A bit of fun

Free writing is a technique which does away with rules.
Forget form and style and grammar, don’t even worry about spelling. Simple sit down – or, if you prefer, stand, slouch or lie down – and start writing. The first thing that pops into your head, and keep writing until you’ve had enough. To make it even more fun, set restrictions. A random prompt (you can use a random word generator). Or limit yourself to 1 or 2-syllable words only. Write 5/50/100/250-word-exactly story. Write dialogue only. Write from an animal’s point of view. Write in a particular time or setting. Play Flesh Cricket, i.e. one person reads out random words every 30 seconds, others incorporate those words in their writing, as they go. If you normally write prose, try your hand at poetry, and vice versa.
Free writing is an excuse to have fun with words and grammar. It is a game you can’t lose.

A Waggle of Geese

There once was a gaggle of geese,
Who begged a cow for some cheese.
Cow said not a chance,
Unless you can dance.
Then laughed at the waggle of geese.


By Karin Maatman, 8 October 2024

Writing East Midlands, Beyond the Spectrum meet-up. Prompt: Write a limerick.

A Wily Old Crone

There once was a wily old crone,
Who turned a banana to stone.
She took a big bite,
Her teeth shrunk a mite.
Now her name is Witch Dentures Stone.


By Karin Maatman, 8 October 2024

Writing East Midlands, Beyond the Spectrum meet-up. Prompt: Write a limerick.

What am I

See, hear, feel it all.
Still, they say, I see, I hear, I feel, not a thing at all.
They are not like me; I’m not like them.
What is a heart? What makes a soul?
A kind word.
A light touch.
A soft ‘I love you.’ That I can do, too, all three.
Then what are they, that I am not?
They are men.
I am, A.I.

By Karin Maatman, 1 October 2024

Writing East Midlands, Beyond the Spectrum meet-up. Prompt: Write a piece, using one-syllable words only.

You win

Your eyes challenge me, at the injustice of it all.
Dark, hypnotising eyes.
I hear your cry, silent yet deafening, “It’s so cold outside.”
I hide my glass, not wanting to upset you any further.
Still you raise your tiny little hands defensively.
Your hair glows, a brilliant shade of reddish brown.
Your legs – are they shaking? – take a tentative step forward, each little one of them.
Then back again. Rushed, terrified, backed into a corner.
I smile, laugh, you’ve won.
I’ll bow out now.
Today the stairs are yours, and yours alone, my gorgeous, beguiling arachnid.

By Karin Maatman, 1 October 2024

Writing East Midlands, Beyond the Spectrum meet-up. Prompt: 100 words.

Our Last Steps

As we nervously queue to enter our new worlds, I sway between excitement and fear. What do we actually know about our saviours? Only a few hours ago, it appeared in the sky. A golden belt surrounded our planet and, as it absorbed the sunlight, it resembled a giant donut, frying in the sky. While our world powers depleted the un-might of their defences on an untouchable enemy, the rest of us waited, watching the flares as they ricocheted between the glowing band and Earth’s atmosphere. When our world leaders finally ran out of ammunition, the ensuing silence, which preceded our first contact, was deafening.

Screens around the world sprang back to life, as our new rulers made their address: “Dear Earthlings, there is no need for concern about your leaders’ violent welcome. We expected this reception and came prepared. We will not hold it against you as a species. The motivation of our visit is the incident of a powerful sun flare, which will imminently set your planet ablaze. To save your kind, we decided to relocate all citizens of Earth. Designation of your new posts has been determined based on suitability, temperament and interests. Family units will remain intact. We are currently setting up portals for transportation, which will commence in five Earth minutes. However, relocation is only available to those who were not allocated space in shelters. Any persons who were informed of this disaster and assigned a place in a shelter, should proceed to, and enter their place of safety as planned. We advise you not to exit until at least 8128 Earth days have past. All other humans are invited to move to a new home in this Cosmos, in one of your five neighbouring Universes. Please, depart your residence and make your way to the nearest portal. Transport of other Earth species has already commenced.”

It may sound disrespectful, and disrespectful is the last thing you’d want to be in the face of extra-terrestrial visitors who dropped in to save your bacon, but really, they look like donuts. Six-feet-tall golden hoops, shimmering with icing, inviting us to step through a tall circular portal. My better half, whose hand is clasped in a bruising grip which until today I didn’t realise I possessed, prefers to refer to them as halos. And I guess he’s right, we should reserve our disdain for our leaders and politicians, who appropriated a place of safety whilst leaving their loyal taxpayers out to fry.

We are almost there now. Bluebell and Banjo, our cats, disappeared before we left our home, and the family in front of us said their goldfish, Sharkfin, vanished from his bowl during the broadcast. I see all four of them holding hands as they step through the giant donut, sorry, halo, set up at the corner of our street. It’s our turn. As we take our last steps on our birth planet, I catch a glimpse of our new home. It is stunning.

By Karin Maatman, March 2019

First published: 'The 500', March 2019

HIDING

This is what she hated most, breaks.
Tea breaks, lunch breaks, unfamiliar faces, groups of chatting strangers, noise everywhere.
She wondered how they did it, while she tried to hide in plain sight.
Was it too soon to go to the loo, again?
She wished she was invisible.

By Karin Maatman, 1 November 2018

Runner-up in the CBCreative monthly challenge

Lateral Thinking

Lizzy watched her brother ride a bicycle.
“Mummy, I want to ride a bicycle.”
“As soon as your legs are long enough to reach the pedals, my darling.”

Lizzy watched her daddy drive a car.
“Mummy, I want to drive a car.”
“As soon as your legs are long enough to reach the pedals, my darling.”

Lizzy watched her mummy fly a plane.
“Daddy, I want to go and fly a plane.”
“As soon as your legs are long enough to reach the pedals, my darling.”

She watched the plane take off.
“Where are Lizzy and those stilts, my darling?”

By Karin Maatman, September 2018

First published: 100-word Drabble at BookHippo.uk, 28 September 2018