Sunday, 15 December 2013

LLWG - December

I know, I know, I really have been slacking.  These past few months have been a bit all over the place, but I think I'm back on track so I will be posting about the writing group again.

We met on Tuesday 10th December, and we had a pretty full group.  We keep losing people and gaining others, but it's great to see that interest in the group is still so high.

Homework from last session was to write something about memories.  I don't normally write things this personal, but after a month with heightened emotions, this kind of came spilling out.

I remember when, I remember when I lost my mind.  Hang on.  Wait.  No.  That’s not how this story begins.  That’s the start of a Gnarls Barkley song.  It is, however, how this story ends.  But we will get to that bit in due course.

I remember being in love.  It has only happened once.  I was 19 years old.  Maybe you think that was quite young to be in love, but you tell that to our grandparents who got married in their late teens or early twenties, and never got divorced.  Nothing has come close to that feeling since.  And whenever I think about it, I fall headfirst into the age old question, whether it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.  I can’t answer that now.  Maybe things will become clearer in time.

Some of you are lucky to be in love now.  I don’t resent you at all.  I’m extremely jealous, but I don’t begrudge it.  We all deserve to love and be loved.

I remember the day I realised I was in love.  I can’t remember the exact date but the scene plays over and over in my head.  I’d woken up first.  This is something to definitely make note of, as I never wake up first.  Even if I was the last person on earth, I wouldn’t wake up first.  I like my sleep.  It takes a lot to stop me sleeping.  So I’d woken up first and I turned over to see him lying on his side, his head heavy on the pillow.  I watched him sleep.  Not in a weird stalker kind of way; more in a ‘I’ve woken up early and I’ve got nothing better to do’ kind of way.  His hair was wild, which wasn’t really out of the ordinary as his locks were always reasonably unkempt.  He still suffered with bed-head though.  His eyelashes were crusty with sleep, and he had a little bit of dried dribble in the corner of his mouth.  He looked far from his best.  But I looked at him.  I looked at the way parts of his face flickered and contorted, and realised that if he can look this bad and I still want to be with him, it must be love.  It was a bit of an epiphany moment; I’d said ‘I love you’ but it wasn’t until then that I really felt it.  It was one of those ‘the world could end right now and I will die at my absolute peak of happiness’ moments.

I remember being romanced and wooed and courted.  I remember feeling comfortable and safe and connected.  I remember feeling special and treasured.  I remember feeling excited and nervous.  And above all, I remember making someone else feel that way.

In no way am I looking at my relationship through rose tinted glasses.  It wasn’t perfect.  We irritated each other and we fought (not physically I hasten to add), but we always worked it out and got over it.  Well, always, until the last time.  And it is here that I remember when, I remember when I lost my mind.  And I lost my love.


We had a couple of writing tasks.  The first was - what would you do if you were Santa?

If I was Santa I would buy everyone in the world a dictionary, and employ a select team of grammarians to test people before they were allowed to post anything on facebook.  This would reduce unemployment and also keep stupid people off the internet.


The second task was to write about something happening to a Father Christmas in a department store or a snowman.

There he is.  Look at him, standing there all smug, that coaly black smile, grinning.  I bet he thinks he's so great, all high and mighty like he's the king of the garden.  'Oooh, look at me, I don't get cold in the snow because I'm made of snow.  I'm so great.'  Well actually, no you're not so great.  In fact you're rubbish.  You're an overgrown popsicle.  Call yourself a man.  You haven't even got any legs or feet.  You've just got a really fat body.

Yeah, yeah?  What are you staring at?  You want to start something?  Any time!  Any.  Time.


Ha!  You're in for it now.  Don't you try and run.  Oh, I forgot, you can't, you legless wonder.  Here I come, ready or not.  Now, which leg should I cock?  Aah, that's better.


Our next meeting will be on Tuesday 14th January 2014, 7-9pm, in the Navigator Room.  Our homework for next session to write something based on 'new beginnings'.

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