Tag: writing challenge

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Tuesday to Tuesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly provided by Graham Lawrence:

And this is my story:

Sticky Pink Peonies

Jessie bobbed a curtsy. ‘’Scuse me ma’am, but the master asked whether you’d be attending the dinner party this evening.’

Lady Howarth wrinkled her nose and wiped her paintbrush down her long skirts. ‘It depends on how long my friends keep me talking, Jessie: they’re awfully chatty. If I am busy, he must carry on without me.  Mrs. Williams can be hostess instead.’

Jessie stifled a giggle at the thought of the crusty housekeeper chatting with influential people whilst the mistress entertained her imaginary ‘friends’ in the garden.

Lady Howarth swirled her paintbrush around a sticky pink blob on her canvas, intended to resemble a delicate peony on the nearby bush. ‘Monsieur Monet tells me that even Queen Victoria likes my work …’

A year had passed since the carriage had overturned, leaving Lady Howarth with the mind of a child. After the meeting tonight, the mistress would be admitted to the asylum – rendering the wealthy Lord Howarth quite free: as Jessie had planned the day she removed the pin from the carriage wheel.

Word Count: 175

If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

Some ‘extra’ information, for anyone interested:

The lovely garden in Graham’s prompt reminded me of the walled gardens in the grounds of the many English stately homes that I’ve visited. Consequently, I set my story in Victorian times. I haven’t the time this week for much of an ‘Extra bit’ to accompany my story, but here’s a little snippet about walled gardens:

Perhaps one of the most famous walled gardens in literature features in the novel, ‘The Secret Garden’.  I read this story many years ago and can remember little about it – so perhaps a re-read is due. But I do remember the main character: a young girl (a child) finding her way into an abandoned and totally overgrown walled garden and tending to it – and it completely changed her life, easing the misery of her loveless upbringing.

Essentially, the walled garden was something that many big and affluent houses had, mostly for growing fruit and vegetables for the use of the family living there. Some we’ve visited still grow really old varieties no longer heard of the shops or markets of today. It’s interesting to see how some of these old varieties differ to the modern ones. Sections of the gardens were generally devoted to flower growing too, to adorn the halls and stately rooms and impress the important guests.

Here’s a definition of a walled garden from Wikipedia:

“A walled garden is a garden enclosed by high walls for horticultural rather than security purposes, although originally all gardens may have been enclosed for protection from animal or human intruders. In temperate climates the essential function of the walls surrounding a walled garden is to shelter the garden from wind and frost,  though they may also serve a decorative purpose”.

The walls were very important, some even having built-in heating systems:

The hollow wall idea involves a hollow wall with openings in the stonework on the side facing the garden. Fires could be lit inside the wall to provide heat to protect the fruit growing against the wall, such as espaliers. Heat would escape into the garden through these openings. Smoke from the fires would be directed upwards through chimneys or flues.

This is what an espaliered fruit tree looks like:

I would have liked to have written about the dreadful asylums, which were still in existence until the 1960s, or even later. Perhaps I’ll do that another time . . .

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Tuesday to Tuesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, courtesy of Pixabay:

And this is my story, for which I’ve resurrected the pair of incorrigible rogues, Fred and Harry, who haven’t made an appearance in my flash fiction for a while now. I’ve added a note about the Yorkshire dailect below:

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Harry Hobson squinted at the many colourful stalls and gave a loud belch.

‘Grand fair,’ he said, glancing at his equally inebriated drinking buddy. ‘I think I’ll get one of them there balloons t’ tek home ter missus. Might stop ’er rantin’ about me bein’ in pub too long.’

Fred pulled a face. ‘Yer’ve tried that tactic afore, mate. An’ look where it got yer … sleepin’ on sofa for a week.’

‘Can’t blame me fer tryin’, Fred. Anyways, I like balloons meself. Might buy a couple … yer know: ‘His an’ Hers’. Women go all gooey over that kind o’ stuff.’

‘Your Nora goes ‘gooey’ ’bout nowt, Harry, except mebbe Bingo on Wednesday nights wi’ my Doreen.’

‘A man’s got t’ try ter be a good ’usband,’ Harry replied, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and scowling at its meagre contents. ‘P’raps I’ll leave the balloon buyin’ ’til next week, Fred. I need me last few quid ter have a go on that coconut shy yonder…

‘Nora’d like a nice pair o’ coconuts…’

Word Count: 175

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For anyone not familiar with the Yorkshire dialect, here’s a note about it:

1. Many words have either the first or last letter missing – a form of lazy speech:

Her has the first letter dropped (e.g. ‘look at ’er’) as does the word about (e.g. ‘It’s ’bout time, too!’) Sleeping has the last letter dropped (e.g. sleepin’) as do the words being (e.g. bein’) and ranting (rantin’.)

 2. Some words have more than one letter missing:

‘Come with me’ becomes ‘Come wi’ me’. Perhaps becomes ‘p’raps’.

To is often written just as a t (e.g. ‘Fish ‘n’ chips t’ tek away, please.’ In that sentence the and is also reduced to just the middle letter n.

3. Completely missed out words are often open to guesswork:

‘Lets’ go fer a walk in woods’ – instead of ‘a walk in the woods’.  And ‘I’m off to the pub’ becomes ‘Im off t’ pub.’

4. Some words are simply down to Northern pronunciation:

For becomes fer. (e.g. ‘It’s a present fer Nora.’) To becomes ter (e.g. ‘I’ll give the balloon ter Nora.’) Nothing becomes nowt. ( e.g. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ me!’) Take becomes tek. Before becomes afore. Maybe becomes mebbe.

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My ‘extra information’ was again too long to attach to this post, so I’ve made it into a post of its own. For anyone interested, it can be found here.

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If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

 

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, a beautiful picture, kindly provided by Sonya:

. . . and this is my story:

Sir Robert de Baux peered over the battlements, wary of revealing himself to the archers below. Fires of the enemy encampment encircled the castle – as they had done every night for the past six months.

Today, a determined assault on the castle had begun. Mangonels had hurled rocks at his outer walls and rams pounded the eastern and western gateways. None had met with success – but the trebuchets were almost constructed and the assault could go on for weeks. And food supplies were already dangerously low.

In the welcomed silence of the nightfall, he headed for the Eagle Tower, where his young wife would be waiting for news of earlier negotiations.

‘What says Sir Hugh, my lord?’ Alys asked eagerly as he entered their quarters.

‘My elder brother still claims the castle is rightfully his and that Father unlawfully disinherited him for siding with King John. The assault will continue until we surrender.’

Alys gave a wan smile. ‘The pigeon I sent out returned today. My father’s forces should be here within the week.’

Word Count: 174

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My ‘extra information’ was too long on this occasion to attach to this post, so I’ve made it into a post of its own. For anyone interested, it can be found here.

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If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

 

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, a beautiful picture, kindly provided by Etol Bagam:

. . . and this is my story:

Lost in his memories, Richard stood on the bridge that spanned the river as the tour guide delivered his spiel about the awesome falls. He’d been saving for this trip for two long years, and now their wedding anniversary had arrived.

Claire had always loved waterfalls. ‘There’s something magical about them,’ she’d said, so many times. ‘Imagine standing so close, small and insignificant in the drenching spray, whilst rainbow colours of light dance over the swirling plunge pool.’

Thirty years of married life had passed by in a haze of hard work and raising children. Now the four had flown the nest, leaving Richard and Claire alone.  So happy together …

The illness had taken her from him, just six months before their anniversary. Towards the end, Claire had made him promise not to cancel their holiday.

‘Just look at that rainbow, Richard!’ Claire’s joyful voice sounded inside his head.

Richard focused on the vibrant colours, blinking back the teardrops that threatened to flow like the cascading waters of the falls.

Word Count: 171

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If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

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Today’s prompt brought to mind a waterfall that I’ve looked at in geography lessons with Year 8 on several occasions. I don’t know whether the picture is of the Angel Falls or not, but there’s a definite similarity. I’ve never seen a photo showing a bridge, however, so it could well be somewhere else.

For anyone interested, here’s a little bit of information about the Angel Falls,  mostly from Wikimedia, but other snippets from various sites.

Angel Falls is situated in the Canaima National Park in Venezuela (South America) and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is on the Guaja River (sometimes called the Kerep River or Kerepacupai). It is the highest uninterrupted waterfall in the world, dropping almost a kilometer (979 meters/3212 feet) from a cleft near the summit of table top mountain, Auyán-tepu, into Devil’s Canyon below. It is five times higher than the  Niagara Falls and three times as high as the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

During the rainy season, the waterfall splits into two:

In the dry season (December -April) it looks like this:

 Angel Fall was named after the American airborne gold prospector, Jimmie Angel. In 1933, he flew over the falls in his Flamingo monoplane in search of a valuable ore bed. In 1937 he returned with his second wife, Marie, on board, along with acquaintances Gustavo Henry and Miguel Delgado. Although landing successfully at the summit of the falls, the plane’s wheels became stuck in the mud and they had to walk 12 miles through the jungle, which took 12 days. News of their adventure spread and the waterfall was named Angel Falls in his honour. The common Spanish name for the waterfall, ‘Salto Angel’, was first published on a Venezuelan government map in December 1939.

The plane remained marooned at the top of the mountain until 1970, when it was taken down by a helicopter. It  can usually be seen at the Aeronautics Museum of Maracay.

Angel Falls is one of Venezuela’s top tourist attractions, though a trip out to it is a quite a complicated one, as the falls are located in isolated jungle. It requires a flight out to Canaima camp, followed by a boat or jeep ride to the falls. Tourists have only been permitted to visit since 1990. The first visitors stayed at Boulton Camp (now known as Campamento Canaima).

These Falls also inspired the setting of the Disney film Up in 2009, although it was called Paraduse Falls. It was also seen briefly inthe Disney film Dinosaur, as well as the 1990 film Arachnaphobia.

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly provided by TJ Paris:

. . . and this is my story:

Amelia withdrew to her bedchamber, leaving Edward to his business affairs. Through the open window she watched the seagulls wheeling over the blue-grey water, their mournful dirge echoing her own misery. During their first year of marriage, she had seen little of her husband, whose business focused on London, so far away.

Bequeathed to Edward by his grandfather, the house had been built eighty years ago, in 1756, in place of a dilapidated keep, and was encircled by the castle’s towering fortifications. Enveloped by the sea, storms utterly terrified Amelia, as malevolent waves battered the defences like some ancient foe firing deadly cannon.

Despite numerous servants, she felt so alone; no babe yet swelled her womb.

Edward was suddenly beside her. ‘Amelia, I think we should move to London…  We can afford it now, and in London you’ll be close to your family –’

Amelia threw her arms round his neck, sobbing her relief.

‘We’ll spend more time together,’ he whispered, ‘raise a child or two…  And bequeath this house to the nesting gulls.’

Word Count: 174

If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

I usually add a little bit of ‘extra’ information connected to the topic of my story every week. Today I thought this information was a little too long, so I’ve made it into a separate post. If you would like to read it, you can find it here.

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly provided by Sonya at Only 100 Words:

. . . and this is my story:

Alexei surveyed the solid ice block before him, considering the shape he was about to sculpt. He knew every curve of the slender neck, every line of the beautiful face. He’d marvelled at her exquisite elegance as he’d watched her glide effortlessly from one position to the next.

As the ice took on its overall shape, Alexei deftly used his little ice knife and small, flat chisel to create the finer features. He imagined those intelligent, dark eyes, gazing back at him. How close the two of them had become in such a short while. He’d never imagined he would lose her.

‘But I must go to Moscow, Alexei!’ Katerina had exclaimed at his feeble requests that she stay. ‘My life would be nothing without the Ballet. I shall be Odette, the beautiful swan. And I shall return to you once we close.’

So long ago…

Now a prima ballerina, Katerina had chosen the adoration of millions over Alexei’s love. To him she had become a beautiful, icy swan, destined to just melt away…

Word Count: 174

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If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

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For anyone interested, here is some information about The History of Ice Sculpture. from various sources:

Ice sculpture is the art of carving shapes out of ice, ranging from small table decorations to entire towns of ice seen at winter festivals all over the world. The origins of ice scupting are credited to both China and Russia:

In the 1600s, hunters and fishermen of the Chinese province of Heilongjiang, on the border of Russia, designed ice lanterns. They filled buckets with water to make ice, then slid it out and put a candle in the hole to make a lantern. People started hanging decorated lanterns from homes and parading them in carnivals. Here’s a pictute of an ice lantern I found that looks bucket-shaped, and how I imagine those made in China might have looked:

In 1897, the Trans Siberian Railway was extended through the small Chinese fishing town of Harbin in Heilongjiang. Increased traffic resulted in Harbin growing into a cosmopolitan city. With below freezing winds from Siberia, and ice from the frozen Songhua river, Harbin became the home of the annual International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival. Currently, this festival features the work of thousands of artists from all over the world and holds the Guinness World Record for the largest snow sculpture. The sculpture, entitled “Romantic Feelings”, measured 115 ft tall and 656 ft long.

The first historical occurrence of ice sculpture in Russia was in 1740 when the Empress Anna Ivanovna commissioned the building of an ice palace in St. Petersburg. The palace was intended to be an elaborate joke, but to the empress it was meant as something darker. She delighted in humiliating nobility, and Prince Mikhail Galitzine had annoyed her by insisting on marrying an Italian Catholic. After the death of this first wife, the empress forced him to marry her ugly, elderly servant woman. The ice palace was built as the stage for the wedding. Following the church ceremony, the couple were fastened inside an iron cage on the back of an elephant and paraded toward the palace in a procession of horses, camels, wolves and pigs. They were then forced to spend the night inside the frozen mansion, with guards posted outside to ensure they stayed there.

Today, there are a number of ice festivals around the world. Other than the one at Harbin, China, they include those in Japan, Canada, Alaska (USA), Belgium, Sweden, Russia and the UK.

 

 

 

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. It asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100-150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages us to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the above link to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly provided by Vanessa Rodriguez.

. . . and this is my story:

‘You realise this is the end, don’t you? After all we’ve worked so hard to achieve…’

René took his tearful wife into his arms, knowing she was right, but wanting so much to ease her distress. The vineyard had been their hope for the future… for themselves, their children, and grandchildren yet to be born. Now they faced a future of hardship and regret.

‘Another hurdle, Françoise, not the end,’ he said, instilling a positive note into his voice. ‘This is 1887 after all, and the wine industry can deal with crop diseases nowadays. We’ll see no profit this year, but –’

‘Not just no profit, René! We’ll have nothing to cover the year’s production costs … including the new wine presses we bought, and employees’ wages.’

‘Phylloxera is a new disease, ma chérie, and ways will be found to eradicate these sap-sucking insects. By next year, we’ll be back to normal.’

Françoise shook her head, unconvinced. ‘I’ll remind you of your prediction in two years time when we’re begging on the streets of Paris.’

Word Count: 175

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My story this week is based on the phylloxera outbreak in France in 1887 (often called the ‘Great French Wine Blight’). I’ve written a little about it at the end of my ‘exta’ piece below.

If you’d like to view other entries, click the little blue frog below:

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For anyone interested, here’s some information I’ve put together about the history of wine production:

The earliest evidence of a fermented drink based on grapes is in China, 7,700 – 6,600 years BC.  It gradually became more widespread and we soon find evidence of it in the Near East. The grapevine and the alcoholic drink produced from it were important in Mesopotamia and Egypt and were essential aspects of Phoenician, Greek and Roman civilisations.

Wine was an integral part of the Roman diet and wine making became a widely spread and precise business during the time of the Roman Empire. Most of the major wine producing regions of Western Europe today were established during that time. Wine-making technology improved during Roman times, as did the number of varieties of grapes and cultivation techniques. The design of the wine press advanced and barrels were developed for the storage and shipping of the wine.

The most famous Roman wine was Falernian, due to it high alcohol content! Anyone who has read the brilliant Falco books by Lindsey Davis (set in ancient Rome) will recognise this wine as one of Falco’s favourites. Wines were also mixed with herbs and minerals for medicinal purposes.

Throughout history, wine has often been associated with religion. The Greeks worshipped Dionysus (god of wine) and the Romans carried on his cult, calling him Bacchus. Wine has been in Jewish culture since Biblical times and has been part of the Eucharist commemorating Christ’s Last Supper in the Christian Church.

Although Islam generally forbids the production and consumption of alcohol, during the Golden Age (8th-13th century) alchemists such as Geber pioneered wine distillation for medicinal and industrial processes (e.g. producing perfume).

In the medieval period, wine was the common drink of all classes in the south of Europe where grapes were cultivated. Further north and east, where few grapes were grown, beer and ale were the usual beverages. Wine was exported to these regions but was expensive, so was only consumed by the upper classes. Because it was used in the Catholic mass, a supply was crucial. Benedictine monks became one of the largest producers in France and Germany, followed closely by Cistercians and various other Orders.

Wine production increased dramatically from the 15^th century onwards as part of European expansion. By the 18^th century, the wine trade had soared, especially in France, where Bordeaux became the preeminent production.

In the New World (America) the first successful wine production was in Ohio in the 19^th century. In Australia, too, wine production began about that time. In the Old World at this time, Champagne was established as a favourite luxury drink and fortified wines like sherry and port became increasingly popular in Britain.

Vineyards everywhere were badly hit in 1887 by a disease called phylloxera (often grape phylloxera)  which was caused by the infestation of almost microscopic, pale-yellow, sap-sucking insects related to ahpids.

It is possible that it originated in North America and was carried across the Atlantic in the 1850s (although this is still debated). France was the worst country to be hit but other European countries were also affected. It was dealt with by grafting European vines to the resistant American rootstock that was not susceptible to phylloxera. It proved effective, but the ‘Reconstitution’ of the French vineyards – as it was called – was a very slow process. There are still a few vineyards in Europe that inexplicably remained unscathed and exist today as they did before the disease arrived.

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