Tag Archives: Writing Class

The Ideas Of March

18 Mar

Read this at parentdish: http://www.parentdish.com/2010/03/17/danish-artist-dresses-her-baby-like-hitler-other-evil-dictators/ and this: http://www.parentdish.com/2010/03/17/moms-fight-to-hang-her-laundry-outside-gets-dirty/.   

I believe in freedom of expression but I am repulsed by pictures of babies dressed as brutal murderers.  I believe in saving the planet and clean clothes but you have to respect a majority vote so long as no-one is getting hurt.

I believe I have nothing to blog about today so I thought you might like some odd news.  If I find any, I’ll let you know.

This is turning out to be a funny month.  I have hardly written anything since Christmas but suddenly I am busy with writing events; as well as those I have told you about, I am going to workshop On The Park  with Year Six children at the school where I help out.  After their SATs, of course, so I have weeks to not sleep at night, worrying about it.

It occurred to me to look for writing jobs i.e. full-time, salaried positions that require me to put pen to paper or finger to keyboard, as well as admin jobs.  And they are out there!  I am not qualified for any of them, sadly, but that’s a minor detail.

I’m feeling a little sad today because I have my last writing class tonight.  I have thoroughly enjoyed it and I have learned a lot.  It was my third creative writing course since finishing with the OU.  I’ll have to find another college but Stockport is rapidly running out.

Any ideas?



Once A Pun A Time

16 Jan

Yesterday’s wonderful comments from Doraz (see Happy Birthday to My Baby (1) & (2) ) reminded me of a recent homework exercise for my writing class: we had to write a short story with a punning last line.  Here’s my attempt:

The toy shop was having a Sesame Street sale but, to drive up demand, they restricted the availability of popular characters. Sale day arrived and there were many children waiting outside the store.  Fearing a panic that might result in kids getting hurt, the owner insisted that the adults shop in silence.  I struggled through whispering crowds, trying to find her favourite Bert and Ernie for my toddler.  I found a discarded Ernie under a counter, but Bert was proving problematic.  Suddenly, I noticed a small boy with a Bert doll on the other side of the shop.  I forced my way through the crowds as quickly and quietly as I could until I was behind him.  He was gripping the toy tightly and didn’t look as if he was about to let go.  I acted decisively: kneeling down behind him, out of sight, I suddenly yelled in his ear, grabbed the doll as he dropped it, and dove for cover as everyone looked around for the source of the disturbance.  On my way home with my purchases, I reflected that, definitely, a Bert in the hand was worth ‘Boo!’ in the hush.

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