Write what you know

Tonight Sasha and I started a creative writing course down brick lane. I have always thought of writing as a practice which is part of the reason why i keep this blog. Unfortunately this i seem to get pretty distracted by life and end up forgetting to post here as often as i would like to, and more often than not, when i do post it seems to be way less writing based and more pretty pictures. As one of the other pupils said tonight, i hope this course will be a literary kick up the arse.

I have decided to post what i wrote tonight in class. Its not genius, its not booker prize winning and i am pretty sure it has some shocking grammar. but, never the less, it is writing!

Exercise one: Automatic Writing

for this one we just had to write for 5 mins, no stopping.

Some of my friends back home have started calling each other by "coffee" names.

"oh Anya, you're such a flat white" suggesting that her character is somehow flat and lacking.

"Anya, why do you have to be such a flat white all the time, you should be more like charlie, she's a Latte"

"haha, charlie's no latte, she's more of a long black"

Sometimes this name calling corresponds to peoples orders. In the same way that people look like their pets.

"that lady just ordered a flat white and boy is her character fitting"

I dont know what i would be if you named me. I guess something annoying like a double soy cap, frustrating to make at times but oh so delicious. people always think twice about soy drinkers.

Exercise two: Thinking differently about authenticating details

For this one we spend a minute with our eyes closed describing the room we were in. then we had to open our eyes and write a description of the room without using any of the words we had previously thought of.

This space is lit and filled with bodies, everyone one foot on the ground, one foot over the knee. Cars echo from outside, we are cut off from the outside world but it still exists. light drapes down upon us from above. we can't smell the books piled endlessly on the shelves. Maybe if i picked on up i could feel the fresh pages splintering from their spines for the first time.

Exercise three: Moving outside ourselves

we had to go out on to brick lane and describe what we saw, felt, smelt, heard and tasted with particular reference to a friend we knew quite well. As iff we were telling them the things they would be interested in. I picked Alex cos she recently sent me the most amazing comic about our beloved Debbie!

Dear Alex

I can imagine being here back in 77. damp spring night with the cool air blowing up my skirt. The dark corners and uneven brickwork keep me on guard. My Grandmothers voice "London's not a safe place, just remember about jack the ripper". I promise you he wasn't the worst.

Debbie's up in front of me. She's all black and white with a fag hanging out of her mouth. The smoke lingers for a second and then drifts away with the night air. Camera shutters click. She's up against the backdrop of the graff. Some street gangs trying to prove they're somethin'.

Alex, i know you'd see it. This back alley place breeds punk sensibilities. You can feel the history and the tension- like razor wire along the top of the buildings. There isn't anyone here who doesn't have a story, who hasn't come to london to be a part of something.

For homework we have to take this and turn it around, so that its Alex telling me about Brick lane. See How she would see it and what she would say to relay it back to me. Its going to be interesting!