25 October 2004
Objects
At one of our Labyrinth creative writing classes lately, we asked the participants to each bring an object, chosen at random. The only guideline was that it should be something you can hold in one hand.
The objects were very varied, from a snake's sloughed skin to a memory stick from a computer. We spent nearly an hour trying to create stories around these objects.
At first this proved difficult, with three stories failing at the third object. However, the class then created a story that ran through 8 objects which was brilliantly developed and concluded over three or four run-throughs by members of the class.
The story the group came up with follows a classic form known as VOYAGE AND RETURN. (In a small way, it's Jason and the Argonauts or Heart of Darkness!)
Here is a sketch of what was said. The compulsory objects are in capitals:
I was walking along the canal bank with my sister's baby. The sun was hot and the air was heavy. I expected there would soon be a storm.
The baby was crying so I put the brake on the pram and took him out for a moment. To my astonishment, I found he only had one of his little baby BOOTEES on.How on Earth had he lost it? I looked around but could see no sign. But there was some lovely flowers growing on the towpath. So I wrapped him up and sat him up, putting a LITTLE POSY into his chubby hand.
But he didn't want them. He threw them down on the ground and tried to grab the DREAM CATCHER I was wearing as a brooch. It was present from Noah, at the free festival at Glastonbury. I didn't want him to spoil it, but it seemed the only thing that would stop him crying. I took it off its pin and gave it to him. Then I picked up the posy and we set off once more.It wasn't actually raining yet, but I hurried home. I had already done the shopping and was desperate for a sit down. He was quiet until we reached the front door.
It would have been nice if the walk had put him to sleep, but no. I got the CHICKEN EGG-TIMER down when I opened the cupboard for a vase for the flowers and that amused him for a little while. Then the alarm went off and he cried again. So we played with his little COLOURED BOXES and at last I was able to put him down.
I lit the fire to boil the kettle and, no sooner had I done so, I heard the guardsman's WHISTLE as the train pulled in to the station. My sister would be home soon.
I laid the tea table for two and busied myself in the kitchen, making things ready for BAKING, hoping she would be in a good mood.
She wasn't. The door slammed as she came in and woke the baby once more. We found we had little to say to one another so I asked her if she could fill the coal scuttle and bank up the fire. She has always been physically stronger than me.
She found the missing shoe inside the scuttle, all dirty with coal dust.
She gave me what for, but at least it wasn't lost.
Next week, I'd like to publish a new version of the story – any takers?
Weave your own Labyrinth.
