Committed writers dedicated to working together to produce excellent poems, short stories, drama, life writing, and creative non-fiction

Why not contact us for more details about our small, mutually supportive monthly meetings? Don't be shy. No need to be brave!

Sheila 01823 67 28 46 sheilarogers4322@yahoo.com

Valerie 01884 84 04 22 valtay@btinternet.com

Thursday 23 April 2015

First Kiss

We rose at dawn to hear nightingales
upon the undercliff.  Old Man’s Beard
and brambles tangled the narrow track
and light and shadow played across our skin.

Jonny was gentle with rough hands,
a thatcher like his Dad.
I was fourteen, still dreaming
of a charming prince to wake me
from my rural sleep.

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

Wednesday 15 April 2015

First Kiss

Her hair was cut severely – and hadn’t changed since early days of motherhood; although his profile spoke of sports, clearly he frequented Greggs.

They dined at the Taj Mahal. 

When they kissed afterwards, she tasted of mouthwash, he of extra strong mints.  Blood sang and they gasped, groaned and grinned.

© Tim Scott
All rights reserved

First Kiss

I kissed the wall,
cool and flat;

unsatisfactory,
though I burrowed into
my imagination,
senses and dreams.

He took me to see Ben Hur
that winter, when the
snow froze and glinted
in the car headlights,
cracking under foot.

He jammed his lips hard on mine.

I was disappointed.

© Valerie Taylor
All rights reserved

Her first kiss

After forty days voyaging into the light
I knew the touch of a mother’s wing, brushing my face.
She opened her heart, offered a breast.

Eighty years pass; she begins her journey into darkness.
My parted lips, soft with sorrow’s breath, linger on her cooling flesh -

my last kiss

© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved

Saturday 4 April 2015

EDITING

Interesting link, here:  What It Takes: The Second Draft (Is Not a Draft)

So what are the beginning, middle and end of Editing? How do you complete THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT?

Well, I’ve spent the last six months or so at www.storygrid.com to explain what it is editors do. And the website is the basis of my upcoming book The Story Grid: What Good EditorsKnow, which is just about to go to the printer.

It would be terrific if you bought a copy, but you don’t have to. Everything you need to know about editing is free at www.storygrid.com. Really.

But to answer the above question simply:

The beginning of editing is creating a Story Grid Spreadsheet.

The middle of editing is creating a Foolscap Global Story Grid.

And the end of editing is putting together the Spreadsheet and the Foolscap Page into a complete Story Grid for your first draft.

Once you’ve finished Editing or THE SECOND DRAFT THAT ISN’T A DRAFT, you will have a clear understanding of what you’ll need to do in the drafts to come. You will not fear these drafts. Rather you will be re-energized to tackle the obvious problems in your first draft with vim and vigor.

You’ll have that confidence because you’ll know exactly what you’ll need to do to fix the problems and you’ll have a strategy to get that work done.

That is what THE SECOND DRAFT THAT IS NOT A DRAFT is all about.


What It Takes: The Second Draft (Is Not a Draft)



Wednesday 1 April 2015

SUBURBIA

Just in from work, still going on the 'phone.
Two young-ish daughters, always hungry, whine and moan.
He parks the car, uptight to kitchen sills;
Comes in to kiss us all and open bills.
Sub- village life's the same as in the 'burbs:
We work and live and love in equal thirds.

© Isabel Hare
All rights reserved

Claygate 1954

Bowler hats and brollies on the 7.42,
(Hinchley Wood, Clapham, Waterloo)

privet-packaged houses, net curtains a-twitch,
shanks pony for the hoi-polloi, Bentleys for the rich'

Sunday allotments, cabbages and beans,
Morris men outside the Swan, cricket on the green,

"Rag 'n' Bones!" on Tuesdays, bobby on the beat,
 sweets from the corner shop - Saturday treat! 

© Sheila Rogers
All rights reserved

Suburbia

'Suburbia shines like sweat on you,’

he sneered. ‘Your Daddy
is a middle manager. You look the part
but you are petty bourgeois to your core.
We’re through.’

He walked.

I sighed.

I didn’t say, ‘the chip upon your shoulder
bleeds. You’re on a path
to self-destruct and I
cannot
save
you.’

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved