I’m resorting to another 6 word prompt this evening as I’m quite tired and don’t have the brain power for a thought provoking essay type post today.
I’ve already done the 6 word story and memoir, so this evening it’s the 6 word poem.
When my husband, Chris, asked me what prompt I was going to choose this evening I said he should get involved too and so when we went out a wee stroll after dinner, (in the dark, as you do), he came up with a couple of 6 word poems also, and I told him they’d be going in my post to make up for my feeble attempts.
So here’s Chris’s 6 word poems which I have called Ode to Winter:
Skipping ahead to prompt 13 on the list, ‘What is the opposite of cake’ as I thought this is probably one of the most random ones and I need to be creative here. (Also, it’s Bake Off night, which I will now be watching on catch-up!). I delivered an enjoyable flash fiction workshop this afternoon at Erskine Writers and the fact this post has turned into a flash fiction piece shows how much I enjoy the form.
When I was thinking about the opposite of cake, my immediate thought was salad. I decided to ask the internet what it thought, and it took me to Thesarus.plus which gave me this list of ‘Cake Atonyms’ (Atonym is defined as: a word opposite in meaning to another)
bear · beast · chore · headache · horror show · killer · labour · murder. pain.
All quite dramatic, and I guess thesarus is thinking of cake in terms of phrases such as ‘piece of cake’ and ‘have your cake and eat it’. Anyway, here’s what these words sparked off in my brain:
The Opposite of Cake
I was promised cake at this party. I half-starved myself on salad and crackers earlier today and all I can see are canapes the size of my pinkie getting distributed around the room. One of the waiters who is serving reminds me of a bear – he’s about six foot tall, massive shoulders, fuzzy beard. He catches me staring and thrusts a tray of mini pastry-somethings under my nose and I take three and stuff them in my mouth all at once, just as Jeremy turns his head and catches my eye, and nudges his new fiancé to turn around too. So now they’re both smiling and walking towards me and I’m trying to desperately deflate my hamster cheeks so I can smile back and look like I’m having a GREAT TIME.
“Frances, so lovely to see you.” Saffron shakes my hand, but it’s more of a grab my fingers and cling kind of gesture and I find myself squeezing her thumb awkwardly and I’m already eyeing the free bar fantasising about the headache it’s going to give me. Saffron runs a manicured hand down my jacket sleeve, eyeing the pattern curiously. “Gosh, this feels divine. Is it a Westwood?” Jeremy is adjusting his bow tie beside her, his smile straining and I know he wants me to lie.
“No, it’s a Tumu,” I reply, enjoying the confusion on both of their faces.
“I don’t think I’ve heard of them,” she says.
“Really, they’re quite awful. Fans of child labour, and often pilfer your credit card details. But I’m a sucker for pretty patterns, what can I say.”
Jeremy looks like he wants to murder me and Saffron pauses, considering if I’m being serious, then decides I can’t possibly be and hee- haw laughs me over to meet her friends, who are all wearing badges with the new company logo. I realise with a startle that must have been what the boy at the door was trying to give me, and he wasn’t actually slipping me a tip to take his coat.
I try to join in with the small talk but I prefer big talk so I wander off to the bar and then peruse the tables of tiny sandwiches and sushi. Still no cake.
Jeremy clambers up to the make-shift stage with Saffron by his side and they give me a name-check, to thank me for my initial involvement in the ideas stage of the app, when I was Jeremy’s fiancé and Saffron was the face of the health and well-being marketing strategy, after investing a heavy amount of her family money into the start-up.
The start-up has now taken off. Jeremy also took off. And really it was for the best because he looks at home here, whereas I’d rather actually be at home, doing the chores even, anything to take me away from this pompous horror show of well-groomed ‘rising stars’ I don’t want to talk to.
Five drinks down I corner Jeremy and he looks scared, like I’m some crazed killer.
“Relax,” I hold up a hand, realising he thinks I’m upset about them and the company when he should know their pay-off was enough to sweeten any lingering pain. “I was just wondering where is the cake? You promised me cake.”
Jeremy lets out a shrill laugh, his body deflating with relief. “Did I? Oh, sorry. Saffron is gluten and sugar-free so we decided to spend the cake money on the badges instead. Aren’t they cute?” He’s pinned his in the middle of his bow tie and now I feel like grabbing the badge and murdering him with it.
He pats me on the shoulder then walks off and that’s it, the party is over. I look up to see the waiter from earlier beckoning me towards the kitchen.
I flash him a confused smile, curiosity making me follow. He is standing by an open fridge, and inside is the most magnificent chocolate cake, with a mutilated couple dancing on top.
“It’s supposed to be Beauty and the Beast, but that part didn’t quite work out.” He makes a face. “I run a cake decorating class here on Tuesday nights. I heard you talking about the lack of cake…”
And then we’re sitting sampling the sweetness and he makes me laugh, and I think how Jeremy and Saffron and this whole night has been the opposite of cake, right up until this moment. The waiter cuts me another slice and I bask in the sugar high.
Skipping ahead one prompt to do a post this evening about why I love writing. When I took part in the Writetober23 challenge during October over on Instagram one of the questions I had to answer was why do I write, and aspects of my post below capture some of my response.
Reading inspired me to start attempting to write my own stories. To this day, when I read a good book I can feel something firing up inside of me; reading a good story makes me feel exhilarated. A great book makes me want to be a great writer and to create characters and situations that will resonate and pull the reader into another world, and drift along on adventures and be captivated by emotion.
Writing has always felt a part of me. I love the fact I can create characters and worlds, letting my imagination take over. It feels like I get to live multiple lives without ever having to leave the house (though I find getting out into the world provides the best inspiration!).
When I write and it’s going well it’s like some kind of magic starts to happen. It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe, but you will often hear creative people say they get lost ‘in the flow’, when they are deep in writing, creating art, playing music, whatever. I think you can feel that sense of ‘flow’ from the other side too, when you are consuming good art – the kind that takes you out of your body and transports you somewhere new.
When I’m in ‘the flow’ of writing it’s like my brain exits my body and I connect to something much bigger and more freeing than logic. Feelings and instinct take over and finally that inner voice, the bad critic one that tries to overthink and overanalyse every word, is silenced, and the words just flow. It’s sort of similar to touch typing – somehow I know where the letters are on the keyboard without even looking or thinking about where they are. But guaranteed if I start to analyse how I could possibly know, I then start to lose the magic, and stumble over the keys. So the trick for me is to try to keep in that heightened state of mind for as long as possible. I think this is why on good writing days I can just keep writing and writing, as I don’t want to break the spell. And listening to emotional music often helps me keep in the flow, taking me outside of reality for a while.
What I also love about writing is the chance to have fun and tap into my imagination. I have a day off work tomorrow and I’m delivering a flash fiction workshop to Erskine Writers. I like delivering creative workshops as I love seeing what ideas the participants come up with from the prompts I set, and I find it a freeing way of experimenting with different forms.
Setting myself this challenge, of writing posts inspired by daily prompts, is a great way to just let go of over-thinking and seeing what happens! It’s taking me back to the core of what I love about writing; being able to express myself and connect with the world whilst having some fun along the way.
The clue is in the title for today’s writing prompt. A personal post I wasn’t sure how to write, or how personal to get with it! But here’s the attempt below. The above image is by Adina Voicu (free for use on Pixabay)
We’ve had good times when we danced all night, walked for miles across cities that made me feel alive and connected. Dressed up, grew up, threw up, got tired, felt alive, felt self-conscious, felt betrayed, felt loved, understood what we wanted, asked for what we wanted, dressed up for them… then for us, only for us, to feel good.
You taught me that the millions of ‘miracle’ cosmetics trying to sell magic are garbage. With me and you, it’s hormones and genetics, and some decades I’m lucky and we’re balanced and in harmony, and sometimes things go off kilter and I don’t like you, because it feels like you’re fighting against me.
These days sometimes we’re definitely not friends – you seem to enjoy showing me any indulgent meal or snacks I’ve eaten, like you’re lecturing me, even although I’ve just given you salad and other healthy stuff for breakfast and lunch. You used to accept that pay- off but now you like to add on every chocolate bar to another wobble in my ass, and I take you on longer walks to try and placate you. Don’t get me started on the mornings when I look in the mirror and see the work you’ve done on my face overnight, spots erupting from nowhere. Seriously, what are we, seventeen again? At least now, I’m more in tune with what’s going on and I know this week you’re going to mess with me, but by next week we should be on track again. Maybe.
This year you really did a number on me, on the run-up to a day where the whole world (or so it felt) was waiting to see how beautiful we might be. Giving me skin allergies where my eyes puffed up so bad I didn’t recognise myself in the mirror. When a doctor told me, not once, but twice (during a standard appointment) that I was overweight. And I looked at you objectively, critically, and the curves I’d accepted as something new, no longer looked so pretty.
But here’s what you’ve taught me – to be sure of myself, even when I’m really not. Sometimes it feels like I’m back being seventeen, but at least now, me and you, we’ve been through so much, and you’ve taught me my worth. It really is deeper than skin.
You take me where I need to go. We can still dance all night, and walk for miles across cities that make me feel alive.
And when I look at you I see all of the imperfections but I also see the power and the beauty of being me.
Today I’ve chosen a prompt from later down my list as I wanted to write something that was fun and creative. I’ve posted a couple of attempts below of 6 word stories.
I’m going to be delivering a workshop on writing flash fiction in the coming week and attempting this exercise was a really great way of trying to make every word count!
Today’s writing prompt is to take a negative comment and flip it into an essay or post. This was a tough one as I debated for a while about what to focus on here. My post below is about an experience I had nearly twenty years ago (eek), and the only people who would know who I’m talking about will be those who also worked with this guy, or who are in my life and know my work history! (googling his name I discovered he featured in a Bad Bosses Tv investigation a few years ago, so I’m sure this post will be very light-hearted in comparison!)
Dear Boss I thought only existed in 80s films,
That day you called me into your office when I was twenty-four for my ‘exit interview’ was a positive turning point in my life.
There you were…the boss who banned all holidays during a ‘launch’ period, paid us a pittance, boasted about your gold lined jackets, sent me on wild goose chases to costume shops, made chauvinistic comments to female employees, loved to sit in our airless/windowless office chain smoking when the smoking ban was already in place, had a gun sitting on your desk facing me and two other employees when we visited you at head office, greeting us with the comment; ‘It might be a toy, but it might not be. Hahaha…’
You were reading over my resignation letter, then reading through my CV (which you must have trolled through the HR files for), just so you could scan down it and smirk and say, ‘Well, what exactly are you going to do with your life? You’ve not exactly got a stellar career behind you. What kind of job do you think you’re going to walk in to after this?’
‘I have it all planned out thanks.’ I knew your style by now and I knew you were trying to intimidate and belittle me, and I was ready for you. What I really wanted to say was I am leaving because you are a bully, you treat your staff with no respect, your wages are laughable and that big idea you are trying to launch is about to fall flat on its face (and it did, three months later, and our local office shut).
Then you flashed me a bigger smirk (and this fleeting hobby was not on my CV so I can only wonder what kinds of conversations you were having with some of the male staff), ‘I mean what are you going to do, become a professional belly dancer?’
It was at this point I stood up and told you that our conversation was over and that you had my letter of resignation and I was working my notice and then I walked out.
You showed me something that day – that I had a choice. I had the power to walk away from men like you and walk out of the room as a way of silencing you.
And your comment, ‘you don’t exactly have a stellar career behind you.’ No I didn’t, because when I graduated from University at twenty-one I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do but during the worst days in your weird company it drove me to self-reflect and actually figure out what direction to take.
And I never looked back. That same year I enrolled on a postgraduate course, became a qualified careers adviser, secured a job before graduation, and went on to have a wee bit of writing success too.
Today when I hear stories from clients about horrible bosses and insufferable workplaces I nod in sympathy because I always think about you, and when I listen to my clients talk about their experience I think to myself, they’ve brought you here, and it’s making you want change and that’s a good thing because hopefully then it will lead on to so many better and bigger things.
A short post tonight, as the writing prompt for today is to write a 6 word memoir. My words above I think are the perfect recipe for life. Staying curious encourages me to seek out interesting things – interesting people, conversations, books, films, places, theories. Staying curious keeps ideas spinning in my head, and keeps me motivated to form them into stories in an attempt to make sense of them. And I don’t think I need to explain the importance of love (and I mean in the wider sense, not just romantic love). What would any experience be, without having people you love be part of them.
I’ve used the image of a pendant I was gifted as it fits into the short memoir theme, though of course is 7 words, not 6, but good words to also live life by: she believed she could, so she did
Today’s prompt is to write about a city I love. So here’s my love letter to Paris.
Dear Paris, I found you at a time when I craved adventure and was feeling brave enough to hop on a plane alone to go and find you. Wandering your streets I fell in love with your beauty and you made me feel at home, like we were old friends and you were reminding me of the magic in the world, telling me to stop and look and enjoy being in the moment. The lights at night dazzled; stars exploding inside the Eiffel Tower, carousels spinning gold against a darkening sky. Shakespeare and Co. captured my heart, a treasure trove of words and wonder, notes from travellers pinned up on the wall of a typewriter nook, hellos and dreams from all corners of the world. A Parisian melody played imperfectly, but beautifully, upstairs in the attic room where the piano was always occupied by amateur musicians, their music a soundtrack to the shelves packed with stories waiting to be read.
Your metro signs are more beautiful than some of the art work hanging in your galleries. Your buildings are breath taking masterpieces. Jardin de Luxembourg is as grand as it sounds and the children racing boats in the pond and the old men playing chess under the trees were some of my favourite observations during the time I spent wandering and just sitting, watching.
Along the Seine you showed me artists who were attempting to capture a part of you…like me, with my camera taking hundreds of photos which will never do you justice, as my real memories are tied up in feelings and sounds and the tiniest of details that can never be put into words or printed onto paper.
Today’s November writing challenge is to use an image as a prompt.
The image above is my prompt and my little piece of fiction below is the result. I scrolled through photos on my phone on my commute home from work and came across this little sandcastle, spotted on a beach in Oban back in 2019. I gave myself an hour between dinner and Bake Off (which is on in the background just now) to write something, so it’s not polished but I’m glad I got something down on paper.
VICTORIA GEMMELL 