<a href="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/creative-writing.jpg"><img class="alignright wp-image-4772 size-thumbnail" src="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/creative-writing-200x158.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="158" /></a>The final Friday afternoon session of my creative writing course had a theme of bones although at times the connection seemed tenuous.
Firstly we had to write something ordinary as if explaining it to an alien. I chose going for a walk:
<span style="color: #0000ff;"><em>One makes a decision. Check a facsimile of the local geography and decide on a route; encase oneself in material that will prevent moisture from touching the skin. Put a covering on each foot; it has to be sturdy with lots of raised, criss-crosses on the bottom. Position oneself vertically and start off putting one foot in front of the other. Frequently check the facsimile of the local geography. Continue putting one foot in front of the other. Keep repeating this process until you return to the point from where you started, having burned masses of calories and achieved nothing.</em></span>

Poems based on clichés:
<em><a href="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/what-doesnt-kill-you.jpg"><img class="alignright size-medium wp-image-5053" src="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/what-doesnt-kill-you-300x300.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="300" /></a><span style="color: #0000ff;">What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
What doesn’t kill you
Does it make you stronger?
The cancer patient on chemo
Does it make you stronger?
The drug addict through cold turkey
Does it make you stronger?
The grieving mother for a lost child
Does it make you stronger?
The wino on the street
Does it make you stronger?
The astronaut in space
Does it make you stronger?
The war ravaged amputee
Does it make you stronger?
I don’t think so!</span></em>

<a href="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/love-is-bliind.jpeg"><img class="alignright wp-image-5051 size-medium" src="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/love-is-bliind-295x300.jpeg" alt="" width="295" height="300" /></a><em><span style="color: #0000ff;">Love is Blind
She’s left the cupboard door open, again
Love is blind
The cap off the toothpaste, again
Love is blind
We’re late for the cinema, again
Love is blind
The kitchen is in a mess, again
Love is blind
Those chintz curtains are a nightmare
Love is blind
The blinkers are off
Love is no longer blind
I’m leaving you…</span></em>

And finally a piece based on a story told by a dead body from Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
My body was lying on Dartmoor
<em><a href="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/death-on-the-moor.jpg"><img class="alignleft wp-image-5054" src="http://pigyard.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/death-on-the-moor-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="279" height="209" /></a><span style="color: #0000ff;">How naive was I? Lured to a car park in the middle of nowhere. As soon as I stepped out of the car into the dark, misty night I should have known. And as the courtesy light of the car slowly dimmed so did my life.
Here I lie, the damp, peaty soil slowly consuming my body. No doubt my bones will be preserved for aeons but I will never be found, the perpetrator never brought to justice.</span></em>

<span style="color: #0000ff;">;It was always my ambition to make it big. Not by working nine to five but wheeling and dealing. Having an eye for the easy money - and so it was that, as my parents would say, “I fell in with the wrong crowd”. They weren’t the wrong crowd as far as I was concerned; they were exactly the right crowd. I started at the bottom of the ladder as a delivery boy. Carrying drugs or guns between gang members, stealing the odd car and a bit of bag snatching from the back of a motorbike. Slowly I gained the trust of those around me and I moved up through the ranks. I kept myself fit, never smoked or took any of the drugs that were part of my daily work and always had my on the top prize. By the time I was 24 I was running my own team of drug outlets - pushers and delivery boys and making a name for myself. I nurtured a small inner circle of people I could trust and I was doing really well. I could afford the BMW, Breitling watch and a decent apartment in a gentrified area of the city. Life was good.
There was the occasional run-in with the police but I was careful and employed a good lawyer. In this life you cannot stand still - you either keep moving forwards or you fall behind. My next move was to take over a larger section of the city and form my own syndicate with the respect of others in the same industry. I was ready to move on… Of course in this business you make enemies. Always someone from below looking to usurp your position and I thought I was ready for that.</span>

The tutor has a couple of full creative writing days in the autumn and I'm contemplating whether to go on them. Everyone else seems so serious about their writing and I'm just dabbling.