Throwback Thursday: Destruction

*A weekly post revisiting some of the previous fictional writing pieces from my old blog*

Another piece from my series of ‘Character Conversations’. This one is more of a monologue or rant. I’m not great with portraying accents in writing. I can hear the voice in my head, but am not sure how to put it phonetically on the page … any tricks writers out there? Have you ever written dialogue for a character with an ‘accent’? How do you do it successfully?

“Well, I wanna be famous, yeah. A Star, like.
I wanna be like one of them WAGs on TV. Like that one … shit wot’s ‘er name?
You know the one. With the ‘air and the nails and the … ooooh yeah … I love them nails with the diaman’es and patterns. My auntie did my nails with leopard prints once. It was well good.
Where woz I?
Oh yeah, like, I want people to know my name. When I walk down the street I want them to shout, Krystal! Oy, Krystal (I’ll be changing my name to Krystal once I get famous see? I’ll only ‘ave one name like Madonna and Cher and that guy who sang that song about the rain bein’ purple).
An’ yeah I’m gonna shop in all the wicked shops like Gucci an’ Burberry an’ wherever Cheryl Cole shops coz she’s got well good style!
She grew up on an estate near where I live see? It’s rough, yeah, but she’s livin’ proof that anyone from anywhere can go out there and get famous and rich an’ drink champayne out of fancy glasses an’ go on yachts and lay in the sun and get brown in sexy bikinis and ‘ave everyone worship ya. It’s gonna to be brilliant.
What do you mean what’s my talent?
I’m an actress an’ a singer. I woz in a play when I was still in school an’ my mum came and my nan, an’ they said I had It yeah? Like I woz on the X-Facta. I am the X-Facta. I’m gonna go on an audition an’ get through an’ the rest will be history. Like that Cher Lloyd chick.
She gets tons of free stuff. Like blackberries an’ earrings an’
When I get all my free stuff, I’m gonna get a big ole house to put it in. With like sixteen bathrooms an’ I’m gonna get a personal trainer an’ a dog an’ carry it around in a bag all day when the paps are chasin’ me, takin’ pics of me doin’ ma thing. I’ll ‘ave these big ole sunglasses to stop their flashes blindin’ me when I’m on my way to do photo shoots an’ talkin’ to the One Show peeps.
What do ya mean what if I don’t get through, of course I’m gonna get through! I’m gonna win man! Have you not ben listening to me?
I’m a legend.
I’m amazing.
An’ if, an’ this is a big IF, they woz to say no, I’d do like another reality show like maybe uhhh The Only Way is Essex, them’s lot are regular folk. They do nuffin’ ‘cept drink an’ party an’ I do a lot of that. Girl’s gotta keep it real ya kno’?
Easy as that.
So, yeah, I’m gonna be famous.
Sorry, what woz the question?”


*originally published: 10 August 2011


Writer Wednesday: Flash Fiction Writing Prompt

*This is a weekly writing challenge hosted by fellow writer/bloggers Nicole, Carrie, Tena and Leanne. Each week you are given one photograph and 5 words to include in an original flash fiction story. The story can be no longer than 500 words*

This week’s photograph:



The words will be highlighted in bold throughout the story.

“‘Til Death Us Do Part”

He left out a VOWEL. Typical. I knew that cheap engraver had no idea what he was doing. He could barely speak a word of coherent English let alone spell. In hindsight, I should have paid a bit more and gone to someone a little more reputable, a jeweller perhaps, like the one who engraved our wedding rings all those years ago. Do you remember him? What a funny caricature of a man he was, like a character lifted out of a Charles Dickens novel – unnaturally thin with hands irreparably gnarled by arthritis. He was about 80 years old at the time, and told us how he had spent most of his life acting as a STOOL pigeon for Scotland Yard. He was completely batty, but he did beautiful work, and the etching on my band is still as clear as it was forty years ago.

‘Til Death Us Do Part.

It just seemed like an awful waste of money. You didn’t leave me very much, Harold, so I am inclined to blame you for this mess. As a result of your bad investments, you will forever be known as Harold Pincr. No ‘E’. I suppose it doesn’t matter really. They will demolish this park one DAY and replace it with yet more high-rise buildings, the ones that resemble the futuristic SPACESHIPs from those Science Fiction films you used to take me to see at the Drive Inn. That place is gone now too. They stripped it down and turned it into extra parking for the Traduna Mall.

Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and say ‘Hello’ and tell you that the plaque looks good, despite the missing vowel. I know you must be very busy up there catching up with all your old friends and your mother, although I am inclined to believe she wound up in slightly warmer climes. Vile woman. If you see our dear Gracie, give her a pat on the head for me and tell her that I miss her every day, especially now as I sit here watching the autumn leaves gently fall from the trees. It’s CALM here today, and cold. Do you remember what cold feels like? Do you miss it? Do you remember our long walks to this very bench?How we would let Gracie off her lead and watch as she scampered through the forest, sniffing the damp ground, and shovelling slugs with her snout? Do you remember how we used to sit for hours side by side listening to the hum of the motor way, waiting for the cancer to kill you?

It is getting late, and I better make my way home. I am cooking your favourite tea tonight. Pilchards on toast. I am not sure why, but I had a hankering for them today. So long, my dear Harold Pincr. No ‘E’. I hope to see you again soon. 

 *word count: 483

Novel Thoughts Entry 1: What to do after Inspiration Strikes

When does inspiration strike you?

I am a recreational runner and try to get to the gym a couple of times a week. When I first started running a few years ago, I used to rely on my iPod to get me through my 40-minute gym sessions, but about a year ago it broke and I was forced to run in silence until I got around to ordering a new one. 

I have run without music ever since. It took some getting used to at first, but now I can’t imagine running with anything other than the thoughts in my head. It is often during these runs, that I find inspiration. Somewhere between the heavy breathing and desperate kilometre/time calculations I rattle off in an almost obsessive way – sometimes, I will get the niggle of an idea for a story. These ideas usually stem from one of the many imaginary conversations I like to have with myself on a daily basis (other people do that too, right?). This little nugget of inspiration will grow as I continue to pound the treadmill. It will follow me through my cross-training cool down and my stretches, and out into the cold, cool West Hampstead evening air. 

But, by the time I get home, the surge and excitement has left me and I am left with this tiny seed – the promise of something special – and I have no idea what to do with it. 

What do you do after Inspiration strikes?

I have always written in sporadic bursts. I have never planned or researched an idea thoroughly (perhaps this is why I have been unsuccessful in every single one of my novel writing attempts in the past), and am never sure what the next step should be. How do I plant the seed and get it to grow? 

I found this sweet little infographic during a very quick Web search, and it has given me a little hint of where to go with my most recent idea:


It’s a bit simplistic, but I think has given me a good starting point. 

Fellow writers out there – any tips on how to get writing? 

*Infographic via: