Character sketch

David stopped the engine and hooked the chain around his trusted Suzuki 950. He felt tired after his 250 miles journey from the South. He unlocked his luggage and walked toward the bar. He needed to move, and hoped Suzy would be there so he could access his room. He was happy to be back after a season picking up berries in the fields, under the scorching sun, happy to see his old friend again.
He entered the bar. It was deserted.
"Suzy ? Are you there ?"
A muffled voice answered "Coming" from afar. A few minutes later, they were greeting each other with a large smile.
"Nice to see you back, old friend !" Suzy started. "The season has not started yet, but there is still plenty to do before the holiday makers arrive. And the forecast announced snow for next week too. Well, I'd better open your room for you and go on with my jobs. You can take your time, Max will not be back before dinner tonight anyway."
"I think I'll go for a walk. I need to move my legs !"
He took his key and went upstairs. His room was overlooking the woods and from his window he could see the top of the slopes. He was glad to be there.
He took his boots from his bag, put on another layer, took his backpack, filled his flask of water and went back downstairs.
"See you in an hour or so !"
"Bye !"

He was off, in the woods, on the muddy track, with only birds for company : bliss ! He liked to be alone under the sky, filling his lungs with the fresh air and listening to the wind in the trees.

He thought of this last 6 months, the hard work on the farm, the foreigners he had met, the money he had made. He was getting close to realize his dream. One day, soon, he would have enough money to set up his own business, travel around the world.
But the last thing he needed was an anchor...

Challenging expectations

The old man looked tired. He was just putting his books in his battered messenger bag. The day had been long. Why were today's students so annoying ? In his time, he had been paying attention to what the teacher said, not texting all the time, or surfing on the internet during the lesson. These youngsters had no respect. It was getting harder everyday. He wanted out.
He organised his books by size in his bag. He then tidied up the desk, rearranging the pencils in their pot, putting the paper sheets in the top drawer, his registry in the middle one. He proceeded to lock the desk with a little key : one is never too cautious.
He put on his old brown jacket, adjusted his hat on his white hair. It was raining again. He took his umbrella behind the door. Exiting his office, he looked a last time to check everything was in place. He locked the door and reached the courtyard.
The tired Vauxhall Astra had trouble starting : it was too wet. At last, he was in the street. He really looked forward to getting back home.

Moments later, having avoided the traffic on the main road by taking a shortcut, he was on his doorstep. His flat was small and quite messy : books piling up on each side of the sofa, washing up not made in the sink, clothes in heap by the washing machine... No time for that right now ! He was nearly late...
He switched on his computer, logged into Skype and started waiting for the call.
In the meantime, opening the fridge he reached for the cheese, a tomato and an apple : that would have to do. He grabbed some bread too, and hurried up eating, standing by the sink, drinking in an old glass...
The computer was beeping now : the call !

He hurried toward the sofa, grabbed the laptop and clicked on answer. She was there, in front of him, beautiful and smiling. He felt relaxed, happy. His daughter was so far, and so close. He felt blessed. It was the best time of the day !

Little story (sgould have been under 350 words...)

I have always ran away. I was the solitary one in the family. Always with a book in hands, wandering in the woods to look at the birds, dreaming in the patterns made by the sun under the trees. Sometimes it was hard to keep the words in my mind. I wanted to write them down. I wrote letters I never sent. I honored silence when I should have answered back. I never told anyone about the thoughts I had inside. I felt I was forever lying to myself. And lying to them too. Maybe that's why I started to run away. Now I feel bad for the one's I have deserted...

It all started with Salim. I was ten. He was new in our school, older than us, coming from another country, uprooted. He was much taller than everybody. We were seated at the same table in class and I remember helping him out, explaining him the lessons... and being told of by the teacher because I was forever chatting.

We broke off for the Christmas holidays. And two days after Christmas, my grand-father died. The day before he took me and my brothers and we had a great time sliding up and down the little slopes, trying to follow Grand-dad who was laughing as much as we did. The next day, at breakfast, my dad went to answer the phone and came back telling us the sad news. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, I started crying, quietly, silently... and I couldn't stop. I was still crying while my mother braided my hair. I still cried when we went to my grand-parents holiday home. I cried when I kissed Grand-Ma good morning and she hugged me tight. I cried seeing the pile of telegram on the wrought iron console in the doorway...

Two days later we had a little ceremony for us, children. In a way it was soothing to be together in the village church, where we had celebrated so many joyful events (weddings, baptisms, my Grandma's 60th birthday, my Grand-Dad's 70th). We celebrated Grand-Dad's life, the love he spread around him, the knowledge he shared, the kindness and sweetness of this strong man. 

Suddenly the holidays were over. We were back to school. I hurt a lot. Inside. All was going well, up until the teacher's question : talk about your holiday. The knot in my stomach returned. My throat was tight. When it was my turn, I was shaking. I felt the tears coming down my cheeks and managed to whisper "My grand father has died". I couldn't say anything more, started crying loudly. Salim was by me. He put his hand on my shoulder. I can't remember how long we stayed like this, probably until I felt better. 

At the end of that year, we had to say good bye. I would never see Salim again as he was not going to secondary school with us. 

Ideas for a story (from the radio news)

Tim was the tallest in his family. In fact, it was surprising as he was also the youngest. His three brothers had always teased him about it, but now he could at least defend himself. He went to circuit training classes every week and ran every other day when he was not working. Being a night guard was not always cool. He missed out a lot on his social life. Not that he was very social anyway...

He adjusted his jacket. The night was chilly. He took his keys, got out of his battered Fiat Punto, sighed and walked across the car park. This place gave him the creeps. He usually didn't like shopping centres, but at night it was even worse. All this wasted place, the coldness and fake cleanliness, the shiny windows glowing for nobody. If you asked him, there were so many better things to do in life than shopping. He'd rather be outside. Walking, trekking, exploring, you name it. Well, a guy had to earn his living...

He passed a hand in his black hair, they were getting longer, and he felt better with long hair. He knew his boss didn't approve, it wasn't a professional look, but he didn't mind : he had a proper contract now. And he wasn't the one to do things just to pleased people.

He took his bunch of keys out, opened the back door and let himself in. In the security office, he was greeted by his two colleagues, Max and Alex. They chatted for a while and then chose their routes. Tim was on basement duty tonight. The worse one : no light from the fancy shop windows, no distractions at all, just a bunch of doors and long, dark corridors. Six hours to kill... 
When he was working, Tim always imagined to be somewhere else, walking in the wild instead of this deserted place. He'd imagine the birds singing, the wind in the grass, the clouds passing high in the sky... He was doing it again. Reliving his best walks on the coastline. The smuggling paths. The fresh air.

Suddenly, he heard a deafening noise.  And before he knew it, it felt like an enormous earthquake... God, what had happened ? Instinctively, he ran towards the stairs, avoiding the lift. He got up jumping 3 steps at a time. When he opened the door, a cloud of dust welcomed him. He could barely see in front of him.
In his radio, he called the team. Only a crackling noise. He had no signal. He'd just had to go and look for them then. He ran along what had been the main alley, looking for Alex who should have been doing his round on the ground floor. There he was, on the bench. He looked shocked. 
"Are you ok ?", Tim asked.
Alex nodded, coughing. "We need to find Max !"
They rushed on the stairs. The first floor was like apocalypse. Clouds of dust, rumble of materials... What on earth had happened ? 
Tim looked up... the ceiling was gone : no roof at all. 
"Call an ambulance" he shouted at Alex, starting to run. He was jumping over the debris, shouting at Max to answer... He turned around a main column, and saw some trainers. Max was stuck under a fallen beam. At least he was conscious...

On the news this morning, the roof of a mall has collapsed during the night in the Landes (France).

starting a story

I remember the little house perched on the mountain slopes, near our home. It looked fragile and thin, and inside when it was raining you could feel as if you were in the middle of the cloud, in the rain. My friend Charlie came here with his mum during the week ends : it was her boyfriend's home. Charlie was a tall, blond, sporty boy, he played basket ball and he loved fishing. I don't remember how we met, he was quite shy and I was solitary. But we got along so well that we couldn't wait for the end of the week to meet each other. 

We would take our bikes and go down he river, Charlie with all his fishing gear and me with a book, some cake and a bottle of water. We would sit side by side, busy, quiet, happy to be together. After a while, when we had enough, we'd go on our bike someplace else and sit in the grass to talk, looking at the sky and the birds. It was always hard to leave and head home.
One day, we were at his house. The sky was dark with menacing clouds, it was no day to go wandering in the mountain on our bikes ; earlier in the week the storm had badly damaged some trees nearby. We decided to stay in. Charlie went in his little bedroom, wood on the walls, small bed in a corner and his bag of clothes half spilled on the floor ; I noticed a box I hadn't seen before. He opened it : it was a violin. He took it out, set the music on the stand and started playing. 

It was beautiful. I was transported in another dimension. I was transfixed by the music and the intensity with wich my friend was playing. He seemed to be in another place, transformed by the notes, dancing with his bow.

After that day, I would always ask him to play for me when we were back from our outings. I loved to watch him grow and move with the melody, expressing something I had never witnessed before, living the music as he was playing. He seemed to be in another world altogether, and I could only have a glimpse of it. It was like looking at someone from behind a window, half hidden.

One day, he told me he could not play for me anymore. He said he had no time to go out either. He took his distance. I told him I'd wait for him, that I'd be there if he wanted to do anything.
We never saw each other again. His mum split with her boyfriend. They never came to the little house on the mountain anymore. 

And I went alone to read by the river...

Starting ploys

Ralph said that...

He was fed up with his life, He wanted to start it all over again, change country and make himself new. He couldn't stand it anymore : his boss, his family, his unfriendly friends, the grey, dull skies, this city. Soon, he would go the travel agency, buy a plane ticket and go.
He would chose his destination looking at the world map hanging on the toilet's wall, and look it up on the internet to see if there were job potential there. 



I remember when...

I saw him at the repair shop. I was surprised, but happy to meet him again. We chatted away for a moment, then I had to go. I saw him a lot this year, he was doing an apprenticeship and I was on my way to school. But I never told him why he was so special to me. And now, it's too late. I don't even know where he lives. And my life has taken me miles away, in another country.


One day... 

she would have courage and do it. She really wanted to start her own business, selling the things she made with passion. She had trouble finding a name, but it would come to her in due time. Now she was building up her stocks and knitting as much as she could : baby jumpers and hat, purses, socks, scarves... She chose the most colourful wool and the sweetest bamboo. 

Blank page, developing story

Remember the man cycling home from work ? Happy to go back to base, looking forward to a good meal and a quiet evening... 

---------------------------

He arrived home tired. The lights were off. He crossed the damp garden, left his shoes by the door. He hanged his coat in the cloak room for it to dry. It was quiet. Very quiet. What happened ?

Dinner was not ready. His wife was not home. Her mobile was not on. He did not know where she was. He was puzzled.

He did not know who to call, who to ask where she could be. He didn't have her friends phone number : they were in her mobile phone. He couldn't find her diary either (she jotted her thoughts on it nearly everyday). Nothing was missing from her cupboard, the suitcases and bags were still in the garage. The car was there too...

After thinking about it, he didn't know what to do. He went to bed early, hoping she would be back when he woke up. He had no idea what was going on.

familiar words, unexpected context

The cookies were just out of the oven, spreading their way across the plate, dots of smarties tempting the children. The perfume of chocolate filled the kitchen, wafting through the door, calling Dad in.

The waves come in, chasing one another, catching up, running away. It was like an amazing game of tag. I tried not to get wet, but my brother fell as he ran towards the beach. I screamed. We were going to be told off, now.

Heightening observations (not convinced by this one !)

He was wearing a dark knitted hat, covering his long, thin head, and hiding his incipient baldness. I couldn't see his tall body behind the window, but he had long fingers and appeared to be quite skinny. He was smiling, his grey eyes shining as if full of mischief, which was quite surprising for a man his age. He welcomed the customers with a warm voice, asking the old lady in front of me how he could be of any help.
As I waited for my turn, our eyes crossed. He recognized me and nodded, smiling. The lady was now putting her receipt in her purse, and wishing him a good day. I stepped up.

Writing spaces

She was sitting on a bench, hair in the wind, red fingers gripping her pen, bent on her notebook. It was bitterly cold, but she didn't seem to mind. She was on the upper deck, among roaming children, a very large Indian family eating their lunch, couples holding hands, old people holding onto the railing and the breeze building up. She didn't seem to mind. It only took an hour to cross over to the island, and the seats on the ferry were not very comfortable. She didn't seem to mind.

He had tried the library. It was too quiet, too hush hush... He had tried a café. No good either : too many distractions, too much movements and too much noise. He was always anxious when someone passed by, had the strange sensation that everybody was trying to pore over him and have a look at his notes. Disturbing. Today, he was at home. The children were playing nicely in the living room. The oven was on, roasting vegetables and a chicken in the pan : he didn't have to worry about dinner. He had one hour and a half in front of him. the kitchen table was full of crumbs, headphones, books, empty cups and dirty spoon... It would have to wait ! He felt ready. A sip of water, and on he started.

a character

He was wearing a hat, covering his long, thin head, and hiding his incipient baldness. I couldn't see his body behind the window, but he had long fingers and appeared to be quite skinny. He was smiling, his eyes shining as if full of mischief, which was quite surprising for a man his age. He welcomed the customers with a warm voice, asking the old lady in front of me how he could be of any help.
As I waited for my turn, our eyes crossed. He recognized me and nodded, smiling. The lady was now putting her receipt in her purse, and wishing him a good day. I stepped up.

fiction and facts

She woke up early, and decided to wait until her little ones moved to get out of bed. She shouldn't have spent so much time on the computer the night before...now her mind was still half clouded by sleep. 
The baby stirred by her side, she stayed as put as possible. She would love to get back to sleep, but she knew it was too late : she had already started to think about the tasks awaiting to be completed during the day - the laundry, the playgroup, the toddler gym, and maybe, if she was lucky, a coffee with Karen in the afternoon, during the children's nap.
Her thoughts were disturbed by a call... Well, time to get up and make breakfast, then...

*  *  *

He came from work on his bike, avoiding the cars in the rainy evening. He was worn out. This new manager had seemed very bitter and the team was weary. He thought of home, warm and welcoming, and of his wife's dinner, wondering what it would be tonight. She had talked about falafel, but it would be the first time she attempted to make some. Remembering the ones he had tasted last saturday morning at Stroud market, his mouth began to water : it was about time he came home ! Luckily, he was nearly there. A few more minutes and he would press the garage door remote control, cross his little garden and put his slippers on.