Tag Archives: creative writing

The Fire Seller

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outside Montréal Musée des Beaux Arts, summer 2015The fire seller is always there on Tuesdays. Only Tuesdays.

Even before I see her, I hear her calling out in that high-pitched, slightly raspy voice of hers: “Flames for sale. Pretty flames for sale. Seven-a-penny. Special price! Today only! Sweet, bright flames for sale.”

Don’t worry. I’m not going to buy any. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a law-abiding citizen. I know it’s illegal.

But after work on Tuesdays, especially if I’m tired and feeling useless to the world, and if the sky is overcast and heavy, what’s the harm in Continue reading →

A One In Six Chance

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iciclesMid-February!

On the other side of the window, icicles, and beyond them, the children’s playground, white and desolate.

Old George shivers. He longs for spring, for crab apple blossom and tulips.

IMG_3433He longs for summer, for hot blue skies, for dahlias and peonies, for dragonflies, and ice cream cones that you have to eat fast, before they melt, for the shrieks and laughter of the kids playing on the swings and slides and splashing in the wading pool.

The pool!

Instantly he thinks of typewriters and young women.

Specifically, of the young women in ‘the pool’ as they called it in those days. ‘Girls.’ That’s what they were then.

Long ago, yes, but he still remembers lifting the receiver of the black phone, waiting for the dial tone, listening for a moment to the muffled laughter and clacking typewriters at the other end, then saying those magic words Continue reading →

Of The North-East Corner

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detail of "Untitled" by Mimmo Paladino, 2002

I am the Defender of the North East Corner. Once a privilege, now a penance. For who wishes to linger beyond one’s given time? To see one’s world become strange, then stranger still?

In days long gone, before the sprouting of the concrete forest, when I stood in open country among grasses and brooks beneath an endless sky, the old people spoke often of the Grey Lizard.

Fortresses were built, Defenders sent out to all Corners. Who hears the Grey Lizard’s name now?

Yet, as Defender of the North East Corner, I made my pledge. First, to offer the bowl of friendship, as that is our way. Then, should the Lizard refuse to drink, to raise the alarm and protect this Corner to the end.

So here I stand, although I grow weary and am mocked, addressed not by my illustrious Defender title but as ‘moron’ and ‘weirdo’ by those that leap from the horseless chariots they call ‘bus’ and ‘car.’ Go back, they tell me, to where you came from.

Still I wait, in snow and sun alike, ready to fulfill my solemn oath.

"Untitled" by Mimmo Paladino, 2002

When the Grey Lizard comes, will we stand firm and fight? For fight we must. The bowl of friendship is broken now, cracked with age, the milk drained.

Has the Lizard lost its strength over the aeons? Have I? Will one of us hesitate, turn away and take flight? Will it be the Lizard? Or me?

Why would the Lizard take flight? Why would it fear me? I have only this shield left. See how the birds alight on it. They have no fear of me.

Listen to their merry chirruping.

How glad I am of them.

detail of "Untitled" by Mimmo Paladino, 2002

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“Untitled” by Mimmo Paladino (2002) stands at the north-east corner of rue Sherbrooke and rue Musée, beside the Erskine and American United Church which is now part of the Montréal Musée des Beaux Arts.

See other magnificent Mimmo Paladino sculptures.

Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge Life Imitates Art – “find inspiration in a piece of art, and go further: imitate it.”

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2016 is my Year of the Blurt: each week I’ll take advantage of an odd spare moment or two to write something very quickly. Probably the blurts will mostly be fiction, but who knows! Will I be able to meet the challenge of posting one every Thursday through the year? Thank you for reading this blurt.

Please note: all material on this website, except for comments by others, is © Susi Lovell.

What Has Hands But Cannot Clap?

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IMG_1048George has always made it a priority to save time. A few seconds here, a minute or two there.

They add up to hours, days and weeks in next to no time.

He locks them away in a large safe at the back of the cupboard in the upstairs room on the right.

His rainy day savings, he calls them.

He’s found he can save a good six minutes by cutting through the alleyway instead of going the long way round from the train station to the office, even though that means stepping over unidentifiable black messes seeping from the overflowing garbage bins and having rats run squealing Continue reading →

That Night At The Circus

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Cirque du Soleil Big Top - Montreal Vieux Port

It was her vibrant contralto that made her such a valuable addition to the circus. That, and her winning smile and ability to transform into any form suggested by random members of the audience. Rock, waterfall, leopard, begonia, soup spoon… All was possible. (Once, to the audience’s horror, some idiot called out “skunk.”)

The Invisible Circus, BristolThe Ringmaster permitted only three transformations a night. He felt more would be detrimental to her health. Transformation was an exhausting process, even for her, to whom it came so naturally. In any case, three, the Ringmaster maintained, had scientifically been proven to be a lucky number.

Not so lucky if you were Snow White, argued one of the tightrope walkers, but he was well known as a troublemaker, and we all knew that story turned out fine in the end.

The little boy should never have been admitted. Everyone is now agreed on that, even if at first some said it was all her own fault. She’d always been able Continue reading →

The Optimism Project

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Chinese Gardens, Montreal Botanical Gardens 2015Optimism? Three whole pages? What sort of a school project is that? When I was your age, I was doing sums, finding the highest mountain in the world in the atlas, looking at leaves through a magnifying glass, important stuff like that. What will the world come to if all you kids do is think about optimism?

Your dad shouldn’t have sent you to me, my dear. I’m the family pessimist as he well knows. As far as I’m concerned, optimism is for the birds. Think everything will end up in a rosy glow? It depends on the occasion, that’s all I know. Some things will turn out well, others won’t. And you better be prepared when it doesn’t.

I learned pessimism from Charlie Frent in elementary school. Playing conkers in class, he was, when all of a sudden his conker got the teacher in the back of the head. Next thing we knew, Charlie was over his desk being whacked on his behind with a ruler.

That did it for me. Charlie didn’t give a…I mean, he wasn’t fazed at all. Although who can read another’s mind, especially at the age of seven? He just gave the teacher the finger (behind his back of course) but I was marked forever.

Never see a conker, but that I remember the lesson I learned that day: always watch out because just when you’re having fun, you get whacked on the behind.

What? Well, that may be so nowadays, but back in my day teachers were allowed to. But there, the past is past and you’re young and you need to write three pages on optimism for your teacher. Let’s see if I can dredge up something for you.

Hm….

Hm…. It’s a shame your Uncle Freddy isn’t here.

Make a cup of tea, why don’t you, dear? That might help.

Hm…

It’s not so easy this optimism lark. Get out the dictionary, there’s a love. “Hopefulness and confidence about the future.” Hm… What with the Continue reading →

The Silk Painter

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The Silk Painter

The ivory silk stretched taut on the frame, tethered by pins at each end. Her brush whispered down the length of it, slashes of red dye instantly softening.

“You’ve been doing this for many years,” he said.

“I’ve been doing this for many years,” she agreed. Now the blue. Now a golden ray. She sprinkled salt and the ray burst into a thousand suns.

She was aware of him hovering, watching, searching for some clue. But she was not there to provide him with clues. Those he had to find for himself.

Next she chose black. This black wasn’t to hide, but to reveal.

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2016 is my year of the Thursday Blurt. These are quick-writes, when I take advantage of a spare five, ten minutes and write whatever comes to mind, starting with something tangible, something I can see, smell, taste or hear or touch as I start to write. If the blurt turns out to be a story, great. If it doesn’t, tant pis.

Please note: all stories and material on this website, except for comments by others, are © Susi Lovell .

The Low Green Door

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“The Low Green Door” is the first of my weekly writing ‘blurts’. You can read why I decided to make this my 2016 New Year’s Resolution here.

 

The Low Green Door

That girl with the curly hair, she looks like a kid out of a storybook, the kind of kid that nips through a low green door half-hidden by brambles and roses and wisteria, the kind you go through and then can’t find again so you Continue reading →

New Year’s Resolution? Blurt Writing!

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Quebec City

Towards the end of 2015 I went for three days to Quebec City.

When I go away I like to write a story a day but I knew I wouldn’t have time to write much in Quebec City. There were simply too many interesting things to do there in too short a time.

So I decided to write ‘blurts’ – five or so minute writing sprints whenever I had the opportunity. While waiting in a line or for a coffee, or for my husband to finish the crossword…

I had such a great time with these blurts – so many surprises and rewards – that I decided I wanted to keep them part of my regular writing life.Quebec City

A huge plus is that they provide me with much needed zaps of creative energy as I continue to work on a longer manuscript, re-writing and editing work that I’ve re-written and edited over a fairly long period of time.

The problem? Even though I know there are plenty of five/ten minute periods when I could easily sit down and write, back home in my regular routine they seem to slide past without me picking up a pen.

How to keep myself writing blurts? Continue reading →

The Way We Walk: Writing Lesson From a Tight Skirt

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The road was closed for infrastructure repairs. Although the sidewalk was open, a huge machine at one end of the road was sending clouds of dust and grit into the air.

To get away from the dust, I turned left into an alley. As I squeezed past the big truck blocking the alley, a large shiny SUV swung in at the other end.

The SUV paused halfway along the alley, clearly waiting for the truck to move out of the way. The truck driver’s door hung open and there was no sign of him. In any case the road was blocked, so there was no way the SUV would be able to get through.

The SUV horn blared Continue reading →