It didn't start well. It was raining. I had to clean out the car before I left (eeeeurgh) and somehow I seemed to have an incomprehensible amount of cabling to take with me. Though that's an ongoing issue. A personal battle, if you will.
Anyway... Today I was asked to be part of a Creative Writing Conference, as part of Adult Learning week, by our enthusiastic Adult Learning Coordinator. My job was to enthuse folk about the world of blogging as a means of providing a public, creative space, where folk will actually read your work. As a platform for budding writers to share their stories, poems or Dr. Who passions.
In a room of 25, only one person had ever read a blog, never mind thought of writing one themselves. We rushed through a myriad hotpotch of blogs I follow- from Eurovision to crofting, from Dr Who to Colonel Hadfield- as I tried to explain it's passion and commitment that drives a blog forward. That you write about something you care about. We looked at blogging (not quite mainstream) writers, such as Caroline von Schmalensee to Anna Punch.
I talked, passionately, about the Internet as a force for good. As an exciting thing to be part of, as somewhere you can find folk who share your interests. And where you can write, write, write- and be read.
And then we came to microblogging, and to Twitter in particular. I distributed, in beautiful, colour-printed paper form, the latest offerings from the Guardian Twitter Fiction collection, where established authors have been asked to write a short story in 140 characters or less. I talked about Twitter as a public forum, a connecting space- and tasked our creative bunch, each one, to write their own Twitter Fiction.
I can't tell you how amazed and excited I was by their work.
As the day progressed, we indulged in all manners of other creative writing - screenwriting with highly acclaimed local actors (*cough*), poetry writing and a group song. It was brilliant. We had cake. There was a lot of laughing.
But, selfishly, my absolutely favourite bit of the day was being able to publish some fantastic pieces of writing by hitherto unpublished, wonderful folk.
Here they are. All anonymous. These tweets are why my day was wonderful.
Empty throne, alone, ruined dress,
Forgotten damsel, delightful distress.
There is no armoured angel, I am no princess
Went to the Learning Centre. Thought it was a different course. I'm the only guy looking for the emergency exit. #twitterfiction
I've escaped, alone at last, driving past fields of lambs and calves. I am off to hit the shops. #twitterfiction #adultlearningweek
I'm too young to die!I'll get the money another way. She leapt,the parachute opened& raised £243 towards research into her mum's illness.
Boy sat in the window waiting for dad. He did not arrive. A solider came &said he would never come &gave him the present he was waiting for.
She said he was her first guest. He said he was the only one. It wasn't a bottle of wine he was hiding behind his back. #twitterfiction
She looked at the birds on the birdtable. This is what my wife is- cold unemotional and hard #twitterfiction #adultlearningweek
Saw purse, trashed old dear, pinched it, scarpered. Purse was empty, he put a fiver in it, knocked on lady's door. Sorry, he said.
They loved him, not me.They walked away.I was alone. I smiled.Tiny feet running back.His toast finished. My turn now. Oh, it's a dog's love.
turn& look at clock
pull back duvet
out of bed
pull back curtains
never get 2 days the same
Young mother could not remember where she put her baby. Had to wait for the baby to cry so she knew where she put it, like a mobile phone
3 menopausal women in a motorhome? Perhaps it was a mistake but they were having so much fun. Martin really was going to have to die (M.Jay)
Esmerelda smiled. She had no idea the rock was a pirate ship. #twitterfiction