Writing - Alternatives

 Sources of inspiration can be the source of blocks. There is a well of possible scenarios that are quite easily accessible and open to interpretation. Disney. There are many parts of stories beautifully produced by the Disney Corporation that could give you food for your story-writing journey. 

Robin Hood 1973 

The 1973 version of Robin Hood with animals as the stars may provide snippets that you can utilise. Then there are straight stories like Oliver Twist, from which you could extract and embellish sections. 

Oliver Twist 

There are a number of options; 

1. The Rise of Bill Sykes and Nancy, 

2. The nefarious deeds of Mr and Mrs Bumble. 

3. The demise of Oliver's mother and how he came to be in the workhouse. 

Just a few accessible opportunities. Of course, you don't have to stick to films to derive sources. Almost anything you have read can be of use. I would even go so far as to say that could be true of a technical article; it may stretch the imagination, but nothing wrong in that.

God Bless 

Poetry Thursday 165 - Verbal Diarrhoea

 Words - a simple song, a minstrel sings. Perhaps a poet speaks.  This week's poem is a set of couplets that can be presented in a couple of ways and still largely make sense. The alternative is presented.

Verbal Diarrhoea

 

I’m feeling quite suspicious,

the outcome might be ominous,

 

Right from the very start,

with this piece of verbal art,

 

It may not make the grade,

to be put upon parade,

 

If the message lacks clarity,

requires the reader’s charity,

 

To be ultimately received,

if I am to be believed,

 

That the aim is to entertain,

and tickle the curious brain,

 

Into perceiving some emotion,

from seconds of studied devotion,

 

And if it fulfils its goal,

then that will gladden my soul.

©David L Atkinson October 2026 

The alternative version. 

Verbal Diarrhoea

 

I’m feeling quite suspicious,

right from the very start,

the outcome might be ominous,

with this piece of verbal art. 

It may not make the grade, 

if the message lacks clarity, 

to be put upon parade, 

requires the reader’s charity. 

To be ultimately received, 

that the aim is to entertain, 

if I am to be believed, 

and tickle the curious brain. 

Into perceiving some emotion, 

and if it fulfils its goal, 

from seconds of studied devotion, 

then that will gladden my soul.

©David L Atkinson October 2026 

God Bless 

Writing -- Art of Brevity

 The subject of the short story has been selected, the initial incident described, and now you have to decide what to actually include, what level of description of the characters you need to include, and what you need to leave out. 

You’re not going to write a short story in the style of Charles Dickens. You are looking to get your message across in 1000 to 5000 words, probably no more than that. So, pictorially rich descriptions of places and people are going to slow the pace. However, you’d still need to include enough information to keep the reader interested and for the story to make sense, and as I’ve said many times before, that is the dilemma for the writer. 

Writing is very much about decision-making, and in this case of short stories, continual decision-making. Putting in essential information to maintain a strong atmosphere is something you’ve to keep up with throughout the length of the tale itself, so probably more than in a full-length novel you’re going to be re-reading section by section as you actually proceed. My own experience is to be rather too succinct; I’ve written many tiny little stories of between 750 and 1000 words, which may seem too little but actually still works. I’m currently reading a book whose chapters are about that length, and the actual story itself feels a little jerky as a result. When you're writing a short story, that is all you have: you've just got that little space, that little collection of words through which to transmit your message. To allow yourself to fall into the trap of wordy descriptions is to change the pace of what you're writing. The important thing is to be interesting and keep the structure tight.

One way of ensuring a tight structure is to limit the scope of the story; for example, I wrote a story about a teddy bear in the night and stuck very much to a few short hours of darkness and some rather creepy action, but it was limited to the teddy bear that developed a life of its own and the little boy who was the teddy bear's owner. A second example would be a slightly longer short story which is about an assassin, and it was very much about him and limited to his immediate experiences; very few significant others were introduced into that story again to keep the actual structure as tight as I possibly could within the time available. 

 Keep the balance. 

God Bless 

 

 

Poetry Thursday 164 - Jigsaw

 It was fashionable a number of years ago to need to find oneself which was superceded by gap years created for the same reason. In fact, if you go back to the Victorian era, the well-to-do used to go on a 'grand tour' of Europe. There seems to be a human condition that is based upon how our lives change at a variety of ages. Teenage years, mid-life and old age are three to mention. 

Jigsaw

 

I am not the bairn I was,

I am bits of that child,

I am not the teacher I became,

for almost half of my time  on earth,

but parts of the job linger,

caring  and growing,

obeying the silence finger.

Still a parent but not the mistake ridden, befuddled young one,

I am not the graduate of 86,

 but I still learn a daily new trick,

 

I am not as regular a drinking pal,

although I still turn out, sketchily,

and attendance at church is every Sunday, mostly.  

 

No longer ice cream man or milkman,

or caretaker or banker,

but occasional author, frequent poet,

would be artist.

 

I am  jigsaw,

an amalgamation of misshapen parts,

that fit together loosely,

allowing further additions,

or gentle atrophy.

©David L Atkinson September 2026

God Bless 

Writing - First Steps

So you have your source of inspiration and want to write something quickly to pass on a moral standpoint to your readers. How do you start? Let's have a go. 

I'll be back!

Starting 

I received a phone call, a cold call, and it gave me a good starting point for a poem I wrote last week, and it could also be used in a short story. So, my message,

'beware of the rapid rise of AI' 

The first paragraph would begin with the initial conversation:- 

"Hello," 

pause "My name is John. I am your local energy consultant." 

"Sorry - not interested." 

This is the point at which the imagination is fully engaged, and choices will be made as to what happens next. I hesitate to give examples, or I may do myself out of an idea! Suffice it to say that what comes next needs to be engaging for the reader. Something to take into consideration is that a 'cold call' ignored once will probably be repeated and will likely offer opportunities. 

AI cop 

Once the beginning is set to your satisfaction, how the story develops is the writers' choice. I include the AI cop as a prompt to the imagination. In this scenario, you may end up with a visit from the AI policeman, which then leads to a need for explanation and further story development. 

During this middle phase, a writer must manage an argument while describing actions and relationships. The argument is the alternative moral viewpoints you hope to convey to your readers. Obviously, you will come down on the side you wish to convey in your conclusion. That is the clarity with which you would hope to conclude the story. 

God Bless 

 

Poetry Thursday 163 - My Name is John

 Companies producing AI warn that civilisation as we know it could end within 10 years! That's a worry. It conjures memories of HAL, 1984, Terminator and other films where the technology takes over from us humans.

My Name is John

Slouching on the sofa wearing vest and jeans,

surrounded by tinnies, eating toast and beans,

Overgrown garden full of screaming kids,

Eldest in her bedroom watching music vids.

 

Prospects for a job few and far between,

Incentive set at zero wallet contents lean.

Her indoors working checkout keeping wolf from the door,

Stop the fucking noise making my head sore.

 

We used to be a proud country building stuff and making things,

Then that cow comes along and it’s  let’s find out what  selling brings,

Sold everything from massive companies to smallest house,

Now the only jobs involve clicking a bloody mouse.

 

Trickle down economy promoted as ideal,

in fact a divisive tool used to protect what they steal,

keeping us in our lowly place with threats of them leaving,

when they contribute very little instead of aiding growing.

 

Now AI’s insinuated into our lives with warnings portentous,

already replacing us as employable resources,

arrived on my doorstep through the telephone,

announcing in soulless voice,

‘my name is John’

©David L Atkinson September 2026 

God Bless 

Writing - A First Kiss

 Writing is an opportunity to dive into freedom, it is also a chance to reflect on incidents that have occurred previously in your life. The exercise allows in-depth reflection and re-evaluating feelings which can open opportunities to use incidents when writing longer stories. 

A First Kiss

 

Sixty seconds doesn’t seem a long period of time but if you consider the events that can occur in that period every minute of our lives should be valued. An example would be the fact that sprinters should be able to run one hundred metres six times! In a flooded part of the UK 10 tons of water was being pumped from the Somerset Levels in the same period of time.

It is often the case that when you encounter a new situation your first impressions formed in the early minutes tend to colour your opinions and reactions thereafter. This was the case when I made a visit to Amsterdam when still at school.

The six of us had been walking for hours exploring the city but then the time came to return to the hostel. Amsterdam is an intriguing place with streets arranged in a semi-circular design, Dam Square at the hub. The hostel we were staying in was on a street with an unpronounceable name at number 39. The buildings we were hurrying passed were in the high two hundreds and industrial, we knew that we were going to be late and needed to rush. That was the mistake. Perhaps if we hadn’t been in so much of a hurry one of us would have noticed that the word ‘Nieuw’ was placed in front of the street name. Effectively we had walked to the wrong end of a parallel road and once we’d corrected the mistake and returned to the place in which we were staying we were exhausted. We’d certainly seen more of Amsterdam than most of our friends!

Our little group consisted of three of each sex who didn’t really know each other that well because we were in different year groups. The girls were in the year above us lads. I think they’d been selected to chaperone us! There was this one girl about the same height as me, with a peaches and cream complexion, long brown hair usually tied in a ponytail, brown eyes and brimming with confidence.

The six of us had been thrown together rather and so while we were panicking slightly about being lost in a foreign city there was no time for attractions between the girls and boys to begin to develop. On the other hand the six of us being somewhat in adversity broke down some of the normal barriers that exist between the sexes in the mid teen years.

Teachers have exquisite skills in admonishing pupils but being away from home they were actually quite gentle with us, when we arrived at the hostel thirty minutes late. Everyone else had eaten and we were banished to the girls’ bedroom to eat a packed meal that had been prepared for us. I ended up sitting on the same bed as Celia. I remember thinking it was an old-fashioned name but she was quite relaxed and pleasant to talk to so we ate and chatted. The packed lunch contained a boiled egg, still in its shell!

What happened next took place well within a minute but influenced the next three years of my life. Don’t ask me why but fourteen year old me decided that it would be a good idea to crack the shell of my egg on Celia’s head! I know it was stupid, childish and likely to propel me to the teachers once again for punishment. The disturbing thing was that as soon as I had done it I knew that I’d hurt her, I knew that I’d done a stupid thing and I was apologising before she’d finished reacting.

Our eyes met at that point and her gentle, brown orbs were brimming with tears but not just as a result of the pain. I reached out and put my hand on her head, her hair felt silky and apologised as sincerely as I knew how. The next minute was electric. Celia could have screamed at me to ‘Get out!’ and sort comfort with her female friends. She didn’t!

We were sitting quite close, facing, and leaning in towards each other. The quality of the following sixty seconds was nothing short of dream-like. Celia completed the distance between us and we kissed. I remember wonderful feelings of warmth spreading throughout my body. It was almost as if we had become one person. Everyone else in the room disappeared into an indistinct haze. I don’t suppose that this first kiss lasted more than a few seconds before the wonderful moment was broken by our cheering friends. I wasn’t tremendously disappointed because I knew it would happen again.

 

I wasn’t wrong. 

God Bless