prompts help you, fine, if not, that’s OK too.

But I believe that freezing before a prompts-lists is like how sometimes, when we are told to read a boom (remember school?) we see only words, and even when we try to read “naturally” all we hear is a monotonous voice, and every line is treacle.

SING.

Read the list of prompts, go loose, be drunk, from the top to the bottom, from the bottom to the top. Try chanting them or singing them, combine them, alter their order. 49 times out of fifty some of the prompts will stick to you. Often it is not ONE prompt that hits you but two together, as a combination, as an echo. Look for the rhythms in lines. Presume nothing, allow yourself to be seduced.

Many of our prompts are poetry, lines either directly from poems, or similar lines tweaked a little. (Many lines, while being written are prompted themselves by lines from poetry, so are original, but cousins of the poem.

Understand that the line or its cousin contain. They hold my thoughts or the poster’s thoughts, and the poet’s and, deep within, his society and history and the literature he stands upon. A poem has DNA, a family-tree. We have to open up, though, to feel it.

I am a poor reader of poetry yet, every day, as I flick through books of poetry I am struck by lines. Not only are they sometimes beautiful alone, but I feel them resonate, pulse, echo ages, smell of sex. I hear the poet breathing.

Once that never happened. Once it was just words.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Saturday Morning Prompts 07:20

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

Friday, May 22, 2009

Friday Night Prompts 20:15

The small summer droops

We move at speed

We set out earthen jugs and water

My mother and my father sang, but not together

Again and again, horses, horses, horses

I am in no way eminent though I have dined with kings

I want a girl with white, white skin

It is the same, I think

A Chapel, but no garden and no view

I stole a bullet

I try to remember me, a boy, always forgetting he is dead

Aunties are fat, or stand like brooms, they are never in-between

Fat Moonsky

A bride with anger in her eyes

Silverware

If all the blood, all the blood, a lake, an ocean?

Tell them about your country

I would die for seeing her

Really, it was being locked away

This is no place for ambition

They will shutter all this up

Friday Evening Prompts

There are places I don't go

Is this where God hides?

Where can I go then, from the smell?

Just an ordinary, bald man, from the bald mountains

John Corner

I see the girls with yellow teeth and wicked smiles

He is soured by years of celibacy

Too far, too far, too far

The sheep are grazing above the village

Twelve Angry Men

Do not go to the woods. They say there is a poet there

You Have Mail

We are a people thinned out by war, and old.

Diesel is not Petrol, and Vice Versa

I found a dead poem, slowly rotting, being picked over by critics

There are cries in the dark

We have heard these things before. We have heard these things too often

I will switch to another author

And you, my father

Civilisation walks on an edge

All day it has rained, and we are cold

They have built their tents above us

I sleep.


=====================================

PS Buy a copy of Ballistics! Save SALT

Ongoing Blast

Why not join the Boot Campers who are "blasting", trying to write a piece a day through until the end of June


Prompts are Here > http://bootcampkeegan.yuku.com/topic/11856/master/1/

Reminder: Ballistics: Salt

If you almost thought, almost bought a copy of Ballistics to help SALT PUBLISHING, but then didn't push through, please do.

If you love the short-story, help this fine publisher.

No charity involved, no subsidy, just buy a book (or two)


One day you might have a collection
and discover there are no SS publishers.

Prompts 08:50

A World to Build
A bag of six-inch nails, facts, a bag of brass screws
The Sequel First
Rain holding on, the dark branches
Rubber
Small against the mountain
RIVET
After the sun stares, glaring at nothing
Dead City
She wears the grief, deep to the bone
PARROT
The other day she stopped me in the street
NAIL
As he grows older, older
CHINK
But when I think of Eliot
We are the women of the terraces
BASKET
They tug reluctant daughters through slanting rain
ALMOND
The coal smells, the streets are black
Travels by iceberg
The Church of Clinking Glasses

or a story beginning: I do not ask you to believe me, only let me speak.

or a story ending: It was small, efficient, final

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Prompts 21 May 16:50

A white, fine skull, full up with darkness
And only heralded to the gaudy spring
A female, aged about twenty-two
And tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding
And the rustling blood
But as the riper should by time decease
A bag of six-inch nails
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes
Dogs barked for me
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel
A tractor broke open the grave
From fairest creatures we desire increase
I heard the hooters blowing up and down the valley
His tender heir might bear his memory
I follow my mother in from the car
If this was America I’d stop running
In the night he was delirious, shouting of lions
Like stiff new boots
Making a famine where abundance lies
Officially described as a steelworker
On Sundays they play tennis in the park
Owain was ill today
Pity the world or else this glutton be
Seeing only our reflections in bottomless pools
She is a tree in winter
Sing me a tin-bath song
Some plague or violence came
Ten years ago, my father
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die
The mathematics of sunshine
The poorest house in the street
The women come with baskets
The wood has rotted, the mud has won
There is bleeding in Newport
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
We were sitting having tea
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self so cruel
When a stream of visitors arrived
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
We stare at each other, dark into dark
Within thine own bud buriest they content
White on a black sky
A buzzard watches

Ballistics x 4

I'm delighted to say that we sold four copies of Ballistics tonight (and 5 on the weekend)

Thanks to all.

Save the Short-Story!

21st May Prompts Set 1 00:15

The Corner House

Let the blood-sucking bat

We will not remember dying

Twelve hours, give or take a week

Planes explode

Between the belly and the mind

Onion

I am finely honed beneath this

You can be my furry godmother

Chapel

You are neither bread nor knife, nor are you butter

Sin-Eater

I think they killed him off because he was fat

Mud so black with coal it burned

Touch me, remind me

We tripped lightly along the ledge

Thin, flat battery

It’s about time, or God, it varies

This is the hard-work part of love

I only claim for the four homes

You can die

Behind the ropes like the seagulls

Castor Oil & Malt

Cello

The first sound, the last thing I will see

Seems the Normans were right bastards

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Save the Short-Story

Folks, I heard on the grapevine that SALT PUBLISHING
have had a serious drop in cash-flow and really need some urgently

If we could all of us buy just one book
(but I guess a few more would be a good thing)
that would surely help a lot.

If you don't have a copy of Ballistics order one today, PLEASE.

I think if you order direct it's better for them, but you can order through Amazon or a bookshop, anywhere

Ballistics: Alex Keegan

ISBN 978-1-84471-477-3



Maybe you could buy 1-2 of mine as presents, help two causes at the same time?

(Smile at this point)

Save the short-story. Support short-story publishers.


Alex

20 May Second Prompt Set

Red Ring

Her I come to view a voiceless ghost

Tick-Tock

The enduring fascination of the difficult

I have met them each at close of day

Turning and turning and turning

Half-Term Activities in Milton-Keynes

We rested on a gate

Violence after violence,; violence upon violence.

Lake Geneva

Softly, on the evening, I hear a woman singing

There are days when life roars at us

And I was filled with such delight

It was a short war, and fairly neat

Piquante

You and I, and the evening lying down before us

When the boys come back

There will be time, there’s always time unless it doesn’t matter

Tinkle

Fuck April. It is crueller to be alone in August

Death has undone us.

Spade

A hairdresser called Phoebe

Grenade

I was walking along the Kennet, hoping

TWITTER

Trying out TWITTER,

I am on there as AlexKeegan136 (all one word)

08:10 More Prompts

20th May 2009-05-20

At the violet hour, when the eyes turn upwards

The Nine Fridays

We live lives our parents did not know

Once there was marsh here, men came in fear

She has fire that flashes in her eyes

Nobody steps in the same river twice, it changes

Or Bambi

It is not what we have built, it is what we knocked down to build

Ibuprofen

After lunch you said you wanted to pick flowers

Oh indeed my wife is handsome

I make the tea. I am quiet

Father Maloney’s glass eye

There is a boat on the river

The smell of meat on the air

They are selling the usual stuff

I live in you

A lost tribe is singing

Burnt-out buses

The zombie I met in Tesco

Circle into square and into circle

For days now I have been under house arrest

Pack

None of the substitutes work, but they are cheaper

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Prompts. Set 1

A way with words
Alternatively books from both authors will be available at the centre
Zebra
She grinds my eyes with answers far too short
Moored of Eritrea
Speaking of trees, fuck me with birds
Avro Lancaster Owner's Workshop Manual
The room is breaking out
For quality control purposes, calls may be recorded
This is the time and place to be alive
Lie to me
You weren't well or really ill yet either
Blood & Rage
Perhaps with help from my enemies
What makes us human
I did not imagine being old, or waiting here
The naming of parts
Or maybe Zulus
The next available agent
That Easter I was a few minutes late, but nothing to go on about
Here is a tricky question
We cannot take our eyes of the young
It could be seen as bribery
Back gardens, back gardens, back gardens, satellite dishes
Hanging like an old balloon

Fancy a Writing Blast?

Ex-BCers, Current BCers
Suck-it-and See-ers

Today is May 19, it's six full weeks to the end of June, 42 Days


Who wants to aim for some tough targets? A piece a day (minimum)
42 pieces in the 42 days?

It's not tough. It's just a case of ATTITUDE


19-25 May
26-01 May-June
02-08 June
09-15 June
16-22 June
23-30 June

If you are not BC, then you won't have the BC Crit Grid
and we can't promise any critical feedback, but you CAN join in the fun
and see what is possible when working with a motivated group


Or you can sign up with BC for a month with 2 weeks
extra thrown in and got the whole hog


email me alex.keegan(atsign)btinternet.com

Friday, March 13, 2009

Capel Bethel Web Site

The Beta of Capel Bethel's Web Site is now up


http://web.me.com/snowball136/Site_2/Welcome.html

Friday, February 13, 2009

Friday 13th 21:00 Prompts

1 A sunless corner and a sad flower
2 Men are waiting on the corners
3 Sticking needles in my eyes
4 How light shifts and the air adjusts itself
5 Women are standing in doorways, something will happen
6 Oil to rub, calamine
7 Maybe and maybe
8 I thought of using Heaney
9 Over from Aust with the pigs and sheep
T Genitalia

1 If you don’t behave
2 Trying to dig up the garden
3 IRON
4 It’s just a thing men do. You don’t have to understand
5 Unopened, unsure
6 Not exactly Formica, a tablecloth
7 Dolly
8 Hedgehoppers Anonymous
9 The ATC we called it, Chipmunks
T Peanuts and an Orange

Evening Friday 13th Prompts 18:00

18:00

1 Some of us will build a temple
2 A yolk of light
3 I am not Henry the Fifth, OK?
4 Ding!
5 I have taken to wearing clothes to bed
6 I have wept some, and starved myself. Now what?
7 Mrs Jenkins’ Boil
8 I’m no prophet, but I think…
9 Marmalade, Dear?
T The difference between a story and a poem

1 It’s by some dead bloke I think
2 I said Pilla, not PILLAR
3 Occasionally I swell
4 Do I dare to eat a peach?
5 Will they sing to me? I think not.
6 The smoke and fog of matrimony
7 I see rings of light and hear wailing
8 Two or three, and a flower
9 Quantity Time
T It’s his Achilles Penis

Evening Friday 13th Prompts 19:30

19:30

1 April usually comes after March
2 I was in a word-crash, horrible, squashed vowels, dead consonants
3 The sound of a stringless cello at midnight
4 So I just sort of grin
5 Like two cats fighting in a sack
6 Flow
7 It keeps pinging, pinging, pinging!
8 I doff my hat to you, Sir
9 6d a cow, twenty pigs for 2/6d
T The smell of burgers in the square

1 Fried Fingers
2 Here is a head, at least that’s our best bet
3 He uses the word “Islamisation”
4 Gathering together where there used to be churches
5 Something for the weekend, Sir?
6 In the palms of my sticky, sticky hands
7 Jeremy-Jeremy has a girlfriend
8 You could be right but you’re not
9 Noon, and something strange is happening
T What I’m trying to say is fuck off

Prompts, Apology

There's has been an emergency planning meeting called tonight (they are threatening to build 1,500 homes on Newbury Racecourse, so I won't be around all evening as I hoped to be.

Will try to post a few blocks of prompts before that. Here is one block.

====================================


The damp corners of evning

Kitten, bed, shit

She's wearing blue again

And the evening spread out under deep red, purple

It's to do with chemical reactions

Let us go and make a visit

Here is the female fat from a diet of

The town has curled up for night

Which leads me to this question

and the slow smokes slides along the street

visions, revisions

National Murder Day

For I have known them all already

She talked out of the corner of her eyes

Then we'll begin

In dull lamplight things are crumpled where you were

And is it worth it, could it be worth it?

Someone is pissing my life, me, against a dirty wall

Cups and Saucers

They used to cut cheese with wire, just for my mother

Rattlesnake

After the books, the poems, the dried up glasses

I shall wear my sleeves rolled up, a hankie on my head

This is a small flood only

He who has keeps. He who has not envies.

This is what they mean to me, my friends

What does a violin do in its case?

We will go on drinking tea.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Evening Prompt

There are no ferries on Sunday

Two keys, that's all

Neighbours

Scenes From a Revolution

Flowers kept her going just about

The A-Z of dying

Major Major

and chips

There's only so far you can push me, I'm heavy

a line in the sand

And they have a stature of Diana Doors

River, River

This is the future, my husband says

We have reason to believe you are employing aliens

Evan can wait

This is a journey

The VAT Lady is very pregnant

More Prompts for Writers

A set of car keys

Some sort of Ambush

Not seeking the front pages, not wanting to be seen

Ninety-One

Kidnapped by Gypsies

The Story of Jemima Pinke.

He doesn't like apricots, or porridge

A Difficult Case

Birdsong, turn up the volume

Press Button A

It's only in retrospect we know

Something buzzes, something is buzzing

Picnic in Angola

All we do is argue about positions

I am clumsy, I am clummy

Counting and counting and counting

I smell her, they say it is cheap, I smell Tweed

Slate, nothing but fucking slate



as I walk to the phone, lift the receiver


Generation Kill

Monday, February 09, 2009

PROMPTS FOR WRITERS MONDAY 9 FEB

Now I can sleep on the other side of the bed

Where the victim finds her murderer

It spins because it spins

Flat as a witch's tit

Seven Ages

I like catching mice, the sound of the trap

He says, "When?" and his hands shake

Impossible breasts

Ambush

I am in love with the milkmaid

There's this new idea, houses in rows, and rows, and rows

JC has organised a night out

My first, my second, my third, oh!

He punches in the code and something beeps

The dearest dust

World Death Day

The Ministry of Impossible Notions

Peejay & Fudge

I have heard the sound of unknown things

The Sin-Eater's Wife

Now it is wet. Last month it snowed

Lost Voices

Friday, February 06, 2009

Friday 07:40 Prompts for REAL WRITERS

I have Many Daughters

One Autumn Evening

And then, three times, it was denied

The Affair of the Clasps

Five went out, and they were laughing

Creatures That Once Were Men

We will bear it, without shame

Notch

He walked in the snow and left no mark

Chums

Sheep's Head Soup

Twenty-Six Men and a Girl

Out there, a crack, and then the noise fading

RED

He saluted, shook his head, smiled and took the gun

Birth of a Man

My Mother, Dad, going to the Dogs

Going Home

Penis Pendulous

Lullaby

The soft moon floats above the hill, a church

The Hermit

The fire is dead, the ashes chilled

The Other Road

He's not yet dead, clinging against the sea

The Golden Ass

The smell of blood and piss in alleyways

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Thursday Prompts 2200

What's that?

Stephanie called

Personal Details: Please Amend

Please Note: You have NOT won the lottery

Salmon

A good poem clears your vowels

The road is steaming

The dreams are now disallowed

Guttersnipe

The moving finger writes etc.

Oh, love and you so far away; my love I never spoke to her, but she heard every word.

The Fifth World War was very civilised

Imagine a perfect blue

Hold the Bones

For he's a jolly good driver

Story of the Week? You're 'avin' a laugh!

Think of me as a NICE Salman Rushdie

Bollocks, Balderdash

There is a tide in the affairs of man, when

Barbed Wire

The Sacrificed

Yonder, see the cows?



The Zebra Funeral

Thirsday Blast Prompts (2) 20:00

Oven

Twenty-eight pairs of white socks

a roar of dragons, rain

When I was young I would travel, but

In Town Tonight!!

At the moment of falling, before the ground

May was murder

A long-legged maid, and freckles, a twinkle

My sister and the boy with his temper

Cheese, Cider, God, You cannot choose when

Before I was a virgin

Richard Dimblebee

Wagon Train in black and white

Burned fields, next year

Before it passes, smell

Squeeze my hand.

Six horses, how many doubles, trebles?

Magic, just like 'at

If only now, he'd love it, all on the TV

Are there enough dead people?

Brilliant.

The Air Force boy, magnificent, and the girls stopped

Thursday Blast (1)

Not where she said she'd be

ECHO

For all the good it will do

August in Brittany

Yes, this is my voice, this is my face

They are Red Kites, see the tail?

We used to have big blocks of it. Sixpence, I think

Slowly the dust rises

Next week is a roll-over

Balancing on the Edge of a Word

An Evil Cradling

Mummy, Look! A MONSTER!

Forced smiles on a hundred pink-faced women;
Men is sports-jackets and open-necked shirts

My parents don't know everything

You can have a life, I'll have books

Midnight at the oasis

I regret a whole fucking lotta things

I'm fixing a hole

Dirty British Miner with his clean shop-steward

O for the muse of fire!

Sweet flesh but soured

Thursday Prompts

Somewhere towards the end

My father, digging, his ears red, his head

I think of you continuously, things remind me

SALT

The dull glow of miners' lamps, the smell of oil

I have nothing to sell but it's all half-price

Lovers: isn't the point that it's for now?

Hazard Warning

Blue, glorious, and through the white

Chink, slither.

My son went there twice but could not find it

I remember the ones I didn't marry

It's cold but warms up quickly

I woke up in a shop-doorway; someone had pissed on me

Various problems with invisibility

They are coming: I must paint myself blue

Persistent Vegetative State

The eggs not used, the eggs not used

In the not-too-distant-future, if all my dreams come true

Dogs, Snow

The sand slips away

My daughter, the barren one, sews by the oil-light

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Wednesday Prompts

Like something has started dancing on your desk

This is the third time this week

Let me take you through it again

Your hair is wet, your eyes

Why not be a surgeon?

I'm building a seven-sided cube

There is someone, something, in the ditch

Tongue and Teeth

Stones scatter themselves, the wind rests then moves on

There are voices, ripples on the night

Faster and Faster. Faster!

Years ago when I was not old enough, I never thought I would be too old

WORMS

We are walking to the North end

Nine out of ten humans when asked prefer

If I knew how, I would do this delicately

They are manning the barricades, the ditches

Somewhere, a woman is singing

No THIS is clutter

PIANO

Life spared him. The others were lucky.

It is time to read out the charges

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

More Prompts and a Challenge

If you are a writer and occasionally drift in here, why are you drifting? Why not take the prompts below and actually WRITE something?

Blame it on the backlash

Revolving doors

Think about the chemistry of dying, of ooze

Wordless, wingless

Oranges and some peanuts

I don't think I'm living any more

I remember sunshine, grass, and books and dreams

Time-Lock

Something sizzles

He has risen in my estimation

six billion and eight

Men are returning to their women

They said, "Do you accept the punishment?" and I said, "No."

Lovers, Lobster

Last night above the snow, the light was wrong

Mine is a small life, of small things, and smaller dreams

Beer makes me sleep

A donkey, a piano, an old church organ

She kept wasps alive for years in a thing around her neck

The 94 Bus

Various reflections on the male erection

My father was not a forest

The finger means what, exactly?

What matters is not what "matters", mattering is deeper

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Tuesday Prompts at 05:00

You were not there

Where did you come from, down what light?

The smallest cage

Books to the wedding

Faith may be they anchor

Especially when it snows, if it snows

of the sea, to the sea

He lived next door, a child

Kidney

An honest man here, probably

Toilet paper

I seem them on shelves, window-cills

The dead depart? To where?

LACW Hall. S, can't you see your tattered dress...

Romans

I dreamt about Claire, Oh God, and rose at four

Tail-End Charlies

One man, one hundred thousand dead, how cool is that?

Monday, January 19, 2009

Prompts at 4 AM

Begin again when the light rises

Everywhere will be home

Because above all things you wanted me

I have no voice

I'll say it, then. No

There is an empty chair

To be born is to expect pain

There are soft moments, silences, village cricket, insects

We are too sad to be blind

A grey curtain

Death is never a mistake

I am a hungry bear, a scurrying rat

Don't CLING

I see a lighthouse, sending out dark

The hospital, the doctor, the squirting flower

Fucking in the shower

Face

My kids are off to Auchswitz

From unmarked box to unmarked box

04:03

Friday, January 16, 2009

Friday Night Prompts 4 (10:45)

SET 4 (24)

Nevertheless, as yet, they are not much solely on their own account
No sunrise, no glittering cafes
Pack up the moon
Nail
People Dying is Sad
People I wanted to be
Picnic Area. Good views of the massacre.
Pose your dead
Postcards From Palestine.
Radio Masturbate
Ripped from below
Say what you experience, what the world is
Search for the reason that bids you do it
I Didn’t Know Crusade Was a Bad Word
Selective photography
She will not stop dying
Silent, Shifting, Coal
Since you have allowed me to advise you
So Jesus, the Thing Is.
So the kids can go to school
Something of your own want comes through
Spreading out its roots in the deepest recesses of your heart
Steady hands
Such pure despair

Friday Prompts 3 2100

SET 3 (23)

I cannot go into the nature of your work

And asbestos-empty lungs

I sat down at breakfast, opposite

I will lose sight of her face

I would like to finalise matters

In the bowels of a Welsh hill

Is it sad enough?

It always comes down to more or less happy misunderstandings

It’s easy, as if you are elastic

Jesus

Killing Bush

Known as Aber Mountain

Lately made of flesh and blood

Let me say that as of now you have no individual style

Like some first human being

Live without hope, work without despair

Look forward to hearing

Mint

Money for the wife at home

More inexpressible than all else is a work of art

My father I see and yet I can’t describe

Mysterious existences endure while we pass.

Never so much absence

Friday Flash Prompts for 19:30

I do not appear to have received a copy

A black bomb of filth Cinders! Behind You!

Acid

Compare it to light things, to dark

Delve within for an answer

Dirty Wedding

Do not build me up

Draw near to what is your nature

Flash

Drive at thirty for a while

Each death demands its own procedures

Everywhere you go, she will die, and die, and die

Fags and matches

Far Enough from Nagasaki

Far from the sun

Food

For this reason first, we are not together

Go into yourself

Goodbye, My Brother

Hammer

How laughter knits about us

A black-faced army

A salesman who passed me his bottle

First Prompts Set 1800

SET 1 (23)
I want to thank you for its great and kind confidence.
After months I am still climbing
Afterwards, remember, consider the blemishes
Harry Patch
I can hardly do more.
All critical attention is too far from me
All the time, hope
Things are not always comprehensible and expressible
And a roof
This above all: ask yourself the question when it is dark about you
And all for hard cash
And shoes, satchels, and socks
And you, you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you?
Apple
Are they good? You ask me?
At the bottom of Aber Tip
Avoid love
Beach, Ball
Bubbling, Brooding
A bird dives, a fish swallows
Burn the toast, let the porridge stick, smell the gas
By Men With tingling sinews of steel
A realm which no word has ever entered

Flash Blast Tonight (Friday)

Boot Campers and Guests will be "blasting" tonight, writing first-draft flashes from one or more prompts from sets posted at

1800

1930

2100

2230

0000

Those on different clocks can also do this, follow the same schedule (90 minutes to write your story each time) but delayed.

Whether you write 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 flashes, that's more than you WERE going to write,


Come and join us!!

Thursday, January 15, 2009

People Die. Let's Get Indignant.

Let me first say that I do not condone or excuse the Israeli operation in Palestine. I do not wish for one innocent person’s death in that conflict.

However, what is happening there is a war. Israel IS being attacked, and most of the Arab countries surrounding it have clearly stated their enmity and refused Israel the right to exist.

I’m posting this, though, because I keep seeing a totally one-sided “debate” about the conflict, a series of “heartfelt” bleatings by 99% safe, closeted, middle-class hypocrites with short memories. This week we are not saving seal pups, we are “bleeding for Palestine.”

If you want to bleed for Palestine, go there and fight alongside Hammas.

Civilian deaths are a fact of war. It is a tragedy that a little over 1000 people have died on the Palestinian side in this recent conflict, but let’s remember, for example, that in minutes 2,800 died in the 9/11 attacks. Remember that. Perhaps all those people were “Part of the US NeoCon War Machine…” but I doubt if many (or any) thought they were such.

But have your statistic and wail about the evil Jews. How many of his kinsmen and women did Saddam Hussein kill in his reign of terror? How many of the dead of Palestine would not have died of malnutrition, poor water or poor health care if the various Palestinian Terrorists (or Freedom Fighters) had made peace with the State of Israel? How many innocents died in Bosnia?

But 80,000 died in the blink of an eye at HIROSHIMA. They were civilians, men women, children. So how about all the bleating Brits and Americans and French and Russians wailing about this conflict try shutting up? YOUR nation also committed mass murder of civilians. They did it again days later and killed another 50,000 at Nagasaki.

But the Japanese are peace-loving victims, right? How about the Rape of Nanking when they killed 300,000 and raped 20,000? Ok, then, maybe we can find some indignant Germans? No wait, there was WWII, The Holocaust, and fifteen MILLION exterminated merely for being Jewish, or Communist or handicapped or gay.

Still at least us stiff-upper-lip Brits know how to play fair. It’s not as if we killed 1.5 MILLION German civilians in WWII. We didn’t invent the fire bomb and the firestorm and kill 25000 in one night in Dresden or 50,000 in 3 nights in Hamburg?
We’re the good guys, remember?

SIXTEEN MILLION Chinese civilians died in WWII, 11,400,000 in the Soviet Union, 4,000,000 in Indonesia, 2,360,000 in Poland, 1.54 Million good Germans, 1.5 million in the Indian Empire, a million in French Indo-China, 580,000 in Japan, 514,000 in Yugoslavia, 267,00 sweet, unassuming French.

War kills. War will always kill. Palestinians and Jews will die. MILLIONS die in Africa EVERY YEAR of starvation, tribally-driven wars and famine. And every time one of these incidents trots its way to the surface, out will trot Poets Against Whatever. Get over yourselves. If you truly, truly care GO AND FUCKING DO SOMETHING. Otherwise all it is, basically, is masturbating in public.

CIVILIAN Deaths

16,200,000 China
11,400,000 Soviet Union
4,000,000 Indonesia
2,360,000 Poland
1,540,000 Nazi Germany
1,500,000 Indian Empire
1,000,000 French Indo China
580,000 Japan
514,000 Yugoslavia
378,000 Korea
300,000 The Rape of Nanking
267,000 France
250,000 Burma
220,000 Greece
212,000 Lithuania
176,000 Holland
147,000 Latvia
145,100 Italy
100,000 Malaya
95,000 Ethiopia
90,000 Phillipines
80,000 HIROSHIMA
80,000 Hungary
67,100 UK
64,000 Romania
57,000 Micronesia
55,000 Estonia
55,000 Portugese Timor
50,000 Singapore
50,000 NAGASAKI
50,000 HAMBURG 27-28-29 JULY 1943
49,600 Belgium
43,000 Czechoslovakia
25,000 DRESDEN
5,800 Norway
2,800 "9/11"
2,000 Finland
2,000 Sweden
1,500 MALTA
1,300 Luxembourg

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Ballistics!

Salt Publishing now have my new book Ballistics up as a web site

HERE

Monday, January 05, 2009

SICK!

I was sick with a cold and chest infection for the week before Xmas, bu "OK" for Xmas day

But I've been laid low again, same symptoms.

I'm "functioning" just about but this one is a bastard.

I cough so bad I can't sleep.

5th Prompts

Spices
Needle to Thread
Wheeling, wheeling, above the forest
No it's just five digits
Chest
Now we know nothing of those days
Imagine no colour
A line of old, sad trees
Blind Druids
The way water runs beneath the ground
Bucket
Some places really look like their postcards
SEED
I have it on authority that the trees walk the night
Words bubble up
Under the stairs
For he's a jolly good driver!
Always remember the longer you live, the sooner you're going to die
Amen

Saturday, January 03, 2009

3rd Jan Prompts

A cockroach, another cockroach
Pandemic
A romantic movement, a heavy black book
A stubbed toe, a short-lived cuddle
Avocado
Big George
Blow me away
A passionate temperament
Teddy-bear, Church mouse,
CRACK!
Dancing
Do you hear me,?
Eighteen
Ever since my retirement
There are fewer of us now.
Flashing lights
From the offices of the company on the 85th floor
Green & White
But I know it is him.
Pruning
How black is black?
I fell in love with her almost immediately.
It could be flu
The sock factory,
No choice
Living the simple life with Paul and Linda
Lots of people will die.
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
O for a muse of fire!
On the edge of Potter's Field
Silver polish
Ruby
Some 50% some 30%
The canvas slaps, flaps, but holds
Sour Milk
Lava
Trolleys clattering, half-heard voices
Two-and-a-half, maybe three
Various tiles, laid in a diamond pattern
We know that

Friday, January 02, 2009

Word-Count Update

January 1st


WRITING

2,843 Words


Some diary stuff, two flashes, two poems.

I rate one flash and I like the two poems.

This morning. six hundred words before logging on to the web or email and now I have to travel (bugger it!)

Will manage at least one flash today but I need to get some longer pieces together.

READING & Critiquing

January 1st

001 Elizabeth Baines.. Condensed Metaphysics
002 Elizabeth Baines.. The Shooting Script
003 Elizabeth Baines.. Daniel Smith Disappears off the Face of the Earth

004 Anonymous BCer Three Things
005 Anonymous BCer You, Daydream Believer
006 Anonymous BCer New Year
007 Anonymous BCer Shades of Grey
008 Anonymous BCer The Missing
009 Anonymous BCer When I Remember Cathy
010 Anonymous BCer Happiness, Wishing
011 Anonymous BCer POEM To Slit Your Own Throat
012 Anonymous BCer POEM Blenkinsop's Final Parade

Boring Prompts

I am the bastard Simpson Simpson

Happy Birthday, Angela

This is the third time this week

Tea?

Let me take you through it, step by step

I am covered in mud

Al of our neighbours are jealous

T-Shirt

Something VERY bad is going to happen soon

I might go to Edingburgh

MFI are back, they're doing lives, 50% off

It's big, but is it big enough?

All my life I have heard voices. I was fine until I told someone.

My-Black-Suit

Why does "Ox" sound better than "Bull"?

When I was a word I wanted to be a line

After midnight, creeping

On tin trays in the snow

Yellow, late summer grass, crazily downhill

Thursday, January 01, 2009

21:06 More Prompts

We vault over the barrier

He tells her how much he still loves her

We are strictly off the record

Tea & Toast

A penguin, a piano

I wonder how it feels to slit your own throat?

She's wearing red she's wearing green

Even the husbands, even the mothers

Here comes, with a brolly and a briefcase...

Leaving the note that she wished would say more

What could I possibly need?

Rushing in again at the last minute

This is how it will happen

19:35 Another Set of Prompts

Absent fathers stand in parks

This morning, men are returning to the world

Applause

I am going to the house of my childhood

Chink!

My wife has installed speakers for announcements

Another Intimacy

Photographs, but they only last a day

Let us make up your mind

I have a lot of paper

The whip of wind, the sound of wet footprints

Ben Shermans

Beer makes me cry

I would like to be banned for shagging someone

Black Iceberg

We need another Diana Death

Forest

Listen to Hell under the rocks

Hallelujah!

The considerable frictions in oil

As near as damn isn't near enough

Blenkinsop's Final Parade

I might as well. What else is there?

Blast it!

Boot Campers are "blasting" tonight

1800
1930
2100
2230


Just think, if they succeed they'll have 4-5 flashes by the end of the first of the year




PROMPTS


I blame it on the backlash

James!

I wanted you. you wanted me

NAIL

The tinkle of the television

A Question of Balance

BRUTE

Who loves best won't always love longest

Tapioca

We can talk about the chemistry

A gun in the kitchen

BLOCK

This is the female, fattened

The tackle of the mighty, the rumble of the fallen

CHIN

Wingless, wordless

CRAWL-SPACE

I have been looking forward to my divorce

GLUE

OK, I'll go to the shops and get your fucking fags

AROMATIC

The earth sweats and grumbles

IVY

There was an old woman who