How many writers, I wonder, started playing around with fifty word stories and light-hearted poetry, before taking the tentative plunge into writing poetry seriously, or maybe taking a different path and trying their hand at short stories, or even a novel?
Learning of the death of respected poet Seamus Heaney – RIP – I read his poem: ‘Digging’ on http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177017 Do read it TWICE! Coincidence is a strange phenomenon, for when thinking of my own, late father – as I often do – I picture him in gum boots, either carrying a spade, fork or watering can, about to tend his pride and joy: his garden – a delight to behold with multi-hued roses cascading over fences, delphiniums competing with the summer sky and a variety of blooms too numerous to mention here. If and when I write one to ‘sort-of’ match Seamus’ I’ll let you know… Meanwhile, here are a few fifty word stories to – perhaps – get the juices flowing?
He was wheeled unconscious into the ether-pervading theatre. Everything was ready. The surgeon consulted his notes, then carefully amputated the patient’s right leg. It was an easy mistake to make. Right leg facing but patient’s left. Correct patient; wrong leg. “Nobody’s fault” they said, “It could happen to anyone.”
A SMALL DILEMMA
The operating theatre echoed with busy feet and the vasectomy patient’s courage began fading with each passing moment. “Just a little prick,” he heard the nurse say. “It’ll be over soon.” As she raised the syringe, all aspirations disappeared. He jumped off the trolley, escaped home intact, to tea and crumpets!”
Both by Jean Wilson (former U3A member)
”Geoffrey! Long time no see, old boy…How are you? Seen anything of Lionel? Those were the days, eh! America you say?”
“Haven’t heard in ages. Last time he wrote, he was off to have dinner with someone he’d just met. Hannibal Lector he said his name was. Unusual that!”