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By Writers

Ascriber / Writers Eyes Workshop - 1.

Imagine the early evening Summer sun, think of its warmth and the colours it can create. Imagine a lake with bushes and trees lining the shore, perhaps there are hills in the distance. There is a young woman walking a dog, what is she dressed in? A man is walking towards her - is he young? Is he old? How is he dressed? Is he going to meet her? Will they speak? How will the dog react? Are there any other people around? This is for you to decide

Poets, a poem please of no more than 40 lines. (You can use poetic license)

Writers, a short story please of no more than 1000 words

All work should be pasted in the body of an e-mail on the link below

Members may submit to any of the workshops

Our First Submission for this workshop is from John Ryley who has asked for constructive criticism of his work and has agreed for comments to be posted on this page.

Short Story

The timing was just about right. It was early evening and the sun was setting in a blaze of colour, tinting the clouds a multiplicity of shades. A painter would be in ecstasies over the view, but that was not what I was here for.

She must have thought she was safe, strolling along the banks of the local lake, stopping occasionally as her dog sniffed something interesting, or to watch him chase after the stick she threw for him to retrieve.

She was dressed sensibly in heavy cord jeans and a warm coat. The evenings were cool here once the sun had gone down, and dusk soon became night. I walked casually towards her, and she didn't notice me at first. When she did a frown creased her brow.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, checking her step slightly as she came abreast of me.

I didn't reply, but grabbed her arm, none too gently as I didn't want her to break away from my grip. She struggled, and cried out, but she was no match for me, and soon I had frog marched her to my car.

"Get in!" I shouted as I opened the door. She didn't want to, but again my superior strength told and I forced her into the back seat. The dog had followed us, and made to jump into the car as well.

Slamming the door I yelled, "Stay." He looked at me nonplussed, but obeyed, settling onto his haunches in the short grass, watching as I drove off.

The woman was becoming enraged by now, demanding to know what I thought I was doing. I didn't answer, but drove as fast as I dared to where all the answers to her questions would become crystal clear.

I had previously sussed out the derelict block of apartments that I was headed for, making one of them in particular very secure.

Sometime later I was dragging her up the stairs, and settling her into her new accommodation. If my plan worked, and I was sure that it would, no one would ever find her here, at least not until it was much too late.

The door locked and her screams fading into the distance, I drove home. She would be fairly comfortable; I had made sure of that. A bed, a chair, a pantry stocked with food and even a radio so she could follow the frantic search for her on the local station. That tickled my fancy, I would be able to lie in my bed and envisage her struggling to hold on to her sanity. She had always been on the verge of a nervous breakdown when we lived together,

so it shouldn't take long for her to lose it completely.

I had expected the police to contact me earlier, but it was almost two days before they came knocking on my door.

"Mr. Peterson?" The officer asked as he showed me his warrant card.

"Yes officer," I replied, "What is it?" He didn't answer, but strode none too gently past me into the hallway. I noticed that his companion only partly followed him, staying behind me as I swung round to face the first man.

"We are here to take you down to the station on suspicion of kidnapping your former wife." He grabbed my arm, but I broke free and tried to get out of the front door. The other policeman had chosen his position well though, and I had no chance.

The interview room was sparsely furnished, just a table, a couple of chairs. I noticed the usual tape recorder fastened to the wall as I was ordered to sit down.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I blustered, determined to bluff it out. I told them that my former wife lived a long way away from me, and anyway I never saw her these days.

The sergeant sneered, "Your wife was released this morning after we were contacted by some alert children. She states that you kidnapped and imprisoned her in the block of flats." He paused, then played his trump card. "You really should have done something about the dog, he followed you, then sat outside the flats howling and barking until the children

investigated as they were on their way to school."

Maybe I should have killed the dog, but I loved him. He had been my only solace in our marriage as my wife's love for me died.

From Steve Britain

From Stuart McDonald

I enjoyed John's story and congratulate him on being first up. I have one or two points to make which I hope are constructive.
There is little sense of conflict at the beginning of the story and it is only towards the very end of the piece that we discover the relationship between Peterson and the woman.

Perhaps by starting the story at the second paragraph and by using the woman's first name instead of 'she' a relationship would have been established. She is not a stranger to the narrator. The tension would have been built up by going next to the preparations Peterson had made to make the derelict flat secure and to stock it before returning to the 'action'.

But is there not a little inconsistency in 'no one would find her at least not until it was too late' and his provision of the wherewithal to keep her alive?

I liked the dog's part in the rescue. What a pity that we did not know more about him, like name, colour, even breed. After all, he meant a lot to Peterson.

After some good constructive remarks about John Ryley's work, Stuart McDonald has submitted his own short story. Thanks Stuart, this is what it's all about.

The Magic Lake

I watched Lucy and Robbie, my little West Highland terrier, playing down by the lakeside. He still wasn't too old to chase after the piece of wood she threw for him. Thinking back to last night's outburst I wondered if maybe she should get a pet of her own, for company.

"Gran," she had said. " I'm really fed up. Fed up with London, fed up with my job. It's a dead-end and I'm surrounded by a crowd of yuppie idiots who think money is a substitute for manners, and a bunch of no-hope Sharons and Waynes who don't think at all."

"Oh Lucy. I'm sure it isn't as bad as that."

"It is you know," she replied. "I have absolutely nothing in common with any of them. If only Tony . . ." She stopped and stared into the fire, the light from it shining on her fair, wavy hair. Just like her mother's.

"What about friends?" I asked, wanting to move quickly past Tony and the divorce. I never really thought he was right for her. And, after, all, it had been over a year.

"How can you make friends in a city," said Lucy. "Everything's miles away from everything else. Taxis cost a fortune and I wouldn't go anywhere on the Tube on my own in the evening."

"What about that nice young man, the one with the red hair? What was his name? You met him at Myra's wedding."

"Oh, Ian," said Lucy, smiling slightly.

"Well?"

"Too wrapped up in his career. Busy studying. No time for women," said Lucy, sighing.

"Wasn't he a surgeon of some kind?" I said

"Not then, but he probably is now. That's what the exams were about."

"Pity," I said. "He seemed so nice. I thought he was quite interested in you."

"Can't have been. Anyway, I haven't seen him since then." She stood up and bent to kiss me. "Good night Gran. Thanks for putting up with my moans."

"That's one of the things Grans are for," I replied. "Good night, dear. Sleep sound, and don't worry."

Comments Received

From John Ryley

A well written story, but for my taste, a little short. Not all of the elments of the workshop were written in, but perhaps that is not necessary. Plenty of dialogue, which I like, and have some difficulties with myself.

It was the dog that scared him. A woman with a dog is a pretty scary prospect. In his mind women with dogs were really women that wanted cats but needed an excuse to get out more. Women have cats for two reasons: as a substitute for a child or as a substitute for a boyfriend, it was the latter possibility that scared him. As long as they stuck to cats, they were generally fine; that kept them indoors and stopped them from bothering him. It gave them no excuse to casually strike up conversations with likely spouses in the park about when Fido did this or Rover did that. Laughing and apologising all the while as the dumb animal slobbered and jumped all over you, whilst secretly wishing they could do the same. A woman with a dog is a woman on the prowl, she watched '101 Dalmatians' not for the cartoons but for the dating tips. A woman with a dog is a pretty scary prospect, especially when they're looking straight at you.

She lived for these balmy summer evenings. The lake was her favourite spot for daydreams. Foxy preferred the park; there were other dogs to play with and swans to chase. But here by the lake she could sit and think, watch the butterflies dance among the reeds, enjoy the scent of the lavender floating on the breeze and flex her bare feet in the plush green grass. As the silhouette drifted closer she began to think of the conversation they were about to have. About the way the sunshine dappled on the water, about the intrinsic beauty and pleasure to be derived from a world we generally take for granted, about lots of things they would no doubt have in common. She smiled as he made his way towards her. She thought about the romantic evenings she and her soon to be beau would spend together sipping crisp white wine and devouring chocolate before making love on the hearthrug. She didn't own a hearthrug, mainly because she didn't own a hearth. But in her dreams that didn't matter and she felt sure that he did.

Normally he wouldn't have come past the lake but he was in a rush. He didn't like it down here. It stank. There was dog shit all over the footpath and rusting coke cans bobbed on the surface. He remembered pushing shopping trolleys down the embankment as a child. Sometimes he and his friend Geoff would get inside them and jump clear as they splashed into the water, whooping and cheering as the trolleys disappeared from view. It was deeper than people thought, even near the edge, and every summer there was a story on the news about someone drowning or being rescued, it didn't matter which. Another reason to steer clear. You also got the nutters down here. Not just the lonely hearts with their shaggy dogs and shag expectant smiles, but the real nutters. He'd been down here once as a kid, nine or maybe ten, just skimming stones and throwing sticks, when this old bloke had come up to him and asked him to show him his willy. Bold as brass, hands deep in his pockets, shuffling. He kneed the guy in the groin and legged it. He'd also been up here with Sharon, years later, fumbling on the grass. He smiled as he remembered this. There was something about the lake that made people dirty. Rules didn't apply and people indulged their fantasies, hidden from the world by bull rushes and darkness. He gazed up towards the girl with the dog. She wasn't bad looking. Maybe he would speak to her after all.

She never knew what to say in these moments. By the time the person had come close enough to talk, so much expectation had been placed onto the opening gambit that it never came out right. Foxy had stopped playing and was looking over, one ear pricked, tongue lolling. She could hear the gravel path crunching under his feet as he closed in. His pace was slowing. When she first noticed him he had been walking with a definite purpose, but not now. He smiled as she looked into his eyes, gulping down the wrong words and struggling for the right ones. She didn't want to be the first to speak, it should be the man that does that. It always was in the films she loved to watch. She smiled back at him and tried to breathe more slowly, encouraging him with her eyes and with her soul.

He could see that she was terrified. There was a look of panic in her eyes and she clutched the dog's lead a little tighter the closer he walked. He would have liked to say hello, ask her name, chat a bit and then move on. She seemed like a nice girl, lonely maybe, but well meaning and kind looking. He had no interest in her in that way, but a chat would have been nice, a moment of contact, a shared smile, he liked that. But you couldn't get away with it these days. He'd be seen as cracking onto her, making advances. What if she took it the wrong way? What if she thought he was up to something and screamed and yelled or set the dog on him? This world had become too risky all of a sudden. Too risky to talk. How tragic was that? He remembered seeing pictures of this place at school, before they'd built the factories on the other side and before it had become surrounded by the town. The lake was beautiful then, alone in itself, with nothing but the wild flowers and hedgerows to keep it company. He'd liked to have sat down in those pictures, looked out towards the horizon and dream a little. Maybe if it had still been that lake he'd have said hello to the girl in front of him, but that lake had gone. This lake attracted the wrong sort of person; it attracted the wrong sort of thoughts. Then he thought again, maybe it wasn't the lake that made people dirty, perhaps the water just reflected the world back to those that sat beside it. Somewhere there might be someone who still saw it as beautiful and full of life, like in the old pictures, but not him. He put his smile away and continued towards the town.

She watched as he walked away from her. He had been cute, she should have told him. One day she would know what to say. She loved the lake, with its butterflies and its colour. She called Foxy to her, put his lead back on and began the walk home. Alone again.

Comments Received

This story really kept my attention though I found it a little confusing as I’ve always believed you shouldn’t change point of view in such a short story and I wasn’t sure till the end if we were reading the thoughts of two people or a series of different people. The idea of the lake reflecting back the real world to the people sitting beside it was excellent and there was a real poignancy in the reality of two people not being able to strike up a casual conversation because of the state of the world.

Eleanor Dixon

Ciaran, this vignette impressed me because the opposite point of view of each character was shown without dialogue and that is no mean feat. I want to know more. What if they met again and some conflict in her life had spoiled the girl`s rosy prospect of life. Did the boy`s gloomy outlook become rosier for coming closer to her and was he able to help her through the trauma?

Dorothy Spry

'Come along Millie' urged Beth as she struggled to entangle the lead from the gate. One day the little dog would cause her to fall over! Today she was particularly agitated, with so much on her mind. She hadn't slept well the night before, after the telephone call.

Beth was concerned about the time. She had promised to be at the seat by the lake for 6 o'clock but as usual had double-checked everything before leaving and was still doubtful that the fire was off and the doors locked. Relax, she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes for a moment, she became calmer. I know it's been thirty five years, but getting worked up won't help. Millie was excited at the prospect of a walk and bounced around Beth. She also sensed her owner's nervous state. Beth forced herself to slow down and walk at a more normal pace. She looked around.

As the peace of the late afternoon enveloped her she became aware of the extraordinary colours in the western sky. It had been a beautiful day and now the sun was lowering, there were lines of turquoise on the horizon. As she walked along the path towards the lake this sight was reflected in the water, except there were ripples where the mallards were flapping about while preening their feathers. A moorhen sensed human presence, and scuttled into the reeds.

Beth's mind raced. She had not seen Robert for so many years. Her thoughts took her back to the evening when, as eager young people, they had pledged to meet again in the year 2000, on that same date. She sighed quietly as she walked along the wooded path, brushing away a few midges encircling her head. Her hair had been brown then, and she had been slightly slimmer too. Robert was promised a golden future in the medical profession. He was going to university many miles away, and the young couple were pragmatic enough to know that a fledging relationship such as theirs was going to be difficult so far apart. Anyway, Beth's parents were set on her marrying Jack who lived next door - 'a good, steady lad', as her father described him. They had felt that Robert's family were 'out of our class, lass'. In those days one took notice of one's parents - not like now, thought Beth ruefully.

It was a week since Beth and Robert's 'appointment'. She had not forgotten, and had spent the day contemplating what his life was now and believing he would not be giving her a thought. Her heart missed a beat at the memory of yesterday evening's conversation. Robert had spent the last week looking for her and when she had heard his voice on the telephone, she was 25 again.

It was another half mile to the main 'beach' on the lake, and Beth's thoughts raced along as she emerged again into open country. The hills rose gently from the banks of the lake. The sun was cooling now, which was a relief after a very hot day. Beth continued her musings. Marriage to Jack had been happy enough, but had held a sadness, for there were no children. She was only forty when he had his accident, a long time ago now. Her job had been the centre of her life, that and keeping an eye on her elderly parents. She took a sharp breath as she remembered them. What would they say if they knew she was about to meet Robert again?

In the distance Beth could see a figure sitting on the bench watching the waterfowl. She stopped walking and looked at him for a moment or two. She could make out his still slight figure, now topped with a mop of white hair. He seemed relaxed, and she wondered what thoughts were in his mind.

Beth shook herself out of her reverie. Come on girl, let's go, she told herself sternly, walking purposefully towards the still familiar figure.

Robert sensed her arrival and looked up. For a moment he just gazed at Beth without moving. Then he jumped up and almost ran to her, such was his hurry for this moment. A few yards from each other, they both stopped and silently looked at each other. Robert reached out and took Beth's hands in his.

'Hallo again' he said quietly, his blue/grey eyes smiling gently.

Tears trickled down Beth's face. Robert gently drew her towards him and simply hugged her. Nothing was said for several minutes. Then Beth pulled away quietly.

'I can't believe you remembered,' she said softly.

'How could I forget,' he replied with a gentle laugh.

Robert let go of one of Beth's hands and indicating the seat, led her to it. They sat down together. Beth's thoughts were still rushing around her head and she broke the moment of silence.

'How did you find me?' she asked.

Robert, still looking at her, answered. 'It wasn't difficult really. I remembered Jack's name, and was pretty sure you would fall in with your parents' wishes'.

Beth hung her head.

'I was so confused when you left,' she said after a moment. 'Marrying Jack seemed the only thing to do. There was no other future'.

Robert thought for a moment, then said 'I don't blame you. It was virtually what we agreed when we parted.' After a moment he added quietly

'I never married.'

Beth stared at him. 'Oh,' she responded, startled, 'oh!'

Robert looked straight into the troubled brown eyes. 'I always prayed we would meet again. There was never anyone else.'

Beth felt she was in a dream. Robert put his arm round her shoulder. 'Would you consider starting again?' he ventured.

Beth produced the dazzling smile which had remained unseen for 35 years. 'Just try and stop me!'

The mallards squawked, flapped their wings, and disappeared across the lake.

Comments Received

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