It isn't what it used to be.

The eye of the beast gazes upon us...

2010-08-06T16:21:00.000+01:00

Well the site going live today. I am pretty excited about the whole exercise really. I'm not sure why. I'm certain my story is worst, but I think I made up for the lack of skill in short story writing with my technical creativeness. (Is there such as word as creativeness?)

Anyhow shortly the whole dub-dub-dub, or a least a small subset of it, will be reading our stories viewing the pictures and things we've created and hopefully learning a little about this little piece of the world known as The Wirral Peninsular. I really look forward to having them posting their comments and thoughts about our work and perhaps even dozen or so, posting their own stories about the project.

Private Viewing... What you see is what you get?

2010-07-30T13:23:00.002+01:00

Doreen reading her story.

People who have know me closely understand there are moments when I choose to speak my mind. In these moments I am very honest, often too honest and people sometimes get offended by my opinions - the backlash is usually interesting to say the least. But just how candid with my personal opinions can I be without seriously offending?

Anyhow I went to the private viewing for the Out on a Limb Project last night. I couldn't really spare the time but I shuffled things about and managed to squeeze it in anyhow. I'm really run down at the moment - been working 12-16 hours, 7 days for the last 3 weeks+.

It was attended by the members of the project and a few of their friends. I wasn't sure if it was meant to be a big event or something, but to me it was a bit of a let down in numerous ways. Promotion and venue where just the two glaringly obvious ones.

Basically it was a presentation about the project and a few people read their stories in front of everyone. I didn't read mine for two reasons... Firstly, I don't like it and secondly it's far too long.. at 2000+ words plus it would have taken me about 15 minutes to read and that would have just bored people.

First up was Doreen. She was little nervous at the start, but she soon settled down. Her story is ace, and I enjoyed listening to her read her story like everyone else.

Then Jensen read an 'extract' of his story. His story is clever and has a melancholy feeling - really interesting. I really wish I'd thought of offering to read an extract instead... or someone with more experience of this type of thing had suggested it. Oh well, it's too late now, but there's still couple of paragraphs of my story that I continue to like. I'm not a great public speaker but can overcome my fear having myself given award winning presentations to 100s of people about electronics, technology and telecommunications at the British Institute in the past.

Overall, I was so impressed with peoples stories. Amazing stuff. I was particularly impressed with Louise, her story is a lovely tale of an old woman going to a residential home in her old age. Charming - my personal favourite by a nose.

Gails favourite was Rob's story which is excellent in my opinion. So much good stuff.

Jen Ashworth reading her short story at the Out on a Limb project launch.

Jen, the professional writer who was helping with the project, was commissioned to do four short stories. They're good but I just think the other peoples stuff is more 'composed' and for my own personal preferences I preferred them.

Barbara read her endearing story of a little girl who was finding a new home, that had multiple endings. Neat idea. She also showed some video clips she's taken on her phone of some of the people she'd chatted to around the Rocky Ferry area.

Elaine Speight, the project manager, showed us the website, that was still not complete though. I'm not sure what they've been doing for the last 2 months, but being a web developer also - I suspect they've not been working like a dog like me for the last 3 weeks. Perhaps a case of too much thinking and not enough action?

Elaine did mention something about incompatibility or corrupt files, but any half-arsed developer can find their way around client problems, instead of making excuses. I can understand they may have needed stories and photos from us, but they could have still built the framework and where are these icons they've been pestering about us for weeks? Surely if someone continues to let you down - she also mentioned they always leave things 'til last minute - then you go to another developer, after all web-designers are 10-a-penny...

Anyhow the whole thing over-ran by about 40 minutes so had to dash off at the end without saying proper goodbye's and things. Felt a bit rude about that...

I came away feeling that everyone had put tons of effort into the project and I know myself I've been to numerous meetings, research trips and probably spent all-in-all around 80+ hours of work on producing this and so have all the other people involved. I've calculated cumulatively if one person was to do it as a 40-hour-a-week job it would have taken someone around 6-months to produce. So much effort when you think of it like that, isn't it? Half a year of someone's life!

It then got me wondering what's going to happen to it? Then it makes me wonder how much of our hard earned tax-payers money has funded this project. Room hire, internet hire in the libraries, website designer, etc. Must be a couple of grand or something - I'd love to know how much it was... I must be able to find out somehow, does anyone have any clues where to look? Transparency in the modern age is great. Perhaps Elaine will save me the time of researching and just tell us?

I really love the arts, but I think about how much time we've spent and then ponder if it's time and money well spent. I mean the participants enjoyed the project and everything, but is that enough? Should an arts council project do more than just be enjoyable for those involved, shouldn't it challenge other people, their views, ideas. Be a catalyst for thinking?

Once the website's finished what kind of promotion will it get? I mean I've got visitor tracking analysis on my own blog so I can see how many people have visited, where they came from, revisits and all that... so I can tell roughly what it happening regarding promotion of the project. But I just get the feeling from the 'launch' that apart from the participants, no one else is going to get any value from this and it sprays me with guilt. Then I question why I feel like this, is it my responsibility, whose job is it to get it out there?

Am I alone in feeling this way - do I value my own time/effort too much? Anyways... It will certainly be interesting to see what happens over the coming weeks.

Interactive Maps

2010-07-28T12:20:00.001+01:00

I've not really been very happy with the Geolocation features of Google Maps and have been looking around the net at what alternatives are available. I knew what I wanted to do - but I didn't have time to program an AJAX/Flash application myself just for this little jaunt. So I went exploring....

Panaramio looked promising. Allowing you to upload photos - it then takes the GPS information from inside the photo and automatically locates the photo on the map for you. There's no direct 'embed' feature and the export as KML file seems to be broken or not compatible with Google Maps, etc. You also have the ability to view the photos within the Google Earth application. The problem with this is that it takes them a couple of months to complete the task of getting them imported into Google earth.

I then had a go at Picasa. This looked good. Allowing me to create maps and albums. With pins where pictures where taken. Then I could add comments to the pictures. It then allowed me to successfully export the Map as KML and import it into Google Maps (Which is what I showed on here first.)

Google Maps just has horrible looking maps - I think they used a hamster to design the stylisation of the maps. The pop-up windows are ugly and you can't control any aspect of them. It feels like your pouring your hard-worked content into a leaky carrier bag. But Google Maps is a great tool and has amazing features, but my gut instinct tells me it's not really working for what I'm trying to do and I should keep looking.

Next was Flickr. This is the same as Picasa really a great tool, but privacy controls are much better. But I couldn't find an embed map tool and pins seem to be only be placed where I have pictures - at this point I realise I need a specialised map tool that will let me put pins where I want, not a photo album tool - Thus allowing me to pin a piece of the story where it takes place - then I can add text and photos to that pin as I need.

I found it at Bing Maps. It was a challenge at first. I was almost ready to write it off, but I persevered and eventually it started behaving and doing as I asked. I love this tool now, it looks good and I have found so many cool features, like I can make 3D Movies using it. I can build my own buildings on the map in 3D. The aerial and birdseye views are just breath-taking. Plus Bing allows me to embed my maps into webpages.. which is a must.

It's a work in progress at the moment. But I should have it all finished sometime today. Here you can see the Bing Map I'm working on...

Last Draft

2010-07-27T19:09:00.003+01:00

Final Draft of My Short Story

Well I've just spent the last 3 hours doing the final draft of my story. It's 3 pages long (2,200 words) and that's too long and I'm not sure what to chop out. I'm going to post a version on the Final Story page shortly after a final proof read, so ideas are welcome on what I can cut out.

Also if anyone can see any tense, grammar, or spelling errors then please tell me. I've decided to take Jen Ashworth's advice and have made the main content of the story told in current tense and any memories that are told in past tense. My original draft was an amateurish mix of tenses simply because I didn't know any better.

Originally I wanted to post little pictures with pieces of the story to lamp posts or signs in the area where that part of the story takes place. So I think I'm going to try to make the 'Final Story' page based around that concept. With little paragraph in boxes accompanied by a photo I've taken, in theory these could be printed and stuck along the route. An interesting distraction for passers-by that may also get them visiting the project homepage.

Like I said I don't really think I'm cut out for writing. I've found the process hard work and tough to get to grips with - I really only enjoyed the creative process of coming up with stories and stuff - the editing, spell-checking, grammar and redrafting is all too much like work for me so I don't think I'll ever be doing something like this again. I did enjoy dealing with multimedia though and would much prefer to work with different methods of story telling that aren't mostly text-based and use different forms of media to lead the viewer through the plot line.

Pressure!

2010-07-27T00:09:00.003+01:00

Thursday is the launch of this project. Still have things to do but have almost no time. I have spent a few hours today going out and getting pictures along Duffy's journey for the story. I have 'Geotagged' the photos and embedded them into a Google Map. Took a little while to get right, but I'm happy with the result. I just didn't have time to do the short film I wanted to make.

I now have to finish writing the story. It's getting late though so may leave that til the morning or take a few hours sleep first. Not long left on this project and the deadline that has clashed with my work situation has really put me off writing. I'm working nearly 12 hours a days at the moment, every day of the week and trying to fit this in has been near impossible. It was something I always fancied having a go at, but I don't think I'll ever be doing it again. It's been tainted for me now and I just think my time is better spent on creative things where I have more natural talent.

Final Day

2010-05-21T12:41:00.007+01:00

It was the final day of the group meetings yesterday. There's still lots and lots to do, but yesterday was the last day we'll meet up at the library. Jenn - the published writer whose advising the group - is having a baby and it's about to drop, so it's not really practical to hold the meetings unless we have a midwife present.

I had done a little more work on my story, I think it's about 2/3rds complete now with just the wrapping up left to do. I think I've set the frame of the main character pretty well but some bits are really clumsy to me. The passage where I'm trying to explain the relations between Duffy, Nathan and Victoria is just horrid and needs reworking I feel. There's a few others too - but the stuff doesn't have to be completed now until the beginning of July so there's a little time to fit that in now. I hope I can get something I'm happy with.

There was a good meeting yesterday. Plenty of chat and banter. We started with some discussion about the launch of the final site and the stories and the choice of venue where that party will be held. I really want somewhere with a bar if they're going to ask us to get up and do a public reading.

Hmm... Elaine has created a to-do list for us all as homework. I get the feeling she that she feels where not moving fast enough towards our goal. That's my to-do list on the left. I've actually done most of the stuff already, just hadn't got round to telling people 'n stuff.

Rob, the chap who joined the course half way through, read out his story. He said he's wrote lots of things... poems, short stories even a 'novel here and there' ... so he has a lot of experience doing this, so I can imagine myself picking his brains a lot as I've never wrote

I got some ideas for vaguely linking his story to mine also, as I have some school kids in my story so I was thinking of having them smoking cigarettes, which is something that features strongly in his story.

After that everyone started talking about authors and poets. I felt totally out of my depth as this kind of thing is completely new to me. People like Caroline Duffy, Sylvia Platt and Ally Smith... 'ever heard of any of them? I hadn't I felt so ignorant. Really. Seems Jenn and Margeret have similar tastes though, whilst Rob has completely contrasting preferences. During that chat Jenn mentioned a guy called Andrew Motion. (Since the conversation I've read a poem of his!) She said she met him once, and related some tale to us of when they met. I liked the sound of him. He sounded interesting at least, apparently Jensen said he's a Poet Laureate - that's a poet appointed by the King or Queen at the time. Jensen is generally quiet. He's from Hoylake and likes Tech, we don't talk much but I like him, he's got a cool, chilled out air about him.

I've done the next bit of the story I wrote for yesterday's meeting - I didn't read it at the meeting - I didn't really want to - I'm not sure if I like it, it came from a different place - not to far away from the centre of my creativity, just a few roads away. But, somewhere I'm not that familiar with yet and - to be honest - the streets here don't look as curious as the place I normally reside. Anyhow, if you remember the last part of my story then you should also remember that Duffy was just getting off the ferry after gurning at some lady who was eyeing him. If not then it's posted here - you may want to go back and read it.

As the gangplank lowered and the commuters disembarked, Duffy hung back, scouting to see where Nathan had gone. As usual, he couldn't spot him and assumed he'd gone ahead. Duffy rode his bike off the boat, along the wharf, past the sign that says 'No Cycling' and then up the ramp to the terminal building. The ticket-master recognised Duffy and nodded. Duffy passed the guard without having to flash his annual ferry pass.

As duffy exited the terminal building he managed to get a glimpse of Nathan riding around the corner towards Hamilton Square Station. Since the incidient Nathan had never bothered to wait for Duffy. It was same day that he had asked Duffy to read the letter he was planning to give to his sister. The letter started with 'Dear Vicky' but should have read 'Dear John'. Duffy felt incredibly sick and angry after reading it. Nathan must have sensed the anger and rode off without him for that reason.

He twisted a gear lever and peddled after him. Today, Duffy had made pact, a deal with the devil- If he could catch up with Nathan then his sister wouldn't be so unhappy. He was sure the devil would even keep his word this time.

He strained upon the pedals and accelerated up the hill towards the station. Quickly glancing around he noticed the roads were free from traffic. Zips past the station and through Hamilton Square. Wings flutter as he sweeps through a flock of pidgeons whilst passing the cenotaph. He notices a young mother and her daughter rationing out stale bread to the birds. He roars at the young girl, purposefully trying to scare her and then mother, in response, throws a crust and hurls abuse at him whilst he rides away.

Bump, Bump. The tyres of the mountain bike drop down the kerb edge onto the road. Duffy noticed a man smoking a cigarette as he whizzed past the cafe bar on the corner of Price Street. His head bows towards the ground, preparing for the long ride down the perfectly straight road ahead. Nathan seems to be even further ahead now, he can see him in the distance, glancing back towards Duffy to check where he is. Duffy's mouth hangs open as he speeds down the road, drawing in oxygen like a bonnet vent on an american hot-rod.

The right turn at Vittoria Street was tricky traveling at this speed and he veered onto the opposite side of the road. Luckily, the nearest motor was some way ahead- he was safe that time.

Lights ahead - Red. What should he do? He must catch Nathan- Vicky's happiness rode upon the results of this race, but if he crashes then he'll lose for sure! His own safety isn't on his mind. Duffy looked up and scouted ahead. Hoping. Praying that the road will be clear.

'Yes,' he thought to himself, 'There's a gap!' A car horn is honked, but only out of the driver's annoyance at Duffy's audacity for crossing, when it's not his turn, not because of the danger involved.
Duffy bunny-hopped onto the pavement opposite the Queens pub and the old Gaumont cinema and then whislted through the iron wrought gates of Birkenhead Park's grand entrance. Down the path onto the carriageway that encircles the park. He'd rode this path so many times before. Every year since 1972 they've held a bike race here because the circuit is exactly 2 miles long and Duffy had taken part many times. The surface is smooth, not as bumpy as the roads outside the park and the buzz from the tyres of his mountain bike seem to ring in his ears. He imagines a swarm of killer bee's behind him, trying to catch him. It drives him to push harder on the pedals. Up through the gears- four, five, six, seven, eight.

He veers of the carrage way down a pathway that leads to oriental style bridge crossing the lake. The 3 steps up and off the bridge would have been a problem for most cyclists but not Duffy. He'd been here before and taught himself to overcome those obstacles.

He rumbled across the wooden bridge. It sounded like thunder. It disturbed the serenity of the swans that drifted near the bridge. The ejaculated themselves from the water and sprinted across it's surface in fear of impending danger.

As he whirred down the paths, across the park, squirrels scattered away from him into the bushes and shrubs. People come here daily to feed them- they're practically domesticated and will happily take food from any hand that feeds them. He glanced down at a scar on his hand and remembered coming here with his mum and Victoria when he was a child. he and his sister had pretended to be squirrels and imitated them by collecting nuts. He enjoyed the pretense so much that he'd tried to catch one of the squirrels, merely so that he could ask it if he could come and live with them for a while. The permenant reminder on his hand was a result of that.

Scouting ahead, he noticed Nathan just approaching the exit of the park. he was sure he'd gained some ground on him. Normally he'd be at the exit by now. Perhaps today actually was the day?
Passing through the lodge gates onto the main road he notices a bunch of kids standing outside the high school. It must be lunch time. As he approaches they heckle him about looking like Bananaman his skin tight yellow cycling jacket. Without thinking, he grabs his water bottle, from the cage on his bike, and soaks them as he passes. Duffy revels in the look of disbeleif on thier faces.

Duffy checks back over his shoulder, firstly to see if any cars are coming before making a right hand turn and secondly to assure himself that the kids aren't chasing him down. Right arm up and out, left pedal down, he leans into a turn and heads into a gradual incline up Slatey Road.

The last bit was 500 words, that bit's about 800. I think I need another 500 to wrap up, but I can easily edit out about 300 I think. So that should be about 1500 words in length.

Shot in the Dark

2010-05-18T15:34:00.000+01:00

Well I went out the other night to do some research for my short story. I decided to try and follow the path my cyclist (Duffy) was going to take on his journey from Hamilton Square to Holt Hill.

I've recently got a new phone and car dock - the Google Nexus One - so thought I'd try recording the journey using the inbuilt video recorder. My girlfriend - Gail - said she'd come along for the trip so you can hear us talking in the background, but the final version will be somewhat better I hope.

After seeing the the movie, I realised this isn't exactly the kind of thing I'm after. It doesn't represent a bike ride enough as the camera doesn't lean in the corners and it doesn't have the joltyness. So I'm going to have to find some way of mounting the camera to my bike I think and then try re-filming the journey during the day.

I was planning on making the movie of the story and then having the story narrated over the top with sound effects thrown over, but I'm not sure if I'm going to get time to do all that before the deadline. I'll see - hopefully it will come together in time without too much effort... well see.

Draft of Main Story

2010-05-13T19:10:00.034+01:00

So since the day trip on the ferry we've been asked to produce a draft of our main story so that the other writers in the group (it feels funny saying that because I don't consider myself a writer) can get an idea of what our stories are about and then we can start to edit links into them to weave to tales together as such.

I have used the first two stories I wrote (The Bike Ride One and Mrs Jones at the Station waiting for the ghost of Billy Jones) as inspiration for my final story.

I've been really busy this week due to all kinds of things happening, like the Nominet Registrar Day in Manchester and the Internet Expo in London, etc. so I wasn't able to fully complete my draft but I managed to do this first 3rd or so and then outline the rest of the plot for the group.

Here's my draft of the first bit:-

After being buffeted about by the winds of the river the butterfly had now perched itself on Duffy's nose. How it had navigated out here to the ferry boat astonished him. How it remained on his nose was simply confounding him.

Duffy was now eye-balling the butterfly intently. It had become a contest to see whom could endure the longest period of time without blinking. Duffy found competition everywhere. Especially amongst the fauna. He wasn't certain if lepidoptera even had eyelids, but that wasn't the point. He wasn't going to blink until it had resigned and flew away.

Droplets formed in his eyes. Onlookers may have mistakenly seen this as appreciation for the moment of omnipotent beauty that was momentarily taking place. He swished his hand just close enough to the butterfly for the draft to drag it away. He then allowed himself to blink and wiped the tears away. His conscious thought it had won the battle, whilst his subconscious knew it had lost, and then self-consciously looked around to see if anyone was watching him. There was only one person at this end of the boat and he was too busy googling at his smart-phone to be concerned about anything around him. The regular ferry commuters generally stayed away from Duffy as he'd a reputation for eccentric and short tempered.

He surveyed the Mersey. Somewhere within him was desire that wished the skies were blue, scattered with occasional cotton wool clouds and that the sun was beating down. He imagined one of Lever Brother's adverts for Persil. Stereotypical white sheets blowing in summer breeze. Kids playing in grassy fields with a yellow Labrador. A picnic on blanket. Unfortunately, this wasn't reality. The day was grey. The sky fuzzy and meaningless clouds suspended themselves over the graces of Liverpool opposite. Dullness hung everywhere.

A metallic voice announced over the tannoy that the ferry was approaching the Woodside Terminal at Hamilton Square. Duffy zipped up his cycling jacket and wheeled his bike towards the gangplank. Dozens of people huddled before the walkway blocking his exit, like rats waiting to race off a sinking ship. He noticed one woman staring at him. He looked at her blankly until the moment she realised he was actually looking back at her and then he gurned at her until she blushed and looked away.

The boat was named 'Daffodil', as she docked at the wharf Duffy noticed Nathan waiting for him amongst the crowd of people waiting to embark. He no longer telephoned Nathan to tell him he was coming to the Wirral on his bike, not since the day they'd had the incident, but somehow he always knew what days he was coming to visit Victoria - his sister - and exactly what ferry he would be arriving on. Duffy suspected that his mother phoned Victoria and in turn she told Nathan what was happening. Nathan and Duffy hadn't said a civil word to each other since that day but still enjoyed cycling together.

Nathan and Duffy loved to hate one another. Duffy was jealous of Nathan for stealing his sister away from him when he married her and Nathan envied Duffy because he could do everything better than him. Collectively they redefined pettiness.

That's all I managed to get completed but I have a plot outline also drawn up and will give this to the group also.

Duffy rides up gangplank
Nathan doesn't wait and rides off
Duffy tries to catch him but never can since the day of the incident when he told him he was planning on leaving Victoria.
Duffy was Angry at him because he didn't want her hurt
Race starts as he tries to catch him up
Zips across Hamilton square
down price street
Then up Vittoria street
queens pub, cinema (a childhood memory here)
archway into park
Across Chinese bridge
Lake ducks and swans
Squirrels - he used to come as a kid with sister and mum. Once tried to collect more nuts than a squirrel. Someone said he was already nuts enough? But he didn't get the joke.
Exit park gates
Birkenhead Park High (small passage to relating to kids taunting him – he sprays water on them from water bottle.)
Slatey Road
Williamson Gallery, (he went there once as kid with school – remebered a watercolour by turner of a volcano woth millions and what he'd do with the money)
Balls Road and Oxton Dental Clinic
Down Hill free-wheel - skips lights at Junction. Remembers This is where Nathan told him he was leaving Victoria.
Hill Climb Up Wilma Road (he Previously felt sick – that was the first day Nathan beat him)
Across St. Catherine's Road
Whetstone Lane
Holt Hill …
day dreams of the day again... Nathan Taunts him at the top
so much blood, but glad he was OK.
Distracted.
Wheel gets caught in grid or something. Accident Occurs
But as he Starts to get up, truck/bus comes.
Blackout, goes to check bike. Tries to push past Driver looking over bike. Nathan talks to him. Says they can't hear him, just like you couldn't hear me.

I'm not sure if the ending is a bit of a clique or predictable, I'd like to know what the groups thought's are and if they have an ideas for the story.

Day Tripper

2010-05-13T11:21:00.005+01:00

The next part of the creative writing course involved us doing some research on the locations we are going to feature in our final short story to help gather some media for the finished peice of work. So collectvely we decided to take a trip on the Mersey Ferry and a visit to Rock Park.

Lou's Shoes

Ticketmaster

Bumper

Dinghy

Wake

Mersey Panoramic

The Ferry

Masterplan

Sand or Stone?

Yesterday

2010-04-20T10:49:00.001+01:00

Did you know Billy Jones, he had a fish shop on Chester Road? He would have been late again, but that was typical for Billy. But this time, like all those other times she knew he wasn't coming. She knew from experience that no matter how many deals she struck with the devil, no matter how many wish bones she tore apart and no matter how valuable the coins she threw into fountain outside the lady lever art gallery, he was never coming back.

She desperately looked towards the skies, and just like on those TV adverts for the lottery that some divine hand would part the clouds and a finger would come down, touch her and change her life. She noticed the skies were blue with occasional white clouds, and the sun was beating down on her making her vision seem whitewashed and surreal. It was a perfect spring day. Inside her she wanted it to be dark, gloomy and raining like a stereotypical set from a B movie, and that at the end of the story everyone would go home and live happily ever after, leaving the fiction on the screen. But this wasn't some sad tale some story teller jotted down in a few minutes. This was it, this was her life and the only one she knew and her loss was real.

The pain wrenched at her gut like she hadn't eaten in days, it sent waves of cold shivers through her body leaving her senseless and distant. Distant - that was the word her family used to describe her and was probably the only thing they'd ever been able to agree upon. It seemed to her like all they ever did was argue. Mostly about her. Just inside ears reach. Arguing - but with the volume turned down, almost like a whisper - about how to put Humpty back to together again. She was treated like some troubled teenager whose problems could be solved by some patronising 4-stage plan of action.

She been standing on Port Sunlight railway platform for many hours, and even though the sun was shining, the stone cold from the platform had penetrated her bones and was working its way up her legs. She found some harmony in the pain that it brought. Like a companion who knew how she felt and just spent time with her without saying a word, without trying to fix things. Just loving her and being there. Just like Billy used too.

Her eyes welled and quietly inside she was sobbing, beating her hands on the ghost of Billy who had just got off the train. Blaming him for not coming home that day. It was a bad habit, but she'd done this every year since the tragedy and just like all bad habits, now she couldn't stop. The anniversary of this day had become the single way she could pry open the shell of her soul and release some of the pain that she nurtured inside her.

“Will all passengers please stand back from the platform, the next train is not stopping,” a speaker announced somewhere in the station in a metallic voice.

She'd thought about jumping so many times, just one step onto the rails and all this pain would be gone. But that wasn't her way – too dramatic – she didn't want the attention – she just wanted people to leave her and her misery alone. The insurance payout meant she needn't do anything ever again. Billy was still looking after her in some sense and she found a mustard seed of comfort in that.

But the money also brought the chains of responsibility from the family who thought they needed to fix her. Ugly souls, repulsive, she just wanted rid of them. Subliminal greed trying to make their own lives better, unable to see the pigs that they really were.

In her mind she imagined the memory of Billy stepping off the train. Glancing round. Seeing her. Running towards her. Then an embrace. Kiss. Perhaps all the old black and white movies she'd been watching recently were influencing her mind, but she really didn't care – the hope of remaining sane died shortly after him. It was getting harder to remember their times together nowadays. The embers of memory that once glowed in her mind had begun to dim and she didn't mind fanning them with her imagination, It was the only chance to experience new things with Billy.

The guard tentatively walked towards her, “Excuse me Mrs Jones, but the station is about to close and you'll have to leave.” He'd seen her here every year he'd worked there, everybody knew her and why she was there. They tidied up the station especially. In fact, the station had won awards for being the best kept station on the Wirral. It was an unspoken memorial to Billy Jones. And on the 15th April every year she'd stand there all day. Waiting and hoping in vain. She turned towards the guard, her eyes glazed with tears.

She said to, “Did you know Billy Jones, he had a fish shop on the Chester Road?”

Tomorrow

2010-04-15T09:11:00.005+01:00

The whole place was littered with water bottles. Carbon, matt, grey, dark, looking like autumn leaves, scattered across the ground. Hundreds of them. It was not what I expected to see after calling at Steve's house for our Sunday morning bike ride, but it also wasn't an unusual event in the timeline of our friendship.

“Steve, why do you have dozens of carbon fibre water bottles scattered across the floor?” I questioned.

Steve stated, “It's the Montgomery Hill circuit race next week and the boss wants to give each participant a bottle as a gift from the club sponsors.”

“Generous, but isn't carbon fibre wasted on water bottles?”

“Not really, its very light, so it saves weight, which saves energy when going up the hills.”

“But it's full of water, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.”

Steve wheeled his bike from the back room of the house through the autumnal living room and then out the front door to join me. I noticed his bike had two of the carbon fibre water bottles attached to his bike and he handed me another two, full of Gaterade, for my own bike.

“Here you go buddy, have a couple, they're really cool,” he said matter of factly. Steve is very easy-going person and generous when he can afford to be.

“Let's be off, any idea where you want to go to today?”

I wasn't bothered, when I'm on my bike I'm just a big kid and I was a little like him - considered easy going. By matter of habit we always spent the next few minutes riding at a slow place to warm up whilst deciding on where we would head for that morning. As usual this resulted in a trip from his house in New Brighton along the promenade past the fortress known Castle Rock standing solitary on the shore front whilst peering upon the Liverpool waterfront with an aura of Lordiness. Past the Leasowe Castle Hotel, then past the nature reserve at the Lighthouse, onwards towards the ship moorings at Meols, through Hoylake and it's Regal Golf Course.

Hoylake is a strange place, full of pubs, wine bars and restaurants but inhabited mostly by alien looking grey haired, grey skinned fogies who are seeing out their last days and last money in the pleasant beach-side surroundings and absorbed in the trivial grapevine of village life.

We usually took a meander through Caldy hills, looking at the mansion houses owned by arrogant footballers from all over the world, creative entrepreneurs and dodgy councillors, whilst trying to catch a glimpse of some wag or tail. Today was different though. Up the hill as West Kirby... guttural anticipation, throbbing veins, head dizzy, legs burning, lungs tingling, adrenaline rushing. Racing, friendly competition, getting higher, faster, enjoyment, thrill.

Then the top, relaxation, free air - filling the lungs, ease of pressure - lactic acid breakdown. I turned my head too look over my shoulder. A quick look back down the hill as a reward for the sprint up the hill and I catch a glimpse of the Hilbre Island just off the coast. Beautiful, tide teasingly brushing up against it's shore as it starts to sweep over the wind-swept sands separating it from the shore.

Then I look away, back towards the direction I'm heading.

“SHIT!”

My front wheel clips the back of Steve's bike as he slows and I fail to notice due to my attention being grabbed by the omnipotent beauty of nature. Wheels rub, friction burns, instant adrenaline , balance toppled, critical mass overthrown. Then slow motion, my arms reach forward to break my fall, preparing to roll so not to lose to much skin and Lycra to the gravel that begs to grate at my flesh. My attempt to abandon ship fails, forgetting my feet are clamped to my pedals and thus my attempt to roll and save some damage are beaten by the bike that I love so much holding on to my feel, not letting me go. The gravel grins at me, firstly shredding my wrist, then my forearm, moving up to my shoulder, hip, then finally grinding my thigh.

Signals rush to my brain, but there's no pain, not yet, but I can feel the coldness of the grazes on my body. The lack of skin and a cool breeze blowing me – teasing me towards the pain that will arrive shortly. Still too much adrenaline in my system to feel that right now though. I look back to check that no vehicles are going to pound me whilst I'm down, but today I'm lucky and the road is clear.

My mind looks at Steve, I see shock and concern, but also disappointment. Is that because I was clumsy and he thought better of my intellect not to do something so clumsy, or because he instantly knows that the bike ride has ended for today?

Still, there's always tomorrow, isn't there?

First Contact

2010-04-15T07:11:00.005+01:00

Well I got the first meeting over. There's a scan of the mind-map for it on the right. Everyone is really nice, a few people where missing though - so I will reserve judgement for now. They have asked everyone to write something. The short story has to begin with a sentance from of a short list that Jenn Ashworth wrote down during the first session (that I missed). It's supposed to be 'free-writing' exercise - that means we just randomly write from our imagination for 15 minutes or so, without editing.

I found that very hard to do... not the writing, but the stopping after 15 mins. I think I spent about 25-30 minutes on my story... and then couldn't help editing a few typos and sentances that didn't make sense - especially as I use a word processor to do any writing/drafting within to start with. Anyhow it was a great exercise and really got me into the mode of writing. Here's my first short story... I called it Tomorrow.

Experiment

2010-04-07T14:59:00.001+01:00

A few weeks ago I heard on Facebook of some creative writing project that was looking for volunteers. I've always wanted to have a dabble at writing as it's something I've never really done it before but fancied having a go at, and I think it would also be nice to know more about it. So I enquired about it and got told about the project that is planning to document a little about Wirral life for the Biennial Project.

I missed the first week of the course due to taking Gail and her kids to London for a bit of a break. Had a great time there, so wasn't disappointed.

So, now I'm back on the Wirral and tomorrow is the my first meeting day with the writing group. Apparently there's 7 or so people in the group - along with project manager called Elaine Speight and the prize winning author - Jenn Ashworth. So it should be a interesting... I think it's particularly cool having someone there with a lot of writing experience. I need the help to be honest.

I'm a bit nervous about the whole thing really, especially since they have already met and I'm the new one, it kind of feels like being the new kid at school.