Write a story about a beggar who loves to hear himself sing

 Old Joseph was a familiar site in the town center on most afternoons.  His clothes were old and worn and quite dirty, unless he was given something new to wear by the people at the soup kitchen.  Nobody really knew where he went during the mornings or the evenings and nights.  Most people probably didn’t think much about how he managed in the cold winter rain at night.

Joseph was one of those men who had been very successful and (he thought) happily married with three lovely children.  His marriage ended the day his wife asked him to leave.  She had been having an affair and wanted to divorce him in order to marry her new man.  Things didn’t work out as she expected as her lover suddenly lost interest.  He already had a wife and children of his own.  Why take time to adjust to a new family?

This all meant that Joseph had to pay the mortgage on the house and support a wife with three young children without the benefits of living comfortably with them. At first he slept in spare rooms, on sofas and even the floors of friends and colleagues.  Very soon his work started to suffer; it was becoming harder to find somewhere to spend the night.  He wasn’t good company and he started to drink.  Have you ever wondered what it must be like having nowhere to shower and prepare for the day at work?  He had very little money anyway and one day decided that it wasn’t worth the effort and he walked out of his job.

He managed to get himself away from his home town and became one of the many homeless in a new place where no one knew who he had been. There was one thing that made him stand out and also earned him a few coins; he loved to sing.  Joseph had an amazing voice so he usually finished Saturday afternoons with a bit of money in his pocket.  There was quite an audience of people who looked forward to hearing him and they would shout out requests.  He would sing anything, he’d always loved music so could manage most demands.

Unfortunately, his health started to suffer and his voice started to fail and eventually you would hear people in the street on Saturday afternoons wondering where he had disappeared to. When they heard that he had died they said that it was such a pity to lose a local character who loved to sing.

Creative Writing Prompts  No. 222

The story that was never written

This morning I was in the shower when a great opening line came to me. I was really proud of myself as I knew that from this one sentence a story could develop.  I made a mental note to write it down as soon as I could.

 Here I am, 6 hours later. I have just remembered that I’ve completely forgotten the words that came to me. The greatest short story ever written has disappeared forever.

My new book!

I'm very pleased to announce the arrival of my third book, Beausejour, available for Kindle on Amazon. I’m not putting a direct link for my book here as it won’t work in all countries. The best is to go to Amazon and search for my name, Angela Knutsen, in the Kindle Store.

If you’re interested you can visit my page at Author Central and order from there too.

A first!

One of the books I’ve read recently was ‘The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman’ by Canadian author Denis Thériault. It’s a lovely story based around the art of writing Haiku. For the first time I really got the idea and now I understand how to write them. My daughter and a blogging friend have explained Haiku to me the past, but…

For about a week, when I’ve visited the town hall nearly every day to take the post to the post office, I’ve been treated to the pleasure of seeing the cherry tree in its autumn colours. How very Japanese to be inspired to write my first Haiku by a cherry tree. So here it is. I’m sure I’ve missed something, but it does have 17 syllables. It contains everything I wanted to say:

The Autumn tree 

Studies its reflection 

In a lake of fallen leaves 

 Now I want to read the book again – as it was written, in French.

 I can’t help wondering if some of the trees look down at the leaves beneath them and mutter “Wasn’t me”

A.H.W.O.S.G.

At the beginning of ‘A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius’ the Author Dave Eggars has added a section entitled ‘Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of this Book’. Rule 1 says ‘There is no overwhelming need to read the preface’. I took him at his word and didn’t bother to read the preface, it looked long and I don’t like long prefaces. I wanted to read the book.

I thought that I was reading a work of fiction – had I read the preface, I would have known that the book is autobiographical – give and take one or two changes. If I’d have known that it was a true story , I probably wouldn’t have finished it. I’m the mother of sons; the book hurts a lot. Dave has the job of bringing up his younger brother, Toph, almost on his own after both of their parents die of cancer. It’s brilliant and heartbreaking – I would love to meet this man and hug him.

Now I know about McSweeney’s

Special promotion, Angie Brynner & Company

I’m running special promotions for my book ‘Angie Brynner & Company’.

The UK promotion starts 12th April at 8 am GMT until 19th April at 12 am GMT ; the price will be reduced from £2.37 to 99p.

In the US, the book will be 99 cents from 12th April 8am PST until 19th April 12am PST, original price is $2.99.

To take advantage of the promotion if you don’t have a Kindle reader you can download a free app for your smartphone, tablet or computer.(App is free, not the book)  The link is just below the book cover on the page. Because Amazon doesn’t seem to cope well with links from country to country .The best way to find the book is to go to Amazon, look under Kindle and look for my name: Angela Knutsen.

Creative writing prompt: How would a broken plate feel?

Yesterday I was beautiful, people always admired me. How I shone at every occasion. I always did whatever was expected of me; come hot or cold. Just this morning I was chosen above all of the others in the cupboard.

Now look at me! I’m all over the place. My beauty is lost forever. I have no future. If I’m lucky, parts of me will finish my days sitting in the bottom of a plant pot, in the cold and dark. They won’t even know I’m there anymore.

Can you hear the titters coming from the cupboard? They’ll see, it happens to us all in the end.

I found a great writing prompt website after sitting and staring at a blank Word document for a while.

How about a little extract...

...from my first book?  I've discovered that I can put a preview of my book here.!  Enjoy.

Collection of short stories

I’ve now published book number 2 on Kindle. A collection of short stories entitled ‘The Summer of 1970’. It’s free for five days from Sunday 17th January to Thursday 21st January. If you don’t own a Kindle you can also read it on your Smartphone, tablet or computer.

I have the app on my Smartphone and was surprised to learn how comfortable reading on the phone can be. I use it as a back up when I’m out in case I leave my Kindle at home.

Thank you

Thank you to everyone who took the time to look at my book. I really hope that you enjoyed reading it. Hopefully I’ll be publishing a collection of my short stories soon...

… And now it’s free!

Yes, “Angie Brynner & Company” is free from 28th December to 1st January 2016 inclusive. Here is the link. The offer lasts for 5 days only.

If you had a Kindle for Christmas and you’re interested in Chic lit, here’s a book for you to read. If you don’t have a Kindle; you can still get your ebook by downloading the free app that enables you to read Kindle books on your tablet or Smartphone.

If you decide to take advantage of this offer, I’d be very interested to know what you think of my book once you’ve read it. If you have the time, please take a couple of minutes to review it.

It's here!!

I’m very pleased and proud to announce that I have finally published a book on Kindle. It’s taken a while and challenged my knowledge of Word (which is very limited as I found out the hard way).

As From today you can buy Angie Brynner & Company from Amazon. Don’t worry, if you haven’t got a Kindle reader, you can download an App for smartphones, or you can read using your tablet or computer.

The barn

The first time I saw the old barn that was to serve as our garage I was intrigued by it. Built of limestone a long time ago, the ivy covered walls were beginning to crumble away. Inside; the enormous beams that supported the roof sported the scars of ancient generations of woodworm.

The barn really captured my imagination. Everyone that visited the house that summer was invited to look around my barn and write a short story about it by the beginning of September. What a mistake that was – my inspiration flew out of the window.

Sometimes on a hot day, I would just go into the cool barn and look at the walls. I loved their creamy yellow colour, no stone was the same size or shape and looking closely, I could make out the faint traces of fossils. At the far end was the timber frame of what once had been a doorway. The floor had been concreted years ago and was showing more signs of wear than the ancient walls! Still no inspiration came to me.

I discovered that under the village the remains of a network of tunnels had been found in recent years. Where had the blocked up doorway led to? What kind of lives did the people live who had called the barn their own in the past?

I never did write that short story about the barn. The people who came and went through the now blocked up doorway, carried their secrets away with them.

The Globetrotting Beefeater: Part 2

Part 1 is here

A few days later the beefeater heard the excited voices of children and was aware of the comfortable envelope being ripped open. He had arrived at his new home. He was placed on the refrigerator alongside a team of football (soccer) shirts and an ocean of fridge poetry.

At first the Beefeater was happy to sit on the fridge door and watch the comings and goings of the family. Sometimes he joined in with the games of football, sometimes he tried to read the poetry to himself. This way learnt some French words, but he didn’t understand all of the poems. He felt lonely despite his busy life. He wished that he had someone to talk too.

Time passed and sometimes our brave Beefeater was forgotten about. He slipped down to the bottom of the fridge, past all of the poetry and onto the floor. He was always found and dusted off before being put back at the top of the fridge. He couldn’t help thinking that no one really cared much about what happened to him…

One afternoon his life was to change forever. he was put back at the top of the fridge and joined by a real princess. She was pink with yellow hair and a golden crown. The Beefeater thought that she was the most beautiful magnet he had ever seen. From that day onwards she always watched him play football and they read poetry together all night long. He never ever felt lonely again.

The Globetrotting Beefeater: Part I

This one is a 'true' story....

Once upon a time there was a Beefeater. He was very smart indeed in his royal red uniform and on his back was a magnet. He lived on a shelf in a shop in London with lots of other Beefeaters waiting to be bought by tourists from all over the world.

One morning the Beefeater was sitting on the shelf watching the tourists looking around the shop, when all of a sudden he was picked up by a very nice lady from South Africa. The beefeater didn’t mind too much because he had several other Beefeaters for company when he was put into a paper bag. The Beefeater and his companions waited patiently in the dark wondering what would happen next.

They knew that they were being moved around because they had quite a bumpy ride and other things were put on top of their bag so they felt quite squashed. Then they were left in the quiet for a couple of days. They could hear the nice lady from South Africa from time to time coming and going but she didn’t seem to pay them much attention…

All of a sudden the Beefeaters felt their bag being moved around and they were placed in quite a soft place which smelt very pleasant. And then they felt the bumping of being carried around yet again. A few hours later the Beefeater felt a very strange sensation in his tummy and heard a very loud noise. Again, he didn’t mind too much because he had the other Beefeaters for company and they were very comfortable despite being squashed. After what seemed a long time the Beefeater felt the strange sensation in his tummy again and all went quiet.

The bumpy ride started again and then stopped. The Beefeaters whispered amongst themselves, they wondered what would happen next.

The beefeater didn’t know it, but it was after a couple of days that the nice lady from South Africa unpacked that particular suitcase. She wanted to send the presents she had bought in London to her friends that lived all over the world. When she came at last to our beefeater she picked him up and said:
“Parlez-vous francais?”

What could she mean? She popped him into a padded envelope which was very comfortable indeed. The Beefeater set off on his second journey in an airplane, but this time he was on his own. He felt cozy and safe, so he didn’t mind too much....

I write like...

I found this on Micah Charlson’s blog, I thought the result was pretty good!

I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I tried it with several different pieces that I’ve written and got several answers, this was the one that came up twice.

Oulipo

Or OuLiPo if you want to be pedantic. Was a gathering of French speaking writers founded in 1960. Radio 4 had a program about them last week. The idea is that you impose constraints on your writing which provides inspiration for new ideas. That’s what I understand anyway. I rather like the idea of a lipogram, that is to say, trying to write a paragraph, essay, poem or even a book omitting the use of a letter. How about ‘e’? Looks like a good excuse to pick the synonym finder up from the floor and start rooting for new words…

I’ll try to dash off a chain of words without using ‘e’s. Not bad so far, but now I’m short of inspiration, I want aid in this almighty task… My synonym book is so commodious for this work. How long, I ask my mind can I carry on, until I go mad…..aaaaghhhhh.

Now it’s your turn (I did it again [and again])

Not as easy as it looks

Doris invented or revived , I’m not sure which, a little writing game. The idea is to take a book and turn to page 123. Write down the first and last sentences on that page and join them up with some prose of your own. It is not as easy as it looks and I tried two books before I was satisfied; I am a lazy writer! Okay, page 123 of ‘The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru as doctored by me. I’m very sorry Mr. Kunzru to have massacred a page of your book...

He first noticed her taking a tricky ditch as a guest or the Peshawar Vale Hounds. He was immediately smitten by her ability to handle her mount under such difficult conditions. She was obviously a no nonsense woman, one who would make an ideal wife. She’d be the type of woman able to run the ship at home while he was off on duty in the far flung reaches of the Indian Empire. One needed a reliable wife to keep the servants from helping themselves to the precious stocks of gin. The problem was how to hook her and reel her in. He fancied his chances but didn’t like the idea of risking a refusal. He had to plan carefully and as luck would have it a dinner organised by the Viceroy during the following month opened up the ideal opportunity and moment… He had chosen for his ground the swing chair in the rear veranda of the Abbottabad club, which gave a commanding view over a suitably romantic mountain vista and afforded at least two lines of retreat in the shape of the garden and the billiard room.

If you'd like to take up the challenge let me know I'd love to see the results.

Down the Tube III

Eventually the slide did come to an end. I was disappointed that there weren’t various shelves with objects on to look at along the way, like Alice had seen. My landing was reasonably soft, fortunately and a cover slid quietly over the chute entrance. I think that at first I was probably relieved that there was no one there. The relief didn’t last long as I was soon preoccupied with how I was going to get out.

Explore isn’t really the word I can use as there wasn’t really much to explore. There was the mattress on the floor where I had landed and a table with a chair. The walls floor and ceiling were all the same faded yellow colour. It was difficult to distinguish where walls became floor and ceiling it was so uniform. I have never been able to work out how the light system works at all. I do know that the light changes as I ‘behave’ myself. If I please whoever is controlling the room the light becomes more comfortable to my eyes. At one end of the room was a partition behind which I found a toilet and shower. Any necessities appear to arrive through a hole in the wall system but on first view I could not see any form of hatch. I spent a long time studying before I caught objects arriving and departing.

I have plenty of time just for observation.

Down the Tube: II

Perhaps I should start with how I found myself here in the first place. I went to bed as usual one evening, though thinking about it, slightly earlier that my habitual hour. You know the sensation of falling you sometimes get when you are dropping off? Well that’s how I felt, I jerked awake and discovered that I was inside some sort of large tube, it was sloping enough for me to slide gently downwards propelled by my own weight. I wasn’t alarmed at the sensation, but more by finding myself in a totally unfamiliar situation. Alice in Wonderland occurred to me; Was I falling inside a technically designed rabbit hole?

The slide seemed uncomfortably long to me. My thoughts moved from amusement, fear, anger and back to fear again. Who or what would I find at the end? Why?