Bike Shed Saturdays

Every second Saturday the Bike Shed in Grant Street, Inverness, hosts a creative writing workshop. Friday nights at the Bike Shed are open mic nights for poetry, music and storytelling. It was out of Friday nights that people wanted the opportunity to write things they could share on the Friday. It is facilitated by myself and my lovely assistant, Tim. There are times when I feel I ought to be teaching writing skills rather than just providing prompts, but to be honest who wants to do school on a Saturday morning?

There are a wide range of ages, abilities and interests among the writers. Some know their way around a dictionary and craft wonderful stories and poems. Others head for milking the humour out of a given set of words. There are Star Trek and Star Wars enthusiasts who could easily come up with the next film script. We are an imaginative group. No one is compelled to write the next best seller and no one is compelled to read the fruit of their scratchings and scribings.

Here's my stuff –

When Tim is in charge it begins with random words going around the group working our way through the alphabet. Zygomorphic was an impressive ending word. Using as many or a few words from the list, the challenge is to write a story in ten minutes or so.

The Battle

They sow seeds of discontent, and the battle becomes not about bombs and bullets but about words. It’s unfair, they whine, that strangers, foreigners and asylum seekers get all the breaks, whipping up xenophobia. They should not be allowed to move into our country. A kaleidoscope of nations, skin tones and languages flood in like insects, locusts, consuming all that ought to be for us. Easy prey, the minds that see only what does not please and fail to see the small daisies in life.

And the government? They stick their heads underground terrified that the gap between them and their challengers will get wider as an election draws near. The yellow stripe down their backs begins to stand out.

I will let you work out what some of those words on the list were. Zygomorphic isn’t there, mostly because I wasn’t sure what it meant. You can tell that my husband has rubbed off on me. He’s a man from the left he tells everyone, and not ashamed of it. Over the years I have soaked up so much of his philosophy.

Colours are fascinating. There was a wee observation that what we see isn’t really what we see at all. The eye sees something and the brain translates. There was also a comment about when and how and who invented the word ‘mauve’. The word didn’t exist and no other word would do, so a French man called it mauve. I have a lovely poem based on colours, Dulux colours, which I will post at the end. The task here was to write something and change the colours. Someone came up with a blue blackbird.

Synaesthesia

Music fills my ears as I listen to something classical on my mobile phone. I close my eyes slowly letting the notes fold around me. Opening my eyes, the world is transformed. There is a lavender tint to the sky, and blue strips of cloud like tattered ribbons span from one horizon to the other. A plane high up leaves a deep purple thread. There is a smell of lemons as a river of yellow water ambles by. Eddies of red and orange touch the banks on either side. A kingfisher, a swift stab of grey feathers dives. A black and white striped bumblebee buries its head in a black dandelion.

Another day, another song and the colours will change. That you cannot see what I do, saddens me. If only you could borrow my eyes perhaps you would smile more often.

It surprised me that someone knew the technical, medical word for seeing sounds as colours. A number of people asked me if that was how I saw the world. It isn’t. One of the units in the coming year at university, my creative writing degree course, is about writing what you know. There was also an interesting debate about how taking some drugs can alter the colour of something, not that I would know anything about that.

The final quick task was one we had done before. Apparently travelling backwards in time is not possible. One day I shall google the why not. They did it in Star Trek. There is something bad about messing with time and accidentally killing off an ancestor and killing yourself off in the process. This wee poem really touched the heart strings.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow will be

My first day without you

Your voice that fills every corner of our house

Will be gone

And the next tomorrow?

And the tomorrow after that?

Will I always wake up empty?

When will it stop?

Not tomorrow

Not any tomorrow

I miss you

My husband wondered whether that meant of the two of us he would be the first to go. He has expressed the idea before now, saying he would rather it was him because he wouldn’t know how to live without me. Aww. It’s the practical things, he says, about who would fix the wonky toilet seat. Yes, ever the sentimentalist.

Just a quick aside to the audience – in between typing this up I have also been baking rice pudding. Not an energy efficient dessert, I know, but we have milk delivered and when there is a surplus I bake rice pudding. Delicious.

Finally, the poem I promised. I made you read through all the other stuff to get to the really good stuff. Note that all of the above are first drafts with no editing.

One Thousand Dulux Shades of Life

found fossil skies and dove slate clouds

warm pewter rain and urban chic pavements

my life has dulled to 32 dulux shades of grey

muted mocha office and roasted coffee briefcase

dusted damson suit and muddy puddle deadlines

Joyless I work in 97 dulux shades of brown

lemon drizzle smile and sunny day laughter

soft vanilla calm and wild primrose passion

I miss her in 67 dulux shades of yellow

volcanic splash anger and red stallion rage

ruby fountain sorrow and rose trellis tears

grief poured out in 164 dulux shades of red

woodland fern stillness and forest falls peace

spring meadow serenity and minted glory promise

God comforts me in 76 dulux shades of green

fragrant cloud prayer and velvet ribbon praise

lilac spring dance and cotton breeze joy

gentle restoration in 76 dulux shades of violet

harvest fruit healing and earth glaze complete

honey beam satisfied and golden rambler awake

tossed high, I soar in 65 dulux shades of gold

I am aware I should have invited you along to the Bike Shed to write your own stories and poems. Come along next time - the second Saturday in September.