LifeLines - January 2006

Baggage Matters

by Bernie Ross

Some ‘Baggage’ definitions:-
Impedimenta; Superfluous or burdensome practices, regulations, ideas, or traits.

Remember or imagine this scenario: you meet someone who’s potentially ‘special’. Something clicks, passion flares, you don’t know why; it feels like a chemical or spiritual magnetism. Your intrigue is heightened; you can barely wait for your next date. It feels so special you hardly dare to imagine everything is as perfect as it feels. (Perhaps you’re dating someone who’s wanted for murder?)

You get on so well that you’re soon swapping histories. “Murder, good heavens no! Married with kids.” Your heart sinks, imagination paints an unhappy future . . . The embittered spouse will be interfering from day one; there’ll be a premium on time, money, love to go around . . .

“But we’re divorced and we have a good arrangement with the children.” Already your heart is singing again. Love is in the air and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You even want to meet the kids.

Writing a story is like that, speeded up. There’s attraction. There are hurdles. The plot thickens, as they say. Your characters’ baggage dictates the outcome if only because it influences where they want to go. Think of Batman: he became a bat because his parents were murdered and the bat could see in the dark. Instant sympathy.

If your characters in fiction share similar baggage to that of your readers in reality then there’s a good chance the book or short story will go down well. It will ‘hit a warm spot’ with its readers.

Flashbacks, in the popular recent TV series ‘Lost’, go into pre-plane-crash incidents to show us the historical relevance of conflicts and hang-ups that scourge the characters in their fight for survival. Like a screenwriter you should know it and be able to show it in flashback, but don’t think you have to tell it to make sure your reader understands. There’s a difference.

Baggage is relevant in relationships between the writer, his characters and the reader, because it’s through knowing the baggage - emotional history and issues they face – that the writer can give accurate descriptions using similes and metaphors that are specific and spot on.

© Bernie Ross 2005

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Short Editorial
In a constant plight to meet the needs of students, writers (including myself) and writing life students, it’s evident to me that the Message Board doesn’t particularly serve much purpose. Perhaps WL students don’t need a private board to themselves because they know they can ask me and get a quicker reply. Before abandoning the facility altogether I’m planning to open it up to ‘anyone’. Not just for the sake of it but with a particular aim in mind. I won’t go into it now but I wanted to tell you privately first before announcing anything on the mailing list that goes to those who’ve shown interest in the WL site but not necessarily paid for the course. Your thoughts about this ‘opening up’ are welcome . . . to me or on the message board!

Bernie

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The Day the Sea Spilt Over the Land

by Theresa Wood

The day the sea spilt over the land
Beth’s children were playing in the sand.
She saw the wave and began to run
trying to gather them into her arms.
And Po the ice-cream maker’s stall
with sweets and candy and nuts to sell
crumpled as if it was made of sand,
the day the sea spilt over the land.

The day the sea spilt over the land,
a wedding in the church was planned.
Sumi had put on her wedding gown
and all the guests were in town.
The tables were laid out in the sun,
families laughing and having fun
‘til the huge wave caught them unawares
and dragged them out to distant shores.

The day the sea spilt over the land
dawned fine and sunny with little wind.
Women at home were beginning their chores
with their children playing out of doors.
Many of their fathers were fishermen
already bringing the first catch in
when the mountain of water stopped the sun
and took their lives, nearly all of them.

The day the sea spilt over the land
was the day no-one ever could imagine.
Like a watercolour left out in a storm
by the end of the day all the picture was gone.
Like a sandcastle crumbling into the waves
thousands upon thousands lost their lives.
We hold our breath now in shock and wonder
for as simply as a cobweb, we are torn asunder.

© Theresa Wood 2005

Theresa lives in a village outside Rugby and has done one Writing Life assignment as well as having written about 5 stories or more for women’s magazines. She was published in one about 30 years ago and is determined to recapture that magic touch – if only she could put her finger on what it is! Meanwhile she’s content to write for the local parish magazine ‘Three Churches News’ in which this poem first appeared.
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BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE PERCEIVER!

by Lynda E. Blake

I’ve long had an interest in psychology and came across something the other day that I’d like to share.

It might sound simple, but I was reminded of the principle that our thoughts affect everything we do – and more importantly how we do it, and the results we achieve…

Basically, our BELIEFS affect our EXPECTATIONS, which in turn affect our ATTITUDES.

Our beliefs come from many sources, firstly from our parents and peers and the social groups with which we mingle, or from the views we see expressed in the media. But more importantly, these beliefs don’t just ‘exist’, they affect the way we view ourselves and everything and everyone around us. Moulding our expectations…

So, while we’re often unaware of it, no matter what we do, see, hear or experience, we act as if it’s happening through a filter. Almost a prism that colours how it will turn out… In other words we see things according to our attitudes.

“But even optimists can be pessimistic sometimes,” you might say. And true, of course they can, but just by being aware of the link between our beliefs, expectations and attitudes we can be aware of what is happening and maybe take the first step towards changing things we don’t like. Perhaps then we can enjoy more fulfilment, less stress, and a better quality of life? Think about it! And above all, question, question, question!

© Lynda E. Blake 2005

Lynda’s portrait appears under her story 'Changing Faces' in November’s Playground ‘Fireworks and Faces’.

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The Dusty Box

by Yara Doleh

In a dusty box in the basement there were all sorts of antiques and old stuff. Lily, the 11-year-old girl felt like it was her dream box. Overjoyed and excited with the treasure she has found, she forgot her parents’ punishment, wiped her tears away and started taking out one piece at a time with complete care and caution, and delicately tried to clean them.

Dusting away what the years had left behind, she found an old watch. It was big, a man's watch. She took it in her hands, huffed the dust which was accumulating on it, and turned it around to find writing engraved on the back. She tried to read what was written, but as the light was dim, she simply couldn’t so she decided to put it back. But, just before it touched the table where she was about to place it, the back of the watch opened and a small picture fell down. She picked up the picture to find a couple standing there, a man and a woman; the woman looked familiar to her. But, as she was more excited about the other stuff, she just slide it into her pocket and continued her dusting.

The treasure was enormous indeed: china, cutlery, candleholders, and much more. Bit by bit, every single piece she cleaned started glittering, and came back to life, it looked as if it was just used a while ago. Seeing how wonderful they looked, her excitement increased; she gathered the pieces, and started arranging them in the small basement room. Once everything was put in its place, the whole room brightened, as if each piece had found its original place.

Once she finished, a banquet hall was ready, only food and people were missing to bring more taste and color to the beautiful set of authentic antiques. She stood there watching the completion of her work, proud of her discovery as well as her organizing skills. After spending sometime playing around, dancing and talking with her imaginary friends, she felt tired; she looked around, trying to find a chair to sit on. She could only find boxes lying around, so she took a couple of them, placed them on top of each other and sat down. Resting her head on the table, she went into a deep sleep.

She woke up at a voice calling out her name. But it wasn’t her mother’s voice; it was somehow different. Suddenly the door opened, and a young girl came in, she smiled, and said in a loud voice, “Mom, I found grandma, she is in the basement, as usual!” Once she stood up, something fell on the ground. It was the old watch. She bent down and picked it up. She turned its back to read the engraved writing: “For You On Your 50th Birthday. Your wife, Lily!”

© Yara Doleh 2005

Here's Yara with her son Adam, aged 16 months. Yara's biog. appears on Playground 4

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Writing on Demand

from Trevor Lockwood

200 words she said, by today.
What do you say, but OK?
Then came that moment of panic,
the phone started to ring,
I knew who it was, and No,
I hadn't even started to do
THAT job yet . . .
and I had to get a new doorknob for the bathroom door -
No, no, no, don't go there, but it could be fun.
I needed a pee,
desperately
but decided that would set the deadline for me.
I'd write until I couldn't hold on any longer . . .
(besides the bathroom door would only swing open at the wrong moment.)
That had me thinking about

Jenny
She danced and sang as my Teddy Bear,
said 'You are my Sunshine' from the lights of the stage
Soubrette made dreams
an acrobatic blonde dancing on my tender heart
in Skegness took my virginity without mention.

Too much of this world she knew
yet she sought not the sailor's game.
Was just a child of the 60s
doing what we all did then
'Where is the Love' was to blame.

The child that became
has now a much better name
than those that fumbled together in her creation.
Genteel and wed
to a producer of plays
closely watched by her lonely mother.

Happiness is always tinged with sadness, isn't it? Must get a new knob, after I've had that pee.

© Writing Life® 2006

Trevor Lockwood has been a published writer for 240 years. (He’s prone to adding
a nought on all numbers.) Always ready to rise to a challenge he was asked to
write something ‘sweet and sexy’ for this slot and he didn’t let us down. A
one-time co-writer with Bernie Ross he lives life chasing his tail, promising to
mend things, writing and dreaming about romantic moments both true and imagined. You can read more of his work on http://www.spatec.blogspot.com/

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The Secret Diary

by E. Green

I've been here before. How do I know? Well, I recognise the tree, the lights and the presents. The family always decorates the house like this in winter. They don't wrap me up any more as the young lady knows what her present is and she's eager to get on with her writing. Yes, she's a writer. A good writer, if you ask me. How should I know? I'm her personal diary.

She started writing in my pages four years ago, and, as I'm a five-year diary, this will be my final year under the Christmas tree.

You want to see what she's writing? Can't show, won't show. That's me, true to my lady, my lady Jane. My clasp is shut and I can't be opened till tomorrow when they all come downstairs.
If my clasp is opened, the spell will be broken. What spell? You may well ask. The spell of writing. It's a kind of special magic, a gift that everyone wants. She uses a pen and ink and writes things, words, on my pages. No! Not ordinary words. Ideas for a story, a love story that will be read for ever.


No! I won't let you see the words. They're private. Yes, I suppose I could recite the first line that I can remember. I'll have to be quick. I can hear them coming. I can hear them giggling.

Well, the story starts like this:

'It is a truth universally acknowledged...'

Shhhh! They're here!

© E. Green 2005

E. Green is aged 62, a retired business executive. Married 39 years, he has two sons, two grandchildren. With a career in business management, specialising in finance, business writing became highly developed, but business plans, budgets, and annual reports offered no scope for creativity.
He says: “I always enjoyed reading, in particular Dick Francis’ novels of which I own the complete set of paperbacks. In 2003 I went on a one-year course for creative writing at the local college. Short stories, poetry, and drama were equally covered but I am especially keen on novel writing as its length and structure give opportunities for developing character and plot. I have entered some writing competitions but received no prizes yet. Have widened my reading to cover a range of crime/thriller writers. My preferred writers at present are Val McDermid, Ian Rankin, John Grisham, and Robert Goddard. My current project is a crime story about art fraud.”