TRY IT YOURSELF

I fell in love with writing as a child, probably because I read so many books. Words have been my escape all my life.

Writing can be time travel, a space adventure or perhaps like Alice, falling down a hole. Are you afraid of the dark? Do you love to teeter on the heights, arms up, catching the wind ready to fly? Do you prefer diving into the sea, swimming down into darkness after the fish? Close your eyes and take yourself there.

The big question is WHAT IF? What if your scooter suddenly took off? What if an alien ship rose through the floor of your dance studio? What if a whale burst through your bedroom from another dimension? What if a courier delivered a dragon to your house on Sunday morning? What if all the pollution in the world was bounced away by an army of space hoppers? What if everything you touched flew away?

You can walk in someone else’s shoes or eat their gruel. How does it taste?

You can step through a mirror or fall through a trap door and find yourself somewhere new. How does it smell? What colour is the sky?

You can be an alien queen or an insect prince. Do you have wings? What sound would they make?

Your skin could be green and your paws can have claws. Are your scales rough?

Your imagination is the only limit.

I think everyone should give it a try; otherwise how would you ever know how much fun it can be? It makes a great family activity for rainy Sundays too.

So I have written a few paragraphs to get you started in case you need ideas and I have added some photos, which might lead you somewhere else.

Sci-Fi

Stormy Encounter

Breaking Rules

Shuffling sounds fill the dark basement. Their coconut curry scent drifts towards me as I snap on the light.

‘Wow! You’re infested.’ Ben leans over my shoulder. ‘What are they?’

‘Dunno. I call ‘em gremlins. There were just three yesterday.’

‘Cool.’ Ben lifts one, flailing a long tail, multi-jointed legs. Long strands of fur stick to his jumper.

‘Ow!’ He slaps a hand to his neck.

‘Ben! What-?’ The gremlin he holds fixes me with an intense stare.

Ben’s eyes roll up in his head. He folds to the step.

Gazing out at the moonlit street I watch the palms whip and the rain chase down the window. My shell wind-singer clatters and moans outside.

A wild gust rattles the shutters. What if the tide washes into the street?

I’m climbing the stairs for another peek yawning, when a tap comes at the window.

Rain blasts in with him as I open the door. He steps in, standing dripping on the flags, staring at me. He seems to fill the hallway, like the cloud of sea salt.

Memories dance around him, like wraiths. My throat closes. I suck my tongue. The silence stretches as the puddle expands.

Max sleeps below ground. His step-dad kicked him out six months ago. He’d been robbed, frozen and dragged unwilling to shelters. Down here, he feels safe.

Sound travels down air vents in the sewers. It’s surprising what you learn. The trouble is, you can never be sure exactly who’s speaking.

The crying changed everything. Wading in to help someone, who sounded utterly desperate, went against all the new rules he had set for himself…