Gladstone’s Spring Workshop 16th May 2015

The view from bedroom No.9

The view from bedroom No.9 the night before…

The view from bedroom No.9

  1. The great yew tree stretches its protective branches over the deceased of Hawarden.
  1. The kitchen yard refuse bins stand adjacent to the graveyard wall, red against sandstone.
  1. The West window of St Deiniol’s church is shielded by a large tree, unable to look over late members of its congregation.
Gladstone's Welcome

Welcome to our day of writing!

The Naughty Chair

The Naughty Chair

Joyce welcomed the group and outlined the agenda of writing activities for the day.  She then asked Tom, Bill, and Mark to follow her outside to an overgrown section of wild garden where she indicated a solitary chair.  “This”, she said meaningfully, “is the naughty chair”…

Outside the workshop window

Outside the workshop window

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Lovely Laburnum lolloping down, outside the workshop window.

A breast...

A breast of the times…

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A breast, at its best

Undressed

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Statue

Eternal Optimist

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Alone he stands, just watching

Never says a word

Just thinks inside his concrete head

About this wretched world

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.

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Statuesque statue

Statuesque statue

I won’t look at you leer

You’re safe to go ahead

I have parted my dress

And later my legs

Laburnum

Laburnum

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Lots of lacy lazy lovely lolloping Laburnum – Lollapalooza!

Food for Thought notice...

Food for Thought….

Frequently

One

Only

Desires

Food

Occasionally

Ravenousness*

Threatens

Hundreds

Of

Usually

Gentle

Honourable

Theologians.

*It’s in Collins Concise …

.

Snooty Statue

Snooty Statue

Horrocks! What the hell is that scruffy little man doing in my garden?

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Barrow with barrels

What’s going on here then?

DI Ireland could smell sulphur on the air, like bad eggs gone bad.  “Well,” he said, “now we know how they disposed of the bodies.”  A young constable vomited quietly in the viburnum.

Bluebells

Bluebells and logs makes…

Bluebell listing over grungy stems.

Bluebell limping on green stalks.

Bluebell logs.

Blogs.

A wooden chair

Back to his roots, sadly….

So Cruel to lead me back

Free as I once was

But can no longer feel the

sun on my leaves

the breeze through my branches

I can not grow, only decay

In the land where I once

flourished and grew

Shadows on a wall

The end of the day…

Shadows cast on the wall

Share your secrets

Before you say goodbye

An inscribed stone slab

“Huh? Not in my dictionary, guv!”

All good fiction is a big slab of truth that has been shat on from a great height. Just like all politics, all history and all of your memories. Cherish it, love it, believe in it but never trust it because good fiction will lure you in and play with your trust. Fiction can be a naughty, deceitful beast that can turn on you in an instant. It can leave you despairing and yearning. It can render you shocked and dumbfounded. Hate it, resent it but never let go of it. Reach out to it and make it yours – your fiction, your truth.

With (varying degrees of) thanks to:

  • Mark Acton
  • Steph Acton
  • Joan Carter
  • Joyce Ireland
  • Tom Ireland
  • Bill Webster
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