It’s like a line to a memory the park can’t get rid of. A reminder every year that there are different paths to take. And even the ones we’re now encouraged to follow will change too one day.

Or we can make our own… and you know, probably will. If it’s more direct and so makes more sense!

It’s not her fault the hotel walls are so thin. She’s almost looking forward to breakfast so she can guess who made so much noise. How is she expected to sleep? And with her meeting tomorrow. She puts the glass back to the wall to listen again. Yes, really disgusting.

You can read more 50 word photostories here.

It’s a great idea, and you can read other stories based on other rubbish at Throwaway Lines here.

Here’s how my story starts…

I remember that summer was a time when love became a verb, and not just a noun.

You remember instead how days started overflowing with too many adjectives. Life was upholstered so tightly with beautifuls, and specials, and happily ever afters that you thought you might suffocate.

Many thanks to my editor, Neil Baker, and Andy Hayes for letting me play.

I hope you enjoy!

*I think you can tell I’m not fully expert on video recording yet! Since this one, I’ve invested in a tripod. This is a wonderful learning experience. Also as I go on, it *might* get less cold!

The first is a series of three workshops for Mslexia magazine and adapted from a chapter in the Short Circuit book about writing short stories. In it, I explore how you can successfully use the stories you hear from your family, your friends and the news in your fiction and STILL STAY FRIENDS! You can read more here

And the second is an A to Z of ideas for writing flash fiction.

Write on!

She was Canterbury Festival Poet of the Year 2007–2008 and the winner of the 2010 competition for a poem to represent Margate. There are many things I respect her for, but number one might be her work as a co-founder of WordAid, a Kent collective that publishes poetry to raise money for charity – so far the organisation has raised around £8,000 for Children in Need, ShelterBox, Dementia UK and other charities, see here and buy one. I really recommend the rich mix of voices inside.

You can read one of Vicky’s poems London Bus, here but for now, let’s have her finish my sentences.

When you were small, you wanted to … be a nurse. It didn’t occur to me that I could be a writer, or an artist, or even a journalist. Then one day my grandmother tripped and fell over the kitchen step and I ran away. Once she’d recovered, she said: “A fine nurse you’d make.” And I realised that being squeamish and afraid of blood and scared by people in pain might not be a great starting point for a career in medicine. My next idea was a bilingual secretary so I learned to type, which I’ve never regretted. Both were classic girls’ helping roles. At university I recognised that my first love was books and so went into publishing. Editing too is a classic helping role – always the midwife, never the mother. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I found out I could write too.

The one thing you can never resist is … the sea. I feel a perverse desire to dip my toes in, no matter how cold.

You may not say it aloud but… I ooze tears at the slightest provocation. When I was about seven my mother was shocked to find me in floods when she came home from visiting a friend. I didn’t dare tell her what the matter was, she panicked in case I was ill, and eventually I managed to sob out: “It’s Heidi!” Nowadays I’m particularly vulnerable to people trying and unexpectedly succeeding, or people showing or receiving unexpected kindness. Jim’ll Fix It, Ground Force and An Island Parish have all seen me weeping in the past. ‘Sweet is the Melody’ by Iris DeMent expresses it better than I can.

The last time you went ‘WOOP’ with excitement was … when I completed setting up a website for a project I’ve done with my stepdaughter. This is shameless self-advertisement, but if you want a Dorset writing retreat, then visit us here.

Your five favourite words are …. possibility, reflection, distillation, dance, aubergine.

Anyone interested in poetry and writing in Kent will probably know Vicky already. Or may have seen her around busy making sure poetry is part of our lives…

She was Canterbury Festival Poet of the Year 2007–2008 and the winner of the 2010 competition for a poem to represent Margate. There are many things I respect her for, but number one might be her work as a co-founder of WordAid, a Kent collective that publishes poetry to raise money for charity – so far the organisation has raised around £8,000 for Children in Need, ShelterBox, Dementia UK and other charities, see here and buy one. I really recommend the rich mix of voices inside.

You can read one of Vicky’s poems London Bus, here but for now, let’s have her finish my sentences.

When you were small, you wanted to … be a nurse. It didn’t occur to me that I could be a writer, or an artist, or even a journalist. Then one day my grandmother tripped and fell over the kitchen step and I ran away. Once she’d recovered, she said: “A fine nurse you’d make.” And I realised that being squeamish and afraid of blood and scared by people in pain might not be a great starting point for a career in medicine. My next idea was a bilingual secretary so I learned to type, which I’ve never regretted. Both were classic girls’ helping roles. At university I recognised that my first love was books and so went into publishing. Editing too is a classic helping role – always the midwife, never the mother. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I found out I could write too.

The one thing you can never resist is … the sea. I feel a perverse desire to dip my toes in, no matter how cold.

You may not say it aloud but… I ooze tears at the slightest provocation. When I was about seven my mother was shocked to find me in floods when she came home from visiting a friend. I didn’t dare tell her what the matter was, she panicked in case I was ill, and eventually I managed to sob out: “It’s Heidi!” Nowadays I’m particularly vulnerable to people trying and unexpectedly succeeding, or people showing or receiving unexpected kindness. Jim’ll Fix It, Ground Force and An Island Parish have all seen me weeping in the past. ‘Sweet is the Melody’ by Iris DeMent expresses it better than I can.

The last time you went ‘WOOP’ with excitement was … when I completed setting up a website for a project I’ve done with my stepdaughter. This is shameless self-advertisement, but if you want a Dorset writing retreat, then visit us here.

Your five favourite words are …. possibility, reflection, distillation, dance, aubergine.

Thanks Vicky! And I had to do this, didn’t I? I know you’ll understand….

And you can find more Five Sentences here…

* With Maggie Harris
* With Dan Purdue
* With Peggy Riley
* With Anthony McGowan
* With Tania Hershman
* With Abegail Morley.
* With John Siddique.
* With Clare Best.
* With Scott Pack.
* With Jonathan Pinnock.

1. Be personal
2. Be vulnerable
3. Make people laugh/cry
4. Do something the audience will remember forever
5. Say something you’ve never said before
6. Share an idea that could change the world
7. Do not pitch for your company or organization
8. Do not go over your allotted time
9. Do not read…. (well OK, this one might not work!!)
10. Rehearse and be spontaneous

And here’s the fabulous Sarah Kay, who does all TEN and then some more…

Then I made a list of other things my hands could do that I never have to think about. Dialling telephone numbers, punching in codes, scratching itches, typing letters, holding other hands at just the right time, feeling in pockets for keys before I get to my front door, wielding spoons, testing washed clothes for dryness. I could have gone on and on, as I realised how my fingers hold many of the memories that keep me functioning.

So I started to write about one particular thing I love doing – playing cards. I wrote only from the point of view of my hands. I described how they held the spray of cards so expertly, how they shuffled the pack, how the fingers could pincer out exactly the particular card I wanted.

And then I stopped and looked at my hands properly. (Write: The first time my hands felt …) When I was a teenager I hated my hands, because they are large and square. I was sure no boy would ever kiss my hands and say they were beautiful, and I was right – although my husband says he likes peasant hands! But let me tell you something that I love. My mother had very small, delicate hands but my index fingernail is exactly the same almond shape as hers was. When she died, I spent some time just feeling the nail, feeling comforted that my daughter had also inherited this particular shape. It’s like a secret shared by the women in my family.

So I carried on my piece about playing cards by writing about what my hands looked like, and then I tried to describe what my mother’s hands looked like. My mother loved playing cards too, and as I was writing, I realised that the way I pulled out a card was exactly the same way she had. With a little flourish and daring.

So I started my piece again. My hands hold the cards just how my mother’s did, I wrote. They play to win. I kept focusing on our hands, and I used this as a way of celebrating both our similarities and our differences. It gave me a distance with which I could explore some quite deep emotions about our relationship, and every so often I came back to the hands and the card-playing which grounded the piece in something real.

I suggest you try it. Not necessarily with your mother or a family member, but with your own hands. Maybe you want to write something more humorous. How about a letter from your left hand to your right hand – hey, why should I always have to do all the work round here?! Or perhaps you could try to describe someone just through their hands alone. What would they tell you about how that person had lived their life? What about a particular moment? (Write: They say your future is written on the palm of your hand …) Perhaps it’s the first time you counted your baby’s fingers, or when you first held hands with your partner. Or when you first saw a shadow puppet show.

It’s a good project to do with children, because their imaginations are so vivid. Ask them what their hands can do, and you will have a list of dreams as well as our more utilitarian purposes. One of my small friends pretends his fingers are mini rockets. If he holds them in a certain way they can break through space. What? Can’t yours? (Write: I had forgotten that my hands could …) Another child I know has a pink plastic ring. Every time she puts it on, she waves as if she is the Queen. She’s mastered the royal wrist-flick perfectly, but somehow she can’t do it without the ring.

And have you ever watched a baby look at their hands, twisting and turning them to see better. They know hands are things of wonder and endless interest. (Write: My baby’s hands were … and now they are …) I think it’s time to take back some of that curiosity for ourselves. After all, part of the fun of writing is when you can make the ordinary into something extra-ordinary. And the thing about hands is that really are quite extra-ordinary in the first place.