Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Oh what a day
A day of words is what we had
Most of them happy, some of them sad.
Writing and thinking the whole day through
And as for listening, there was that too.
Catherine let us in on some facts
Learning about her quirky acts.
Delineating time with her shower cap on
Get the words down, get feedback from none.
Sounds to listen to, some birdsong perhaps
The little secrets into which she taps.
Lunch was had and what a feast
Enough to fill a hearty beast.
So off we all went back to our homes
Eager to start on our personal tomes.
The day was so useful, so much to use
Thanks the ‘Deveny Rocket’ you were born to enthuse!
Five minutes of writing (1)
This is a strange room we are in. Black walls, black ceiling. Dark yet also filled with light from the many windows. When we first entered I overheard Catherine speaking to someone and just caught the word ‘funeral’. I immediately connected her words to the room, thinking the décor was the result of arrangements for some recent post-burial lunch party or a memorial dinner. A picture filled my head of men and women, smartly dressed in dark clothing, sitting around this very table. They are in earnest conversation about the deceased. Telling stories of the past about a person whose only future now was in those stories and the memories they conjured.
I later found out the reference to a funeral was in a totally different context so my imaginings were completely off course. It’s still a strange room though. But this morning’s event has proved it doesn’t necessarily lend itself to dark moods or earnest conversations. Hopefully the only deaths to commemorate here today will be those of my procrastination, and of my fear of writing something that others don’t like.
Another five minutes of writing (2)
I am cycling and I cannot believe it! I am on a bike, right now! Three weeks ago I couldn’t even walk and yet here I am hurtling down St Kilda Road with the breeze in my face and the plaster pot on my fractured foot knocking against the bike frame as I peddle.
What on earth made me decide to throw the walking stick to one side and launch myself into the saddle I don’t know. I’m not even sure where I’m heading for. I know I’m heading down St Kilda Road, but I’ve no idea why. Am I going to St Kilda? I bloody hope not. I hate St Kilda.
The accident was a month ago to the day. Fourteen hours in a coma and eight days in hospital. It was only two days ago that my Wife felt able to leave me alone in the house. Except now I’m not in the house, I’m hurtling down St Kilda Road on a bike. I bet she’ll regret leaving me alone in the house now.
Not as much as I’ll regret leaving the house if I end up in bloody St Kilda. I hate St Kilda.