A Double Bill Of Sensory Stuffed Writing Bursts

(A treat for you all: two relatively short writing bursts from Julie's lecture this week, both based upon the involvement of evoking the senses to create a very thorough and vividly realistic image through the words. The first is the exploration and description of a place in which the writing - more specifically the writer - had to go somewhere. I chose Thailand, a place I visited last summer, namely the beach nearest the hotel in which we were staying.)


My toes seep slowly downwards into the hot moist sand as I make my way along the beach. Every now and then they find a weathered cockle shell and I stop to pick each one up, feeling their smooth surfaces between my fingers and curiously wondering where each one might have come from. The only sounds that punctuate the comforting air are the gentle breaking of waves around my feet and the occasional seabird overhead.

The sea itself is a perfect shade of azure blue, the sky reflected in it consisting of a similar colour. Clear and undisturbed. And as you would expect, the smell of saltwater fills my nostrils, almost overwhelming the lingering taste of the creamy vanilla ice cream I ate earlier. Still, it's not an uncomfortable scent.

I stop and stare out onto the sapphire horizon. The silently fragrant Thai air is still and calm around me. I could stay this way forever.


(The second piece is focused more upon sensory deprivation. We were not allowed to include any visual aspects in the piece, rather to focus on the other four senses and build up a picture from these. This proved to be a much more challenging task, as you can probably tell from the length of this one in relation to my other writing bursts!!) 


I run my hand down the rough bark of the tree until I make contact with the ground. Beneath the spongy moss that lies like a carpet around the roots, my fingers find earth. I pick up a handful and crumble it between my fingertips, the sound of the moist dirt falling and then hitting the ground again the only sound to perforate the piercing silence of the forest. Swirling undergrowth tangles around my legs as I stand up and start to move again, the sounds of tiny thorny branch against leaf against tiny thorny branch reaching my ears as I stumble forward. Their spikes catch at my jeans as if trying to hold me back, but I continue walking nonetheless.

Letters From The Dead (A Writing Burst)

(A writing burst set by Julie - apparently in France, over several thousand letters each year are sent to the dead. Our task was simple: write a letter back. I decided to take my usual darker tone and write a reply to one of these letters from a revenge-seeking ex-friend.) 

Dear Celiná, 

Thank you for your letter dated Lundi le 4 Janvier1, I thoroughly enjoyed reading through your pointless colloquialism about how you're happy with your life right now and that everything seems to be going ever so perfectly for you right now. My favourite part however was the persistent lies that you're really looking forward to seeing me again. But don't worry about that my dear friend, you will be seeing me again.

Remember how, as children, you were always the one to have the best dolls, the best clothes, the most stable family? Remember how, throughout school and college you were always the prettiest, most popular, the best at sports? And remember how you always insisted that you were my best friend and stuck with me no matter what?

Remember the bullying, teasing; the name-calling, hair-pulling little Salope2 that you could be sometimes. The biting, hitting, kicking you did whilst all the while you insisted that you were my meilleur amie3. Yeah, me too.

Now do you remember the car crash? Oh wait Celiná, that's one part that you're in the dark about. The other car came out of nowhere one day while I was sat at the red light, and in a heartbeat the breath was knocked from my lungs, the life from my body.

So you see, now you've remembered making my life a misery, remember (or at least, let me enlighten you as to) the present situation that your dear deceased friend now finds herself in. And just remember Celiná, you'll be seeing me soon. And I'll sure as hell make sure that you truly do remember exactly everything that you put me through.

Yours, Amelié.



1  Monday, January 4th 
2  Bitch
3  Best friend