Freewrite prompt
– walking at night
She didn't bring a
torch to the campfire and it didn't matter when she was there
laughing and singing and chanting and drinking home brewed mead out
of a bottle passed to her by a stranger. It matters a bit more now
she's stumbling back to her tent in the pitch black with a million
lurking guyropes just waiting to trip her up and possibly bring a
tent crashing down on someone. That would make her popular in the
middle of the night though if it happened she could always run away
flee into the night - there were lots of late night stragglers
without torches and lots of them were much drunker than her. It
wasn't actually that dark she realises glancing up at the sky - this
far from a city the stars were a chain of christmas lights across
the dark sky - they even seemed to twinkle in sequence. Though that
might very well be the home brew - was there a reason stars twinkled?
I used to know that she thought darting round a neon guyrope that
stood out - those were much better than the ones she couldn't see.
But the starlight didn't help and staring at the leaping flames for
hours seems to no night vision is forthcoming even when she realise
she's sitting down somehow – just for a short rest. It's peaceful
though and she's content until there is a giggle and a thump and pain
blossoms from her knee - she's been stood on. 'Fuck off,' she
exclaims outraged kicking out to a prompt of further swearing -
perhaps she isn't sitting in the most sensible spot and and she isn't
actually sure now where her tent is. They all look the same in the
dark. A sort of vague navy shading towards black with the odd gleam
of reflective material from the tent window's.
(311 words)
Festive!
(fiction)
Sleeping in was
impossible when camping , no matter how much Jenny would like to. The
rising sun made the tent canvas act like a photographic light box and
every wall glowed. This
produces a sensation which to Jenny seems very much like the
tent was deliberately pressing hot beams of sunlight directly onto
her eyelids. If that weren't enough even a slight hint of wakefulness
was enough to have her body protesting over the fact she was
essentially sleeping on a thin layer of air on uneven ground. Her air
mattress is a repurposed lilo. Only exhaustion or drunkenness could
make it comfortable. Jenny attempts one last attempt at resisting
wakefulness by pushing her face into the sleeping bag only to find
that when against bare skin the thick material feels clammy with
condensation and smells fusty.
'Ugh', she said as
she shoves it away from her face and then wrestles the zipper down
enough to squirm her way out of the sleeping bag. One flailing foot
clangs against a support pole in her quest for freedom and she swears
under her breath as pain blossoms in the toe she stubs. Fortunately
the tent remains upright but the motion shakes free a shower of water
from the condensation that had formed on the tent roof. Jenny's mood
is unlikely to improve with indoor precipitation after being awoken
by the sun. Surely only one form of weather should be plaguing her
at a time. She crams her bare feet into her walking boots and tries
her best to ignore the way the hard wearing material scrapes roughly
against her skin. If the sleeping bag is damp, her socks will be too.
The morning light
is even more piercing when Jenny steps out into it after a brief
battle with the tent flap. The azure horizon is entirely free of even
a scrap of cloud and so it seems it's going to be hot. This
prediction allows her to abandon the scratchy boots and the almost
certain future of at least one blister by the tent flap. She'll go
barefoot instead. The grass is damp with dew and tickles but as long
as it stays dry enough that she isn't having to splodge though any
mud she doesn't particularly care.
Someone is snoring loudly in a nearby tent and she regards their tent flap enviously for a moment, wishing she was still asleep. Other campers are stirring, she can see tousled heads poking out of tents and hear sounds of activity across the field. The whistle of a kettle, a shouting child and a discordant chirping of a mobile phone alarm. She huffs out a breath at the irritating sound and is at least glad that didn't get a chance to wake her. She grabs her wash bag and sets off for the shower block, hitching her pyjama bottoms up and fussing with the drawstring and being glad it's early enough she doesn't care about being seen.
The camp gets
busier as she makes her way through the fields. Someone is cooking
bacon, she can hear the sizzle and she can smell the smoke and salt.
Her mouth waters even though she no longer eats meat. 'Well mostly',
she amends mentally with a touch of guilt. Everyone slips up
occasionally. She hurries past before she is tempted to find the
nearest burger van and cheat on being vegan again. This takes
her in earshot of some particularly tuneless guitar strumming and she
hopes it isn't the guy she's been hearing in the distance for three
days who only appears to know half the chords of Wonderwall but
there is a chorus of complaints from nearby tents indicate
otherwise.
'Piss off –
you're not Liam Gallagher,' comes one of the catcalls and Jenny can't
help but grin to herself. At least she didn't camp near him.
She regrets leaving
behind her boots the instant she steps inside the shower block. The
entire floor, tiled in hospital ward beige, is awash with water –
she really hopes it's water. The astringent smell of bleach
does not quite cover the acrid tang of urine and the only thing she
can do is resolve to be quick. Afterwards she squirts antibacterial
gel on a bit of dry grass and attempts to stamp about it in it with
shuddering. As much as she tries to tell herself it's better than
Glastonbury and the long drops, because these loos flushed - she
can't help but feel her feet will never be clean again.
(757 words)
Commentary
For
my focussed freewrite I used the prompt 'walking at night' and wrote
about being without a torch on a camping trip. This led to me writing
a piece of fiction about a young woman camping at a festival which I
though would be a good piece to use sensory observations in, due to
the exposure to the elements and lack of privacy from other campers
when camping. Although the piece is fiction I used several personal
memories regarding the fact that camping is not always the most
comfortable experience. The guitar player who knows only one tune is
a recurring character I have encountered at several campsites. The
song he plays (Wonderwall by Oasis) is intended as a cultural
reference setting the piece in the late 90's. (Neale, 2006 p.62) I
started writing the piece in past tense but decided to change to
present tense so the reader was experiencing camping along with
Jenny. I wanted to include all the senses and add things Jenny smelt,
heard, felt and tasted as well as what she saw on the campsite to
give a fuller picture of the campsite and the experience Jenny was
having. (Neale, 2006 p.49) I did some research into the facilities at
Glastonbury as I have never attended. The poor toilet facilities seem
to feature highly in many people's memories of the festival so I
added Jenny thinking on this. I wanted to show some of Jenny's
personality as flighty and fickle by having her change her mind
several times over little things and by the reference to her
struggling to stick to her chosen diet and to partially indicate her
economic background by having her camping gear deliberately be a
little rubbish (poor sleeping bag, rough boots, lilo for an air
mattress) though some of this detail was sacrificed to word count.
(306
words)
Bibliography
Glastonbury
Festival Website (2013) http://www.glastonburyfestivals.co.uk/
(accessed 28th
October 2013)
Neale,
D. (2006) 'Writing What You Know' in Anderson L.(ed) Creative
Writing: A Notebook with readings,
Abingdon Routledge, Milton Keynes, The Open University
