This week I went to a writing event in town that I hadn’t attended before. It’s called Not for the Fainthearted. The premise is simple and fun. You get shown an image and given three minutes to write something. Then everyone reads what they’ve got down. No feedback beyond smiles, nods, chuckles or whatever. It was great. Company and focus for everyone and a sequence of images with which you had no choice but to engage.
It’s run by a guy called James Burt and it’s free. I don’t know what motivates this nice man to share his mint teabags, his images and his time but I’m very glad he does.
I thought I’d share some of the raw wordage that came out for me. This one was interesting because it came at a gallop with a definite rhythm. These are the words, unedited. I have fiddled with the punctuation a bit.
Book turned helicopter
In the sunlight, in the rich and green and sunlight where she threw it up and up and all the minutes telescoped to just that one. And in her memory, all those years, the ruby book turned helicopter, opened out its set of pages, caught the sunlight, caught the greenness, furled it into words and story. Every night a rest home-dreaming. Every night it brought her sleep.