The turning of paper leaves bathed the room in a soothing sound. An odd
murmur was muttered every so often from the small group in the far corner -
breaking the silence. A man, arms clenched behind his back, strode the
'Literature and History' aisle sternly; his steel blue eyes peering atop the
rim of low slung spectacles. A sudden guffaw shook the room into life, as an
off-task student inhaled her daily feed of gossip. Myriads of scholars,
young and old, milled up and down every set of sturdy shelves. Pens and
books strewn athwart the table - a young man violently scribed upon tired
paper. The ink infected its' sheets - blotching and running, twisting and
twirling. In glided a girl. Swaying her hips to impossible degrees and
sporting nothing but the latest fashion to come off of the Milan catwalk. A
rhythmical clip-clop of her heels turned many heads as her rumbling, crimson
curls rose and fell to the orchestrating whip of the wind that rushed
through the door of that which she left.
Their wings flapped irritably in the winding Ormskirk breeze. Gliding and
drifting erratically, their minds wandered as did their wings. Each one
taking their turn to plunge into the icy water. Rear end vertical for only
moments, before surfacing. Droplets chased and weaved from their feathers in
a hurried fashion as the taunting gale persisted to heave leisurely clouds
away.
Jonathan Clarke
Sat on a dull, grey table, next to a light blue wall. The uncomfortable seat I am sat on is a dark pink colour. The material has a texture that when stared at long enough starts to look like the seat has scales. The library has a constant noisy chatter. One may wonder how a building with so loud with so little books could be referred to as a library at all. On the table adjacent to the one i am sat is a young woman. She is writing with a red pen, rubbing her head as if she is in pain. Sat under a clock as dull as the rest of the furniture filling the room, she also begins to look dull. Rubbing her head and playing with her glasses, with a secretary hair cut and plain beige jumper.
Sat on the couches near her are two people sat next to each other . Both are using laptops of the same make and model. They have a look so similar, you have to wonder if they are sitting next to one another using the laptops to communicate with one another. No use for human speech, simply euphemisms for the cold internet dependant age in which we live. I myself also sadly part of this techno age as not five minutes previous my phone received a text. Vibrating across the desk I fought an urge to see who had disturbed my thoughts.
Viewing the room looking for observations the fire exit catches my interest. The man drawn on the fire exit is running from a fire, through a door outside. The doorway casts light inwards. Surely if there was a fire blazing, the fire would cast a shadow away from its angry blaze, not towards itself. Although if it was so light outside the fiery building, one may ask himself how there could be such a noticeable shadow at all.
In looking for something else to write about my attention is cast to the noisy chatter around me. Eventually with eavesdropping the noisy dribble blurs into one foreign sound i cannot make sense of.
Joe Bolton
Approaching the faculty of health, I glance at the corner room and an image of the late, great Liverpool manager Bill Shankly stares at me through the window. Upon pondering what the class inside is discussing I light a smoke and stand next to a bin overflowing with coffee cups and cigarette ends. An image of nervousness and trepidation all freshers must relate to. Emotions Bill Shankly never endured building my football club into the great institute it became.
I contemplate what to write about while I enjoy my smoke while listening to the din of the construction site, a world behind me both physically and metaphorically. This academic surrounding seems alien to me, the clean, hospitable looking buildings, covered in glass in front of me run in stark contrast to the dirty old town of boarded windows I left behind.
Before my eyes there lies friendly faces, smiling chatting casually with nothing but optimism for the future. It’s as if this place reaffirms in people that their lives are improving, that they are here to better themselves.
But behind my ears there is the stark reminder of what I am leaving behind. The gruelling manual labour the work requires, with little prospects other than sustaining oneself. A world I was born to but never quite accepted.
This campus with its duck pond and varied accents represents to me the chance to progress, to experience something other than the dole queues and drunks fighting.
The siren from the workmen's digger
pervades the calling of the ducks
who splash in the pond leaving ripples
that catch my eye
Another digger drives past, disturbing the peace
I've lost my focus as I observe a group of freshers trying to find
their lecture rooms
People from all walks of life wander around the campus
Their searching set to the music of a diesel engine
I'm stirred by the chatter of new arrivals
I wonder if they feel as I do
As I scrawl with this pen against the Linc
These leafy surroundings can't but help one think
Jake Zywek
A boy sits in the corner with his pen in his mouth, slowly turning it
between his lips as he stares intently at the computer screen. While his
body movements are slow, his eyes flit frantically over the words. Suddenly
he jolts to life; the wet pen dropping out of his mouth and his fingers tap
the keys. When his eyes raise to the screen again, he smiles.
Two people sit on the hard backed army green sofa, identical laptops on each
of their laps to match their identical posture. Whilst the girl is typing
constantly, yet still talking, the boy never moves a finger. His long black
hair covers one eye and a small smile creeps onto his face each time he
looks at the girl.
Laura Klein
A rough accent catches my ear; he’s sat on a bench talking while he slurps his drink of pure sugar. The slurps blend into the sound of the silhouettes behind me tapping their heels on the harsh concrete.
Girls pull their jackets round them.
Over the way a new romance blossoms as affectionate cuddles of warmth shield a girl from the icy breeze. Laughter from across the lake drown out their smiles as a man throws bread to the flocking ducks and watches them fight like addicts over drugs.
Lisa Jayne Hannam
Reception
A handful of people wait and smile at each other anxiously in the visiting area as though expecting something terrible to happen. Meanwhile, the smell of cooked lunches wafts through into the reception area, beckoning hungry stomachs within the area into its abode.
A woman’s black, nail-polished fingers fidget nervously with her purse between her small, pale hands. Eventually she looks up as though she recognizes someone, but then her eyes glaze over in disappointment and she looks back down, abandoned and crestfallen.
By the entrance to the reception, the bright green doors spin continuously as more people enter the building. Two people meet by the desk, a middle aged man and a woman, both wearing expensive suits. They kiss each other on the cheek and loudly, as though to make some kind of point, but it sounds over expressed and sloppy.
A heard of students pass by the visiting area, a rainbow of different styles and outfits of personal expression on legs. They are all talking to the people with them, some almost at the same time as others that they are with, like animals making continuous noises at the zoo.
A blonde lady sits as still as a statue, her expression doesn’t change from neutral the whole time she is seated, she simply remains there until the magic happens, a familiar face brings her out of her trance and she finally smiled and left, chatting away absent-mindedly.
Rachael Norton
The Courtyard was almost silent. The trickle of the water fountain ran
elegantly from the cherub like ornament. Noises in the distance rang out, a
social gathering or perhaps a lesson taking place in hale hall.
The Breeze tugged at the plants and bushes, the perfectly cut grass
lay motionless; an military standard hair cut.
Swiftly, a man in builders boots and high visibility jacket had
swept past me without my notice and climbs to the top of the building, his
scaffold clinging to the wall like vines. He stands at the top and looks
out across the buildings like a centurian guard on a castle wall.
A voice calls out "Mike!". Again it calls "Mike! I'm coming up
now, wait for me." Another man, a stockier man came across the courtyard in
the same clothing as 'Mike' and began to scale the steel spire. The clang
and thud of tools, metal tools echoed out across the courtyard and in to the
distance
Here there is a sweet smell, like cakes evanescent on the breeze.
Dominic Boyle
A wind tickles the autumn tree leaves, a constant catalogue of cars chug from place to place, the sky beams. Close groups of three and four wander with time, making laughter and noise.
A boy sits alone, skimming thru a handbook lowering his head and straining to read the words on a page. His sports bag lay discarded on his right, a steady stream of indiscernible music blurs from somewhere.
Brown, tattered, curled leaves lay scattered on the freshly cut and slightly damp green grass. The trees sometimes sway to a invisible beat and every so often a gentle but steady stream of people bumble across the open pavement. Faces of fear, content, worry and excitement all shine and a flash of varied emotion, each has their own quarrel or delay, their eyes darting from sky to ground.
Black, white, blue and green cars scatter for exits and spaces, the heavy groan of engines, constant and heavy, rumbles thru the grounds suffocating the wind that splits through the trees and the chaotic chatter echoing.
Groups of bright and explosive coloured flowers lay neatly sectioned and squared off around the grass, too far for people to reach but close enough for them to notice. Aside a pair of revolving doors stands a tall woman and her group of non assuming friends, all dim in enthusiasm and spark but chatting with absolute certainty on every subject.
She brings a fresh cigarette upon her lips and frantically searches herself for a lighter, she finds it and the world breathes a sigh of relief, after taking two long drags she lowers the smoking stick from her face proclaiming “I hate looking for spaces, its always packed” Her group don’t respond, but simply hum in agreement.
A collection of boys in various sports wear gaggle and flap and holler at each other, each with bigger sports bags than the next, boasting a even bigger name with a even bigger slogan. Aside them stands a small woman talking to a tall, obviously uninterested gentleman who began kicking leaves at his feet.
“Joanne was saying stuff to Jackie and Jackie was saying stuff to Pat” she didn’t speak to him, but simply spoke the words into the air, nothing could stop her.
Behind and in front a constant and varied sculpture of people and a overcast sky, muted with clouds and bemused by it all.
Adam Tarry
Western Campus and the Faculty of Health
A grim faced builder holding a screwdriver glances up at students who are leaving the faculty of education. I hear the monotonous drone of construction work, though the source of the sound is completely snut out of sight by a row of crooked pine trees, which rustle in the passing breeze. Seagulls on the lake scatter into flight as the back door of a delivery van clangs shut. A little further down the path a dark haired girl smoking withdraws a cigarette from her lips and smiles. Unwavering ducks sit on the path as we pass by.
Meals are hastily served to students who are enticed in conversation. Some eat on the benches outside admiring the lake. Two freshers look through the windows inquisitively, one asking the other what they were going to buy.
White dummies lie on steel stretchers, each with default vacant expressions. A concession of laughter erupts in the corridor. A trio of staff members head towards the stairs.
Liam Jochems
Three students laughing and playing on a large stone square embedded in the
middle of the floor, pretending it is a chess board. One girl gracefully
moves around the bored showing the other two how cretin pieces can move,
taking on the role of the Queen, Castle and Pawn. I think she is Irish or
pretending to be, . . . . . not quite sure.
They are gone now, within the blink of an eye they have vanished. A workman
in his blue overalls walks over the chess board, tools hanging from his
pocket, clinking to the beat of his steps. . . Clink . . . . Clink . . .
Clink.
A lady in a red stripy top is eating crisps, a few at a time . . . I watch
her. She barley swallows them then more go in. Clearly in a rush as she
stuffs them in her bag and hurries of, enjoying the last few chews and
savouring the taste.
‘Alright Sam’ says another builder. I hear his boots scrapping against the
floor before I see him. ‘Alright’ says another man in response. They make
brief pleasantries before departing in different directions. I listen to
the sound of his boots slowly fading into the distance. . . . . Plastic
tubes in his arms.
Nevean Riley-Mohamed
Observations
A delivery man loads his van and then waits impatiently as the dull hum of nearby construction work disrupts the otherwise tranquil scene by the lake.
Birds try in vain to make themselves heard above the repetitive droning.
The van drives past me and meanders its way out of the campus.
The unusual sight of a duck leaping on to a bin catches my attention just as another gets too close for comfort.
Cigarette ends are all that litter the ground. No luck for the ducks today.
Chris Crawford
Terrace cafe, 26.09.09
He carries his tray to the fridge, and chooses some drinks.
Wanders the cafe, then returns to the fridge, and does the same as before.
He repeats this until the tray is almost full.
At which point he decides that it’s time for some food.
Terrace cafe, also 26.09.09
Appearing calm, the man sits patiently at the table.
The queue is long, and a laborious process.
The man still sits.
The queue begins to shrink.
The man still sits.
The queue empties.
The man makes his move.
James Shafi
The first thing I notice when I sit on the hard, unkept grass is the icy chill in the air. I look into the dull, grey sky and hope to
catch a glimmer of sun that could heat the earth around me. A woman in a dull
purple jumper sits nearby and lights a cigarette. As I watch the smoke rising
around her it dawns on me that a cigarette would make this dull, cold day
bearable.
Nicholas Fischer
Outside Observations....
The piercing light corrupts the nature of the milky complexion of the otherwise peaceful sky, illuminating a scene set serene by the reflective tones of aquamarine.
A blind shudders in the breeze lifting its veil on the hidden beauty of that witch lurks behind the glass.
The teak stained wood gives a hint of warmth to the cold nature of the steel encasing it, holding it back from its freedom giving an unparalleled opposite to the forces of gravity defied with a whimsical silence.
A cool breeze alarms the senses, shuddering the reeds like hair on the neck taken aback by its silent power, all the while conveying the appearance of something sheltered within.
Nearby the ripples conjured by the same force disturb the peace of the water like the wake of a pebble tossed carelessly by a child in the spring of their youth.
Tarron Sheppard
Observations from outside the LINC Building by the duck pond:
Sitting on the bench by the duck pond, as soon as we sit down the ducks
make a beeline for us to see if we have any scraps of food for them.
Watching some students walking towards us from the direction of the DoE
building and listening to them talking about what Rob said and them not
knowing what to think about it.
There is a guy in black joggers and a fleece jacket running towards the
LINC building, his mass of black curly hair is bouncing with each stride of
his run. His hair does look rather impressive.
There is a police siren somewhere in the distance, the sound is gradually
getting louder and moving across the horizon from left to right, I wonder
where it's going too.
There are two girls purposefully walking towards the LINC building. They
walk behind us and they are discussing about "storming in" to talk to the
woman who sorts the placements. I think to myself how I doubt they would
storm in, they would probably just knock on the door politely and walk in.
There are two seagulls swooping over the pond, they look very graceful
considering they're seagulls.
Whilst the four of us are sat on the bench Lisa and Phil discuss rebel
ducks, and whether the duck that has been stalking us for the past 10
minutes is the rebel duck of the bunch. Somehow, I don't think it is.
Wendy Gillett
It’s a cold September afternoon and as we sadly come to the end of a fun filled fresher’s week still I notice there are people wondering around the campus some of whom look a little bit lost and confused by which direction they should be heading in. I am in my group by the faculty of health building in one of the four areas each of the groups were sent to, to observe what is going on.
There is a lot going on around this building, in front of the building there is a loading van parked outside, two delivery men come out of the building carrying by the expressions on their faces a very heavy piece of furniture, they walk successfully to the van and step up on to the stair lift as soon as they are level with the loading area they quickly put the chair to the floor and slide it in to the back of the lorry. A few minutes later they re appear red faced and exhausted, but they carry back into the building and bring another piece of furniture out, they do this two times more before making sure everything was loaded safe and secure. They at last close and lock the back of the lorry up before getting in to the front of the vehicle and slowly and extra careful as not to knock any confused students over.
A few minutes later there is a loud noise as if bricks are being moved or something is being knocked down, it’s the sound of work being done behind the Faculty of Health building, interrupting that noise was the loud quacks of ducks on the pond swimming about quite happily and care free, suddenly I notice a duck wondering over to me and the rest of my group no guesses he was in search of food! He is making cute quacking noises as if to say “feed me” now and again he pecks on the floor for bits of food that have been dropped from passes by, the duck is now parading up and down the path trying to guilt us into giving him food “ but sorry duck we haven’t got any”. The duck must have became bored because he turns away and heads for the bin in front of us, I am presuming that he thinks he will have more luck there but unfortunately for us he had no luck at all and is now once more parading up and down looking for food and making us feel more guilty than ever.
The wind is starting to pick up now and the branches on the trees are swaying more, there are girls now walking round clutching on to their cardigans that they at first loosely draped over a summer top and a pair of leggings, I can imagine how they feel because I am one of those girls, they pick up their speed as they walk and hurry up into the building. It’s gone quiet! No students no workmen no noise! Its silent except for the occasional quack from the ducks on the pond all is calm!
Michelle Rutter
The trees sway silently beyond panes of glass.
A door bangs shut behind me.
A man stands, staring out the window.
Crutches click rhythmically against the tile floor.
The Mechanical whir of a vending machine is constant behind me.
A man sighs in frustration.
Many footsteps and rustling clothes.
Keys jangle merrily together.
Cars stand in formation.
Glimpses of figures behind dense trees.
Small birds chase each other across the sombre grey sky.
Insects dance in the air, before landing on delicate leaves.
Dead leaves tossed around by the wind.
A group of people discuss lecture dates and times.
Yasmin Titterton.
The Wilson Building
The vending machine hums behind me and the sound of footsteps circulates the
air as students walk past laughing hysterically, rushing to lessons and
slamming doors behind them. As i step outside and sit there and watch i see
the trees blowing wildly in the wind and flocks of birds flying past. The
tractor drives past noisily on the car park with cars trailing behind in
desperate search for a car parking space. On the running track there is a
girl panting as she is running, her face is glowing red as the blood
rushes to her head. She holds her white jumper in her hand as the sweat is
dripping off her. A man strolls by slowly, walking heavily with a can of
coke in his hand and wearing a blue tracksuit. As he listens carefully to
the music on his ipod he seems obliviously to what’s happening around him
and the fact I am sat there writing about him.
Leanne Wrightson
Casual Observations
It rumbled and chuckled and stuttered and coughed, but somehow this old man of a coach was determined to pull twenty or more students from the hotel to our university at semi-regular times each day. Sat on the frayed, graffiti covered back seats, there was little to do other than stare out at the monotonous landscape, the same repetitive tree whizzing by against a backdrop of dull and grey. I could recount each detail and landmark we passed; they were the same as yesterday, and the day before that.
What interested me far more were the people around me, as people I assure you are far more interesting than trees. Such happy, smiling faces the previous evening, now almost all were quiet and still. Throats were cleared, and nails neatly trimmed with teeth, all against a rhythm of coughs and apologies. Without alcohol to grease the rusted gears of modern social interaction, many of these young people simply did not know what to say to one another. Is this, I thought, what has become of the art of conversation?
Stephen Brewis
A smartly dressed man wanders quizzically around, looking for any signs of help he can before finally speaking a few words with the receptionist and sitting down on the soft chairs in the reception area. However, he only waits a few moments before looking to his watch, standing up, and walking around once more.
Two students walk through the revolving door only to be cut off by a large, purple dressed woman cutting through the disabled entrance. Their only response is to blink at this and let the woman barge past before continuing through the area.
Two friends meet briefly and exchange words before parting, moments later, several more students arrive clustering the thin walkway and seemingly reading every notice o the ever present TV screen which flashes lazily through the events on campus.
Footsteps land loudly as they pass the reception area, pairs sounding like crowds within the small space between the inviting red chairs and the open glass doors.
A square jawed woman waits patiently, her pink fashionable bag sitting on the chair beside her. She shakes her knees softly in boredom and her eyes move constantly to the corridor and back, perhaps looking for any sign of the person she is waiting so patiently for. Beside her bag, a much more garnish and worn looking green bag sits, and besides that, an older woman waiting in the same manner.
The younger woman suddenly turns and chats idly to the older woman, who replies in kind, the immediate contrast between the two weakened by the friendliness of strangers.
Antony Murphy
Initially very quiet. The only thing making a noise was the window full of
colourful Freshers’ week posters. Caught the farewell of a pair of people (man
and woman) to another man and some monosyllabic exchange between two plump
women, "Right", "Yeah."
The only life on the track has ceased to be. They haven't died,
they've probably just gone inside for showers. A grey car, the same dull
colour as the sky, pulls out of the car park. Apart from the one
blue-hooded man twirling his keys on a chain, I can't see anyone outside.
There's a solitary bird in the sky, struggling to fly against the wind.
Maybe it should get in training.
A pack of lads shuffle through,
"What do you reckon we're gonna be doing today? Just a game?"
"Just a game."
Then a pair of lasses, looking lost,
"That's not really a way to get back at somebody."
"Unhealthy."
Then they try to figure out which door they came through between them.
A laughing 'team manager' jingles his keys as he walks through a door,
apparently without a care in the world. No rushing necessary.
More laughter from the hall, and a comment from a Liverpudlian lass,
something to the effect of, "Look at them there, writing," as if writing
were a very strange thing to do. Well, we are near a sports centre I
suppose.
Back to the trees gently moving, the red-berried one adding a touch of
flair to the surrounding greenery.
A track suited man 'swishes' past, takes a swig of his drink, and
that's it.
Three men and a lass walk by outside and I hear laughter inside that I
can't locate. It didn't sound very hearty.
A fly hits the window- possibly because of the wind, possibly because
they are so dumb.
Now a trio of Liverpudlian lads, not speaking very loudly so I just
catch something about Burger King. Another trio follows soon after, with a
lass this time. I catch the awful, "You know what I mean though? At the end
of the day..." What a waste of words.
Martin Palmer
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thursday, November 06, 2008
One More Guerilla Out There
29/9/08. Creative writing: Phillip Kelly.
Observation outside.
As I sit outside near the student union diner and college shop , on a bench that must be as old as time itself , I take a while to relax and reflect upon the new surroundings and new situations that await me on my new adventure. While I sit , quite comfortably , all my troubles seem to be drifting away on the warm , whispering wind of autumn.
There are different people passing by me every minute , most of them unfamiliar with each other. A young man and woman just walked by linking hands with each other , engaged happily in deep conversation. The young man is wearing black , baggy pants and a black T-shirt with a rock music image on the front in white print ; his thick , rough , wild hair is as black as coal. In contrast the young woman is wearing a denim skirt and a pink T-shirt with a white cardigan over the top that has a flower design on it ; she has the most beautiful short , blonde hair. Here are two friendly people so different in looks and personality yet so agreeable and at ease in each others company ; it is like watching a pantomime of the epic fairy tale ‘Beauty and the Beast’.
All around me I hear the pleasant chattering of students ; the melodic twittering of birds as they bustle about in the tall , towering trees ; the rustling of leaves , themselves about to change as autumn commands each year. These trees are my guardians ; they surround me as if they are watching over and protecting me. The rhythmic and soothing melody of easy listening music can be heard playing in the background. I feel a strange tranquillity and contentment from the noises that reach my ear. From within the diner I smell the wonderful aromas of cooked food , a smell that tries to lure and entice me to enter and devour all the contents within. Of these smells I can distinctly distinguish that of chips and coffee. I feel as though I have lost all sense of reality and have entered a fantasy world that is a paradise to me!
Could this really be a fantasy world ? Am I really in a place of paradise ?
All at once my tranquillity is shattered , my paradise lost as reality starts fighting back and begins to overcome the fantasy. BANG ! BOOM ! the bass blasts out as rock music drowns out the peaceful sounds from earlier. The wonderful aromas are consumed and smothered by the foul smell of cigarette smoke as students begin smoking and invite the grim reaper to come and take them away to the land of the dead. Shortly after the area is empty , but still noisy. A feeling of emptiness and loneliness comes over me. I wait a few moments. Then I leave.
Observation outside.
As I sit outside near the student union diner and college shop , on a bench that must be as old as time itself , I take a while to relax and reflect upon the new surroundings and new situations that await me on my new adventure. While I sit , quite comfortably , all my troubles seem to be drifting away on the warm , whispering wind of autumn.
There are different people passing by me every minute , most of them unfamiliar with each other. A young man and woman just walked by linking hands with each other , engaged happily in deep conversation. The young man is wearing black , baggy pants and a black T-shirt with a rock music image on the front in white print ; his thick , rough , wild hair is as black as coal. In contrast the young woman is wearing a denim skirt and a pink T-shirt with a white cardigan over the top that has a flower design on it ; she has the most beautiful short , blonde hair. Here are two friendly people so different in looks and personality yet so agreeable and at ease in each others company ; it is like watching a pantomime of the epic fairy tale ‘Beauty and the Beast’.
All around me I hear the pleasant chattering of students ; the melodic twittering of birds as they bustle about in the tall , towering trees ; the rustling of leaves , themselves about to change as autumn commands each year. These trees are my guardians ; they surround me as if they are watching over and protecting me. The rhythmic and soothing melody of easy listening music can be heard playing in the background. I feel a strange tranquillity and contentment from the noises that reach my ear. From within the diner I smell the wonderful aromas of cooked food , a smell that tries to lure and entice me to enter and devour all the contents within. Of these smells I can distinctly distinguish that of chips and coffee. I feel as though I have lost all sense of reality and have entered a fantasy world that is a paradise to me!
Could this really be a fantasy world ? Am I really in a place of paradise ?
All at once my tranquillity is shattered , my paradise lost as reality starts fighting back and begins to overcome the fantasy. BANG ! BOOM ! the bass blasts out as rock music drowns out the peaceful sounds from earlier. The wonderful aromas are consumed and smothered by the foul smell of cigarette smoke as students begin smoking and invite the grim reaper to come and take them away to the land of the dead. Shortly after the area is empty , but still noisy. A feeling of emptiness and loneliness comes over me. I wait a few moments. Then I leave.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Guerilla Writing First Year Writing Students 2008
The residual scent of coffee saunters through the air, merging with the countless cigarettes that litter the ground. A gentle breeze drifts through the air, perhaps hailing the coming of a storm; the sky boldly trying to remain blue in the face of coming overcast. Oddly, the ducks are more content than the people as they loiter by the waters edge, decidedly not bothered by the crowd of maladjusted seagulls. The faint buzz of nearby conversation is almost overwhelmed as the ducks 'laugh'. A dog flumps down in abject boredom as its owners refuse to pay it no heed. A parade of chattering people, bringing with them a cacophony of conversation.
William Cain
In reception.
Far off footsteps become louder as students approach, the long corridors are echoing with sound. The receptionist behind me, looks up and on making eye contact, she sheepishly buries her head in her work
More pupils pass by. “Are there any cash points near here?” asks a girl with a heavy Liverpudlian accent. The phone bleeps and the receptionist staples whilst listening to the receiver.
A thunderous roar is heard from further down the corridors. It is the cleaner and her mop bucket. A squeak from the wheel is buried in a murmur of monotonous and systematic rolling. It is almost train-like.
Two girls point, whisper and giggle. They are gossiping about a girl who apparently doesn’t wash. They point to a potted plant by my side and wonder if it is real. Once they leave the doors, I touch the plant, it is indeed real.
An Asian girl with a fashionable jacket sits near me. She reads a magazine resting on the table. My attention is distracted by a woman with straight hair and glasses. She is dressed entirely in grey. She carries a red Mickey Mouse bag; this is the only colour on her attire and it seems to contradict the impression that the rest of her appearance gives.
The Asian woman is joined by an older relative or perhaps a friend. They converse in their natural tongue. I believe they are Chinese, although I am no expert on foreign languages. However I’m fairly confident that my lack of understanding is not a result from my inexperience of Northern English accents.
One of my professors for English Literature is walks past. He is wearing a vibrant purple shirt. This also draws my attention to a statue outside of a naked concrete child, wrapping its arms around itself for warmth.
A woman in a suit walks past. She looks to be on a mission. Her Maroon lipstick makes her pout look sharp and threatening. I am glad not to have to cross paths with her.
Stephen Henry
Shapes and sizes in abundance
Gaggling geese or ducks pretending to be geese.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
People arriving at each other, blending and dispersing. Moving towards each other meeting, silently passing without greeting and moving on towards their destinations, single file, two by two, and clusters of individuals clinging to their peers, moving as one to blend in and hide within the crowd, their newly found friends, their newly found security blanket.
Ping cling ping cling metal on metal.
Clink clank, red shoes worn with a black suit, with a short skirt.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The delivery guys with their orange trolleys stacked full of boxes filled with reams of paper are going to the same place but are walking apart from each other, at different angles, as if to appear independent. And the 50cc Bradshaw van, smooth, small, semi silent, slips sleekly around the corner and disappears behind the bushes as if it was never there.
Dog barking in the distance, strange on campus…
Clip, Clip, Clip, 2 inch heals echo on the pavement.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The girl with the sleeveless t shirt is wearing a long thick scarf and holding her boyfriend’s hand obviously keeping her heart warmed if nothing else. And the mature students are heading to the ‘Nether Regions of the education department’ At the same time a boy band trio, hip young and handsome walk into the LINC, filled with anticipation, filled with promise.
Incessant clanging and banging of builders annoys.
Wahr Wahr Wahr, a gull almost laughing, claims his turf.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
Two boys, soon to be men, sit along the bench from me (could be watching me watching them) talk of ‘shit’. Are they discussing the verb? The noun? Or the adjective? Strange how their voices raised when speaking the often offending word. Strange how they speak it excitedly and strange that, that laughing gull over head is here so far from the sea, laughing, watching me.
Live it!
Jacqueline Mckenzie
Two canteen workers chat casually, during a lull in custom. The people to the left of me talk animatedly, in front of them, a sandwich and a packet of Quavers. A pair of girls in front of me talk about the sickness that one of them is experiencing. “Freshers Flu”, apparently. They get up and leave, making a stop at the bin before heading for the door. The smell of egg fills the air, and the custom at the till picks up again. The two people on my left talk about the intimacy that a couple they know share. One of them is more loving than the other. Two girls, a blonde and a brunette sit at the empty table in front of me, chatting, as the two people to my left leave. Three lads sit around a table, laughing and joking. A half eaten sandwich sits in front of one of them. The garden outside is full of vibrant colour. It contrasts against the dull brick walls of the university. Another woman joins the girls in front of me, and exchanges pleasantries. The three lads leave their table, leaving the half-eaten sandwich behind, still half-eaten. They are replaced by three new people, two guys and a girl, who are laden down with posters. The two cashiers strain over their tills, having a conversation. It abruptly ends, leaving the two women looking bored. A guy at a table behind me laughs out loud, as his friend gets up to leave.
Cameron McDermott
People walk past, lost in their own thoughts. The ducks splash and swim in the lake, oblivious to everything and everyone else. the sky is grey, as if it might rain at any moment. Fragments of conversation are picked up and then lost on the wind. A man comments on the beauty of our surroundings to his friend, who agrees with him. A woman sits with her back to me, facing her husband, a Labrador sitting faithfully by her side. Seagulls fly overhead, then land in the water.
A large crowd walks past, breaking the serenity for a moment with their combined voices and laughs. The peace is restored as they move further away, towards the campus. The smell of coffee travels through the air each time the door to the cafe is opened. Someone has left their dirty plate on the table where I sit. Some people can be so lazy.
Elizabeth Bower
Observations in the Terrace cafe
Though the square framed windows the sky is dark with heavy white clouds. On the grey roof of the opposite building a small brown bird hops across the roof tiles. Sitting in here, I listen to the endless late lunch time chatting. Different conversations blend together to form one continuous sound of voices. Mixed into this comes the sound of food packets crunching and the munching of sandwiches. Plates and cutlery clatter together and somewhere chairs scrap backwards on the grey spotted orange floor. Loud words of ‘good bye’ and ‘see you late’ cut though the background voices and are then gone.
Sitting opposite to me, a couple share a magazine. He wears blue jeans with a pale blue top and he has a shaven head. She wears a light brown t-shirt and many bangles on her arms. They get up, he collects his large sports type bag from the floor and she pulls down her black shirt. They walk out together, leaving behind them an abandoned sandwich packet on the table, its usefulness gone.
A girl’s voice flows over the other voices, ‘I could stay here all day.’
Another girl says ‘Where you off to now?’
Their voices fade once more into the background noise.
There is another man sitting opposite me now. He has a short black beard covering his chin and he writes on plain paper with a blue pen. He pauses and takes a bite from his sandwich.
A phone starts ringing, a hip hop music plays and is then quickly silenced. The answering voice is lost in a ripple of loud voices.
There comes the smell of chips that floats over the tables and then fades away.
A girl cries out, ‘Tomato ketchup on lettuce!”
The beard man opposite me has nearly written a side of paper. He stops and checks his phone.
The door opens on squeaky hinges and closes silently.
A man carrying a cutlery holder walks past. He smiles and nods his head at the woman on the till. He then crosses the floor to the cutlery stand, where he empties the cutlery into their correct holders.
Hails Hardman
LINC Building
A boy opposite with rosy cheeks wearing a Liverpool football shirt on is listening to music while concentrating on the screen in front of him. He is sniffing loudly.
There is silence yet there is not silence. Nobody is talking. The sound of the air conditioning and the hum of the electrical equipment is in fact noisy.
Four more people enter the room. There are three females and a male. They are all talking to one another as they position themselves at the computers. The silence has been broken yet the air conditioning still overpowers the conversation.
A money spider crawls over my left hand and makes its way under a computer.
The conversation has died down except for the girl with the auburn hair who is on her mobile phone talking to somebody about lectures.
Two of the females are now engrossed in Facebook looking at photographs of people hugging each other.
Mobile phone girl is still talking but clicking on various pages of Facebook. She is the loudest member of the quartet.
The male of the group is looking at his timetable on the internet and checks it against a piece of paper he is holding in his left hand.
Silence again apart from the rapid tapping of the keyboards.
The female who is sat next to mobile phone girl is looking at the same photos over and over again. A male of about twenty years of age with an orange face pulling his tongue out seems to be the favourite.
Paula Ward
In between the roars of motor vehicles meandering through the rabbit warren of roads winding their way in and out of campus, small snippets of conversation and responsive resounding laughter are then silenced as they have passed. In the trees which quiver only slightly in the welcomed soft breeze, birds thrive; contrasting with the whine of an engine which for a few minutes sits purring. This followed by a brilliant yellow JCB barging mechanically through campus before both car and digger rumble away. Jokes… strawberries and NUS cards reflect the low hum of chatter ranging. People; brightly dressed with corresponding bright faces, students bustle past clutching folders, phones and haphazardly seizing bags which are slipping down shoulders. Seemingly unaware of the beauty of their surroundings, activity focuses on reaching the next destination. Standing in what could be described as packs, they await transport which they are then loaded onto in small clusters and whisked away.
Kirsty Culshaw
In the distance I can hear the chatter of voices, with people walking past in deep discussion. They seem to quieten down as they walk past the weirdo sitting on the grass, scribbling into a notebook and watching the passers by. Everything seems peaceful, with the well kept greens of the campus, and historic significance of the main building. It all seems so tranquil, until the rumble of a JCB begins to move closer and closer to my peaceful surroundings, destroying the relaxing atmosphere in which I was greatly enjoying. As the load menacing machine shudders past me, it leaves a thick layer of dust, which blocks my view of the grounds. The people who are walking past begin to talk loader, to try and hear each other over the heavy machinery which is moving around them.
Katie Shaw
25.09.2008
People are standing in an unorganised line seemingly waiting for the bus to arrive. The depressed and woeful looks on their faces tells me that they have been waiting around for some time. I can barley hear what they are saying however because of the sound of people walking past me, many of them wearing heels making this task become more annoying by the second. Across the road from me stands a lone building surrounded by bins, more bins and litter discarded around the bins. The sound of engines humming and cars driving past start to drown out the sound of peoples heels clicking against the pavement. Horns are beeping, people are waving and then laughing. I don't understand what's so funny about seeing your friend in a car. Finally, the monstrous sound of the bus drowns out all else as it pulls up in front of the unorganised line. Relief briefly raises on the faces of the people as they see their bus pulling to a stop. Only briefly though as a fight soon starts about who's getting on the bus first.
Richard Dugdale
Observation - The lake...
Two workmen in fluorescent coats, one with a blue helmet, one with a white helmet, dig in the reeds at the edge of the lake. Three boys are sitting on a bench, heads to the ground. One has a beard and a bandanna; the other two have no particularly memorable features. Now there is only one workman in the reeds. He steps onto the wall by the waters edge and leans against the railings. He begins to smoke a rollup cigarette and he holds it in his mouth as he fumbles around in a pocket, bringing out a phone, dialling and holding it to his right ear. The other workman returns but he is no longer wearing a hardhat. He has a tattoo on one arm but it is old, smudged and faded so the pattern can’t be made out.
A large girl in a jumper crosses the boards near the water. The way the jumper hangs on her reminds me of those dogs with sagging rolls of fat. Now and again white birds flap and take flight from the lake. Each flies forward and then curves to the right, as if this is the rule for exiting flights. A man and woman are heading towards the cafe with a Labrador dog. The dog has a sleepy look about it and it’s concentration on the ground suggests that it is a guide dog. A bald man and a blonde haired girl are now sitting on the bench the bandanna guy was at. The girl has a camera and is photographing one of the many ducks sitting on the grass at the lakes edge. The man is looking searchingly across the water and occasionally takes a drag on a cigarette.
On another bench there is a boy in a stripy jumper talking on a phone. He keeps standing up, walking in a circle, and then sitting back down again. The girl with the camera crosses the wooden boards and stops briefly, placing her camera on the railing and taking another photo, quickly. People push trolleys across the wooden bridge that have sandwiches and bottles of lemonade on them. The wheels make a comforting click clack noise as they go.
A gull with bright orange legs lands on the railings. It just walks back and fourth, as if observing people. Three ducks now waddle casually over the bridge. One has a long strand of weed hanging from its beak. They pass close by me and I hear them quacking in a low conversational way. They suddenly fly into the water and swim in a line, before flying off again, just as suddenly.
Ross Law
25th September 2008. (2.30pm)
It was our first lesson and I had been sent here on a mission – to come up with a piece of writing and document the world drifting by and capture it! - I wandered to my location that I had been assigned on my map of Edge Hill as our exercise, as I made my way to the Sporting Edge, which was located on the outskirts of the campus. I was slowly but surely followed by the two young ladies both in brightly coloured Afro wigs, on stilts and with techno-coloured shorts.
I slowly walked in the direction of the Wilson Building, along the gravel outskirts to the benches where normally the spectators would watch as their friends and team mates would be participating in either athletics, rugby football or all the other sports that are either played competitively or as part of the sports their sports associated courses. At night the surrounding flood lighting would be lit- it was still daylight even if slowly the day was meandering towards late afternoon and a chill had started to fill the air.
In the middle of the grassed area were some rugby posts, a concertinaed large net, and hurdles on the racing track
A couple of buildings were in the distance – one looked like an accommodation block and the other where fellow students were being taught.
As I started to just sit there and wait for the snap-shot of what was life for that moment in time – the birds sang sweetly in nearby trees and rooftops, and mingled with the sound of a nearby extractor fan…. this was only broken by the passing of pairs of students chattering to each other as they cut through onto the grass… maybe thinking that waiting for them were imaginary submachine guns from the roof tops – waiting and secretly looking for them for their “lawlessness” of walking on the sacred grassed area?”.
They talked about this and that and no doubt of what they had done the last few nights and what they planned to do as they cut through.
A solitary bearded, suited tired looking professor heaved his large heavy black case, umbrella and equally heavy carrier bag towards the nearby car park which was nearby, longingly for the last time that day as he thought of going home and probably finishing off a bottle of wine to blot out that day.
A couple of student also cut through alone very silently across the grass- probably thinking of how drunk they were going to get that night when they met up with their mates
The girls on the stilts paced up and down unsteadily as I sat there - shaking their buckets of loose change and going up to everyone who happened to be in the vicinity and handing out their carrier bags before they disappeared indoors themselves.
Once my mission I felt was completed –I collected together my notes that I had made to enable me to make this snapshot of life at Edge Hill and started walking back to my class.
Valerie Navarra
Mass observation
Area 17 (performing arts building)
Unlike other areas of Edge Hill, the entrance to the performing arts building is almost silent. The only noticeable sounds are the chirping of birds and the quiet rumbling of car engines in the distance. The window of the building houses a poster for an upcoming stand up comedy show. The bright yellow poster almost fills one full pane of glass as it looks out towards me.
The silence is broken as a stream of students exit their classroom into the foyer of the building. Being outside, I can’t make out what the students are saying; although it’s obvious from their gleeful chattering that they are happy to be out. The noise quickly subsides as they hurriedly rush to another classroom.
After a little while, a group of three students leave the building to converse by the bench I’m sitting at. They talk between themselves for a couple of minutes with only the odd glance at the creative writing student sat beside them, strangely scribbling into a notepad. There conversation mainly centres on their previous lesson which apparently was a welcome class and in their own words, was “pointless”. Other than their “pointless” drama welcoming class, the group sporadically converse about other subjects such as housing, television, clothes and food. Apparently one of the group, a tall girl with curly blond hair and a tribal tattoo on her back, likes the show ‘two pints of lager and a packet of crisps’ as she talks for over a minute about an episode she watched the previous night.
The group’s conversation turns to a dance class they all attend. The blond girl stands in front of her friends and begins to show them some dance steps she had learned before coming to Edge Hill. She gloats at how her dance instructor had noticed how her dance style gave away that she had previously done ballet. She continues to dance, as though she was performing on stage. After the impromptu dance show and a quick cigarette, the group begin to walk away from the area in the direction of the main building, restoring silence back to the area.
Jamie McNally
Continuously, people brush by me non stop. People go about their business, occasionally some drop inside the university shop, or swing the double doors open as they enter the bar. Each time the doors swing the noise of the crowd becomes more audible, yet I can follow no string of conversation only random utterances and words. Across from me a girl sits still with her nose in a booklet gripping two bottles of soft drink and a gossip magazine. To my side, notices line the walls. Two couples crowd around them and bump me a few times before striding off again. The girl with the booklet takes leave at the site of her friend, who takes one of the bottles as she gabbers on about not being able to remember where anything is as the first girl nods, agreeing, with a “yeah, yeah”. There is a stale smell of smoke in the air mixed with the soapy smell of toiletries I can only assume is coming from the shop across. Suddenly, there is a bizarre sight as two girls in bright yellow dresses and afro wigs, probably as part of some kind of promotion, walk their way in on a pair of tall stilts. The first manages somehow to climb inside a photo booth as the second behind her sways and laughs hysterically behind, somehow managing to keep her balance.
Mark Smith
----------------
The rather vast ‘courtyard’ that overlooks the Edge Hill pond is an ideal place to see and observe diverse events and people without really being too obtrusive. It is also the best place to be - out in the open, with the soothing sound of the water and the light, cool breeze – on a bright, sunny day like this. There are quite a few students walking around : Some just out of classes, strolling, with all the time in the world. Others rushing to get to theirs on time. A lot of them sport fluorescent green wristbands which tells me that they are fellow freshers.
From where I’m sitting opposite the Learning Resource Centre Building, I can see just some of the famous Edge Hill ducks. But the noises of the others much further away from my line of vision, drift across the water as if to confirm their presence to me. The area is suddenly very quiet and devoid of the usual gaggle of people and I have time to look around at all the buildings … the mixture of the classical brick and stone ones with that of the very modern glass and steel ones, very pleasing to the eye. Striking that elusive perfect balance between the old and the new, the ‘ancient’ and the ‘modern’. Just then a man walks past with his dog. He (the man, not the dog!) is wearing a thin, brown sweater over a white and blue checked shirt in such a way that you can only see the collar part of his shirt. The dog is an adorable Labrador (hey that kind of rhymes on some weird level!) and is happy to be out and walking in the warm sunshine, one can see that with the way his tail keeps constantly wagging. He seems relatively harmless and quite friendly though. Before I can observe him more, a large group of guys and girls walk by and I hear two of the girls call out my name. My friends - Lucy and Lisa - on their way to the faculty of Education. I nod a greeting to them and we talk a bit before I remember that I have an assignment to complete and before they remember that they have to get to class!
The unfamiliar noise of the seagulls pulls my gaze overheard and I see that there are many of them around - on the roofs, over the water, in flight – screeching their lungs out as a way of communication with each other. Somehow whenever I see or hear the word ‘seagull’ , my mind immediately brings up the image and story of ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ by Richard Bach, which is one of my favourite books. It does that now and I become kind of lost in thought over it before a guy talking rather loudly on his mobile, settles down on the bench right next to mine. He is wearing a red t-shirt and a tan coloured jacket and blue jeans and seems really agitated over something. The wind blowing my way and the guy’s weird accent prevents me from hearing what he is saying but I gather that it is something about not being able to make someone do something they don’t want to. Though clearly preoccupied with his talk, he has time enough to look in my direction and give me a weird look that wonders why I’m observing him so closely. I take the hint and turn my attention elsewhere. Two other students from my Creative Writing class are sitting at some distance, nearer to the edge of the smaller pond, which is right in the middle of the courtyard. One of them is sitting with her back against the inner wall bordering that pond, her feet up on the ledge, her notebook on her knees. I see her comfortably settled but furiously scribbling. She stops for a moment, as if sensing my gaze, looks over at me and waves. I wave back, just as the ducks in the smaller pond start flapping their wings furiously, splashing water in all possible directions, while some of them fly over to the actual pond. This catches the attention of a group of students who have just walked out of the CMIST building and they head closer – some of them lean over the edge and feed the ducks some scraps, while some of them just eye them rather warily from a bit further away, as if afraid that they might get their heads bitten off if they went any closer. Two of the braver ducks venture close enough to the girl feeding them, for her to scream and back away hastily with the ducks still venturing closer.
I become so absorbed in the spectacle that it is almost too late before I realise that I have to be back in the class within the next 2 minutes. I pack up my things and walk away, wondering what eventually happened to that girl feeding the ducks.
ANUSHREE NANDE
2:21pm, Sports Field:
Cars line the perimeter of the field, maybe close to a hundred. The field itself is deserted, apart from one man, a janitor of some sorts walking along the track. Four students just past the far end, probably walking to their cars. There are three in front, one behind. A van drives past behind me and as it leaves, the only sound to be heard is birdsong. Students pass by going nowhere exciting judging by the scuffing of feet.
The flow of students seems almost continuous now, talking within their groups about stationary and general small talk. Two wasps are circling branches on the tree beside me. I'm not a fan of wasps but right now it's a case of live and let live. One of the insects moves to a lower branch and my fear returns; I feel myself shuffling back and turning to watch it's movements almost obsessively. The wasp flies around the nearby branch, almost menacingly, he can sense my discomfort. The field ahead is once again deserted and another van drives by, as a group of giggling students pass me.
Heather Sutton
There is a slight rustling of the leaves caused by a tiny breeze of the wind. Several of them have tiny, uneven holes in them. They have clearly provided a veritable feast for the caterpillars and other such tiny creatures. Some are browning, a sign of the change in the season. Others are still resisting the onset.
The Edge Hill bus on its tireless journey, with three or four students sitting inside. The Edge Hill bus driver has a bored, mundane, tired expression on his face, clearly showing his love for his job.
A woman walks by with sunglasses on, seeming unaware of the lack of sunshine making the act of wearing sunglasses slightly redundant.
There is a car waiting patiently at the gate. The gate doesn’t rise, apparently playing a malicious game with the car and making the driver more and more frustrated.
A JCB ploughs its way down the beaten road which silently groans under the immense weight of the beasts powerful tyres. Not content with the punishment it has handed out, it reverses back to give the road more.
A line of nine bollards stand beside the road, eight of which stand tall and upright. One however leans pitifully to one side, the victim of an innocent accident or a drunken misdemeanor.
Mark Parker
The LRC has a coffee house inspired atmosphere with the comforting sound of light conversation and the frantic tapping on a computer keyboard. Sat in the centre of the room, there is a constant flow of students as they grab a quick coffee before lectures or walk around casually searching for the book they desire. A man directly in front of me catches my eye, his posture relaxed and legs crossed as he reads his newspaper in the corner of one of the sofas. He occasionally furrows his brows as he reads something that causes disapproval, the sound of him fiddling with his chocolate bar wrapper reflecting this. His relaxed persona is a contradiction to the five or six women sitting opposite him already in an intense and deep conversation. However, the light topic of dogs, “...bed and lead...oh God I told Dan he had to buy some dog food!” matches the chilled atmosphere of the room.
A crash of papers shoots through the library and leaves a red faced and green wristband student sheepishly drop to his knees in a frantic attempt to retrieve them. I notice a member of staff look sympathetically at the student but she remains seated, shuffles a few papers around her own desk and takes a few sips of her brew before heaving herself off her chair in a moment of guilt to help him.
Meanwhile, the group of women have exploded into laughter as one of the older women has burst into an improvisation of an angry cat, complete with sound effects. After a bit of sighing and the wiping of eyes, the women settle down and attempt to change the conversation topic with “my hairdresser always says I sit with one shoulder above another, don’t know why!”
Sarah Nicholson
29/9/2008 14.20 Edge Hill University Campus
Serene surroundings broken only by the heavy and constant mumble of cars. A cluster of boys “Go on lad! Go on!” A nervous and seemingly lost girl combs her fingers through her hair self consciously, keeping her head to the ground as she manoeuvres her way through the campus. Excited fresher’s converse; “Are you on campus or off?... Which halls do you live in?... Have you been to the S.U?... Which course are you doing?...” Loud jingle of keys and coins as a man walks by, camera in hand. A jogger dressed in shorts and a woolly hat speeds past followed by a couple hand in hand laden with Aldi bags.
Louise Costigan
The Rock Garden
I position myself against the trunk of a tree, allowing its rough bark to scratch my back like a lover. The stillness of the garden absorbs my mood and slowly, before my eyes, it comes alive. Insects chirp and dragonflies dance in the air like myths, whilst in the distance I can see the gentle mounds of rabbits punctuating the greenery. The image transports me to the summer days of old; reading Richard Adams and allowing my mind to pillage the burrows of Watership Down.
The distant drum of traffic brings me back and I cast my gaze above, at the cracks of blue peering through massing clouds. It is then that I notice, nestled in the leaves of a high tree, a hula hoop.
Discarded.
I focus my thoughts on this lost, child’s toy and suddenly I’m drunk again. And I’m laughing. And I’m launching the circle into the air. Into the stars. Or else trying to but only reaching the lowest branch. Blaming my pathetic throw on the world and its incessant swaying.
A man appears from out of the foliage. Deer like. He darts through the clearing with his head down. I manage to note an official looking uniform before he runs out of sight.
I stare at the rocks in the wall, taking care to avert my eyes from the cracks. I try to relate their colour to the atmosphere of the garden but the deer returns. Hurrying through with a clip board in hand.
His intrusion into my solitude makes me question time. I become unsure of how long I’ve stayed.
As I gather my things I steal a single feather so as to remind myself to return…
Jesse Thomas
Creative Writing: Taking Notes outside the College Shop
Inside the shop there are the usual suspects, things that you might find in most shops like chocolates and food, booze, toiletries, stationary, paper, books and second hand books which is quite a good idea at a university and at the back there is a display for the Edge Hill hoodies.
There are lots of people walking past and I can only catch little bits of conversations. Two girls walk past me quite quickly, one asks the other, “Where are you going?” she replies, “Getting signal.”
A group of lads walk past and one shouts, “Yeah, that poster!” and the others start to laugh.
Laughter is the main thing I can hear come to think of it, along with the bleeping of the till, music playing in the bar and the swish of the automatic doors as people walk through them.
Most people are buying sweets and chocolate but there are two guys with A3 sheets of card, maybe they are doing art or making posters for tonight.
A girls voice says, “Can you hold this?” there isn’t a reply so I’m assuming whoever it was she was talking to held whatever it was she wanted holding.
Two lads come up to me and ask, “S’cuse me love could you tell me where the SU is so I can sign up to some stuff, sports like.”
“Yeah, just go through them doors and it’s a little door on your left.”
-Someone shouts really loud, “SHE’S IN THE JUNGLE!”-
We all laugh then the first lad that spoke asks, “Them doors where they play pool and that?”
“No, no the doors right at the end there.” I answer pointing him in the right direction.
“Ah right, someone sent us down here,” he laughs then says goodbye.
Some people are giving me some really funny looks but I suppose I might look a bit odd just stood here writing away. Ouch I think I just tried to slice my own finger off with some paper!
A couple walk past arguing, the girl is shouting at the lad, “That’s not funny, say you’re sorry, you’re an arsehole, don’t talk to me…say you’re sorry!”
Lots of random bits of conversation; ‘Yeah it’s a good un’
‘So Mel nearly got battered’
‘She put some pants on me head!’
‘So when’s that gunna start for ya?’
I’ve just realised that there is no rubbish on the floor, I’m quite surprised really as I thought there would be more when there are so many people about, there’s only an elastic band on the floor. Although the cigarette tray in the bin just outside is full, it’s not a good sight.
A girl with a really nice dress on just walked past; I wonder where it’s from.
I’ve only just noticed that photo booth, its strange sometimes how you can look at something everyday and never really notice what is there.
Two lads walk past with big bottles of water and pretend to throw it at a group of girls
Just as you go into the shop, there’s a big patch of brown parcel tape on the tiles, I wonder why?
Three girls walk past, one asks, “Do you wanna go to town? I want to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” another girl asks a bit dismissively as if it would be pointless and boring, it’s a bit of a different view really.
The Red Hot Chilli Peppers song ‘Californication’ is sounding from the bar, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all day.
Two girls are giggling to themselves and one laughs, “A big fat a*se you mean?”
The other sounds a bit shocked and laughs, “May! Don’t say that!”
“I’m joking!”
“No you’re not!” and they both start laughing again.
A group of people walk past and one asks, “Are you going out tonight?”
Someone else replies, “Yeah Stanley!” in a funny voice and they all start laughing.
There’s a group of lads acting all macho, it’s quite funny really, they keep flicking he occasional eye over to some girls just to check if they’re watching.
“Yeah I’ll just have to smile it off won’t I, not a lot much else I can do.”
The clip clop clip clop of heels on the floor.
I can’t see who’s talking because I’ve got my head down writing but it is boys voices I can hear.
“Tell a joke.”
“Na, I don’t know any good ones.”
“What about UNDALAY!”
More laughter followed by, “Shut up you clown.”
“I’ll just kick her in the back of the heels so she falls.” Laughter.
“That’s a bit harsh, you’re evil!” more laughter.
Someone jus said, “That’ll be reet!” That reminds me of home!
“I just spent £500!” Would it be nosey of me if I wondered what on.
“I hope not all of that was on booze for this week.”
Two girls start laughing.
Dawn Wild
An annoyingly happy man is squeaking past me with a prehistoric wheelbarrow. He bounces towards me, desperate to say something, and chuckles
“That’s an odd place to sit down and write, isn’t it?” I sigh, partly because I’m far too hot, and partly because I’m trying to think of something captivating to write, and he and his wheelbarrow continue to annoy me.
“Not really, considering I’m writing about you.” Now his smile is insincere. Bye bye wheelbarrow man.
I’m not here to chat; I’m here to write something interesting...And it’s really not working.
I can feel some warm ventilation thing seep out of the wall. It smells musty, almost dirty. I shuffle to the left but I block a doorway. I shuffle to the right but realise all this shuffling isn’t helping me write anything vaguely significant. I stop shuffling. A man trudges past on some tractor type thing, and its noise gets closer, then closer, then passes. I struggle for inspiration so I eat a crisp. Next, I look pantomimically to the left, then to the right, as if with some sort of purpose. To my left, the map tells me ‘You are here’. To my right I see something drop from the tree. I like the way trees move when there’s a breeze, a bit like they’re dancing together to a ballad. I could imagine them getting lighters out and swaying. Maybe that’s what causes those big forest fires in Australia... Possibly.
I stop thinking about the tree when I realise that the thing that dropped from it was bird poo. Nice.
A cardboard box sits next to the bin. My suspicion boils, and my patience starts to melt down like a lit candle. I push myself off the ground; ready to take a look...Tractor man is back so I wait for him and his noise to pass.
The box is as empty and uneventful as this work, but thankfully there’s a cute little bird box on the ground that cheers me up. It looks so little and cosy that I wish I could live in it. The birds aren’t grateful for it; they just sit in the trees and poo.
A fellow blonde rushes past me and glares. My insecurities mirror hers as we both know who I’m writing about and we both feel uncomfortable as a result.
I wonder whether tractor man is doing laps, just to annoy me. I don’t like tractor man. A pack of 18 year old males laugh, shout and occasionally push each other in order to make the 18 year old females in the location consider the males to be masculine. I feel insecure so with one hand I write and with the other I let my finger tips stroke the grass. I dig my fingernails into the dirt then panic about hygiene.
A couple amble down the path, and I debate whether they are a result of fresher’s week and a mixture of vodka-red bulls.
I think I may throw something at tractor man.
I contemplate how much time I have left to write something inspirational and figure it’s too late.
My phone rings. Hello mum.
Jenny Thacker
William Cain
In reception.
Far off footsteps become louder as students approach, the long corridors are echoing with sound. The receptionist behind me, looks up and on making eye contact, she sheepishly buries her head in her work
More pupils pass by. “Are there any cash points near here?” asks a girl with a heavy Liverpudlian accent. The phone bleeps and the receptionist staples whilst listening to the receiver.
A thunderous roar is heard from further down the corridors. It is the cleaner and her mop bucket. A squeak from the wheel is buried in a murmur of monotonous and systematic rolling. It is almost train-like.
Two girls point, whisper and giggle. They are gossiping about a girl who apparently doesn’t wash. They point to a potted plant by my side and wonder if it is real. Once they leave the doors, I touch the plant, it is indeed real.
An Asian girl with a fashionable jacket sits near me. She reads a magazine resting on the table. My attention is distracted by a woman with straight hair and glasses. She is dressed entirely in grey. She carries a red Mickey Mouse bag; this is the only colour on her attire and it seems to contradict the impression that the rest of her appearance gives.
The Asian woman is joined by an older relative or perhaps a friend. They converse in their natural tongue. I believe they are Chinese, although I am no expert on foreign languages. However I’m fairly confident that my lack of understanding is not a result from my inexperience of Northern English accents.
One of my professors for English Literature is walks past. He is wearing a vibrant purple shirt. This also draws my attention to a statue outside of a naked concrete child, wrapping its arms around itself for warmth.
A woman in a suit walks past. She looks to be on a mission. Her Maroon lipstick makes her pout look sharp and threatening. I am glad not to have to cross paths with her.
Stephen Henry
Shapes and sizes in abundance
Gaggling geese or ducks pretending to be geese.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
People arriving at each other, blending and dispersing. Moving towards each other meeting, silently passing without greeting and moving on towards their destinations, single file, two by two, and clusters of individuals clinging to their peers, moving as one to blend in and hide within the crowd, their newly found friends, their newly found security blanket.
Ping cling ping cling metal on metal.
Clink clank, red shoes worn with a black suit, with a short skirt.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The delivery guys with their orange trolleys stacked full of boxes filled with reams of paper are going to the same place but are walking apart from each other, at different angles, as if to appear independent. And the 50cc Bradshaw van, smooth, small, semi silent, slips sleekly around the corner and disappears behind the bushes as if it was never there.
Dog barking in the distance, strange on campus…
Clip, Clip, Clip, 2 inch heals echo on the pavement.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
The girl with the sleeveless t shirt is wearing a long thick scarf and holding her boyfriend’s hand obviously keeping her heart warmed if nothing else. And the mature students are heading to the ‘Nether Regions of the education department’ At the same time a boy band trio, hip young and handsome walk into the LINC, filled with anticipation, filled with promise.
Incessant clanging and banging of builders annoys.
Wahr Wahr Wahr, a gull almost laughing, claims his turf.
Live it! Live it! Live it!
Two boys, soon to be men, sit along the bench from me (could be watching me watching them) talk of ‘shit’. Are they discussing the verb? The noun? Or the adjective? Strange how their voices raised when speaking the often offending word. Strange how they speak it excitedly and strange that, that laughing gull over head is here so far from the sea, laughing, watching me.
Live it!
Jacqueline Mckenzie
Two canteen workers chat casually, during a lull in custom. The people to the left of me talk animatedly, in front of them, a sandwich and a packet of Quavers. A pair of girls in front of me talk about the sickness that one of them is experiencing. “Freshers Flu”, apparently. They get up and leave, making a stop at the bin before heading for the door. The smell of egg fills the air, and the custom at the till picks up again. The two people on my left talk about the intimacy that a couple they know share. One of them is more loving than the other. Two girls, a blonde and a brunette sit at the empty table in front of me, chatting, as the two people to my left leave. Three lads sit around a table, laughing and joking. A half eaten sandwich sits in front of one of them. The garden outside is full of vibrant colour. It contrasts against the dull brick walls of the university. Another woman joins the girls in front of me, and exchanges pleasantries. The three lads leave their table, leaving the half-eaten sandwich behind, still half-eaten. They are replaced by three new people, two guys and a girl, who are laden down with posters. The two cashiers strain over their tills, having a conversation. It abruptly ends, leaving the two women looking bored. A guy at a table behind me laughs out loud, as his friend gets up to leave.
Cameron McDermott
People walk past, lost in their own thoughts. The ducks splash and swim in the lake, oblivious to everything and everyone else. the sky is grey, as if it might rain at any moment. Fragments of conversation are picked up and then lost on the wind. A man comments on the beauty of our surroundings to his friend, who agrees with him. A woman sits with her back to me, facing her husband, a Labrador sitting faithfully by her side. Seagulls fly overhead, then land in the water.
A large crowd walks past, breaking the serenity for a moment with their combined voices and laughs. The peace is restored as they move further away, towards the campus. The smell of coffee travels through the air each time the door to the cafe is opened. Someone has left their dirty plate on the table where I sit. Some people can be so lazy.
Elizabeth Bower
Observations in the Terrace cafe
Though the square framed windows the sky is dark with heavy white clouds. On the grey roof of the opposite building a small brown bird hops across the roof tiles. Sitting in here, I listen to the endless late lunch time chatting. Different conversations blend together to form one continuous sound of voices. Mixed into this comes the sound of food packets crunching and the munching of sandwiches. Plates and cutlery clatter together and somewhere chairs scrap backwards on the grey spotted orange floor. Loud words of ‘good bye’ and ‘see you late’ cut though the background voices and are then gone.
Sitting opposite to me, a couple share a magazine. He wears blue jeans with a pale blue top and he has a shaven head. She wears a light brown t-shirt and many bangles on her arms. They get up, he collects his large sports type bag from the floor and she pulls down her black shirt. They walk out together, leaving behind them an abandoned sandwich packet on the table, its usefulness gone.
A girl’s voice flows over the other voices, ‘I could stay here all day.’
Another girl says ‘Where you off to now?’
Their voices fade once more into the background noise.
There is another man sitting opposite me now. He has a short black beard covering his chin and he writes on plain paper with a blue pen. He pauses and takes a bite from his sandwich.
A phone starts ringing, a hip hop music plays and is then quickly silenced. The answering voice is lost in a ripple of loud voices.
There comes the smell of chips that floats over the tables and then fades away.
A girl cries out, ‘Tomato ketchup on lettuce!”
The beard man opposite me has nearly written a side of paper. He stops and checks his phone.
The door opens on squeaky hinges and closes silently.
A man carrying a cutlery holder walks past. He smiles and nods his head at the woman on the till. He then crosses the floor to the cutlery stand, where he empties the cutlery into their correct holders.
Hails Hardman
LINC Building
A boy opposite with rosy cheeks wearing a Liverpool football shirt on is listening to music while concentrating on the screen in front of him. He is sniffing loudly.
There is silence yet there is not silence. Nobody is talking. The sound of the air conditioning and the hum of the electrical equipment is in fact noisy.
Four more people enter the room. There are three females and a male. They are all talking to one another as they position themselves at the computers. The silence has been broken yet the air conditioning still overpowers the conversation.
A money spider crawls over my left hand and makes its way under a computer.
The conversation has died down except for the girl with the auburn hair who is on her mobile phone talking to somebody about lectures.
Two of the females are now engrossed in Facebook looking at photographs of people hugging each other.
Mobile phone girl is still talking but clicking on various pages of Facebook. She is the loudest member of the quartet.
The male of the group is looking at his timetable on the internet and checks it against a piece of paper he is holding in his left hand.
Silence again apart from the rapid tapping of the keyboards.
The female who is sat next to mobile phone girl is looking at the same photos over and over again. A male of about twenty years of age with an orange face pulling his tongue out seems to be the favourite.
Paula Ward
In between the roars of motor vehicles meandering through the rabbit warren of roads winding their way in and out of campus, small snippets of conversation and responsive resounding laughter are then silenced as they have passed. In the trees which quiver only slightly in the welcomed soft breeze, birds thrive; contrasting with the whine of an engine which for a few minutes sits purring. This followed by a brilliant yellow JCB barging mechanically through campus before both car and digger rumble away. Jokes… strawberries and NUS cards reflect the low hum of chatter ranging. People; brightly dressed with corresponding bright faces, students bustle past clutching folders, phones and haphazardly seizing bags which are slipping down shoulders. Seemingly unaware of the beauty of their surroundings, activity focuses on reaching the next destination. Standing in what could be described as packs, they await transport which they are then loaded onto in small clusters and whisked away.
Kirsty Culshaw
In the distance I can hear the chatter of voices, with people walking past in deep discussion. They seem to quieten down as they walk past the weirdo sitting on the grass, scribbling into a notebook and watching the passers by. Everything seems peaceful, with the well kept greens of the campus, and historic significance of the main building. It all seems so tranquil, until the rumble of a JCB begins to move closer and closer to my peaceful surroundings, destroying the relaxing atmosphere in which I was greatly enjoying. As the load menacing machine shudders past me, it leaves a thick layer of dust, which blocks my view of the grounds. The people who are walking past begin to talk loader, to try and hear each other over the heavy machinery which is moving around them.
Katie Shaw
25.09.2008
People are standing in an unorganised line seemingly waiting for the bus to arrive. The depressed and woeful looks on their faces tells me that they have been waiting around for some time. I can barley hear what they are saying however because of the sound of people walking past me, many of them wearing heels making this task become more annoying by the second. Across the road from me stands a lone building surrounded by bins, more bins and litter discarded around the bins. The sound of engines humming and cars driving past start to drown out the sound of peoples heels clicking against the pavement. Horns are beeping, people are waving and then laughing. I don't understand what's so funny about seeing your friend in a car. Finally, the monstrous sound of the bus drowns out all else as it pulls up in front of the unorganised line. Relief briefly raises on the faces of the people as they see their bus pulling to a stop. Only briefly though as a fight soon starts about who's getting on the bus first.
Richard Dugdale
Observation - The lake...
Two workmen in fluorescent coats, one with a blue helmet, one with a white helmet, dig in the reeds at the edge of the lake. Three boys are sitting on a bench, heads to the ground. One has a beard and a bandanna; the other two have no particularly memorable features. Now there is only one workman in the reeds. He steps onto the wall by the waters edge and leans against the railings. He begins to smoke a rollup cigarette and he holds it in his mouth as he fumbles around in a pocket, bringing out a phone, dialling and holding it to his right ear. The other workman returns but he is no longer wearing a hardhat. He has a tattoo on one arm but it is old, smudged and faded so the pattern can’t be made out.
A large girl in a jumper crosses the boards near the water. The way the jumper hangs on her reminds me of those dogs with sagging rolls of fat. Now and again white birds flap and take flight from the lake. Each flies forward and then curves to the right, as if this is the rule for exiting flights. A man and woman are heading towards the cafe with a Labrador dog. The dog has a sleepy look about it and it’s concentration on the ground suggests that it is a guide dog. A bald man and a blonde haired girl are now sitting on the bench the bandanna guy was at. The girl has a camera and is photographing one of the many ducks sitting on the grass at the lakes edge. The man is looking searchingly across the water and occasionally takes a drag on a cigarette.
On another bench there is a boy in a stripy jumper talking on a phone. He keeps standing up, walking in a circle, and then sitting back down again. The girl with the camera crosses the wooden boards and stops briefly, placing her camera on the railing and taking another photo, quickly. People push trolleys across the wooden bridge that have sandwiches and bottles of lemonade on them. The wheels make a comforting click clack noise as they go.
A gull with bright orange legs lands on the railings. It just walks back and fourth, as if observing people. Three ducks now waddle casually over the bridge. One has a long strand of weed hanging from its beak. They pass close by me and I hear them quacking in a low conversational way. They suddenly fly into the water and swim in a line, before flying off again, just as suddenly.
Ross Law
25th September 2008. (2.30pm)
It was our first lesson and I had been sent here on a mission – to come up with a piece of writing and document the world drifting by and capture it! - I wandered to my location that I had been assigned on my map of Edge Hill as our exercise, as I made my way to the Sporting Edge, which was located on the outskirts of the campus. I was slowly but surely followed by the two young ladies both in brightly coloured Afro wigs, on stilts and with techno-coloured shorts.
I slowly walked in the direction of the Wilson Building, along the gravel outskirts to the benches where normally the spectators would watch as their friends and team mates would be participating in either athletics, rugby football or all the other sports that are either played competitively or as part of the sports their sports associated courses. At night the surrounding flood lighting would be lit- it was still daylight even if slowly the day was meandering towards late afternoon and a chill had started to fill the air.
In the middle of the grassed area were some rugby posts, a concertinaed large net, and hurdles on the racing track
A couple of buildings were in the distance – one looked like an accommodation block and the other where fellow students were being taught.
As I started to just sit there and wait for the snap-shot of what was life for that moment in time – the birds sang sweetly in nearby trees and rooftops, and mingled with the sound of a nearby extractor fan…. this was only broken by the passing of pairs of students chattering to each other as they cut through onto the grass… maybe thinking that waiting for them were imaginary submachine guns from the roof tops – waiting and secretly looking for them for their “lawlessness” of walking on the sacred grassed area?”.
They talked about this and that and no doubt of what they had done the last few nights and what they planned to do as they cut through.
A solitary bearded, suited tired looking professor heaved his large heavy black case, umbrella and equally heavy carrier bag towards the nearby car park which was nearby, longingly for the last time that day as he thought of going home and probably finishing off a bottle of wine to blot out that day.
A couple of student also cut through alone very silently across the grass- probably thinking of how drunk they were going to get that night when they met up with their mates
The girls on the stilts paced up and down unsteadily as I sat there - shaking their buckets of loose change and going up to everyone who happened to be in the vicinity and handing out their carrier bags before they disappeared indoors themselves.
Once my mission I felt was completed –I collected together my notes that I had made to enable me to make this snapshot of life at Edge Hill and started walking back to my class.
Valerie Navarra
Mass observation
Area 17 (performing arts building)
Unlike other areas of Edge Hill, the entrance to the performing arts building is almost silent. The only noticeable sounds are the chirping of birds and the quiet rumbling of car engines in the distance. The window of the building houses a poster for an upcoming stand up comedy show. The bright yellow poster almost fills one full pane of glass as it looks out towards me.
The silence is broken as a stream of students exit their classroom into the foyer of the building. Being outside, I can’t make out what the students are saying; although it’s obvious from their gleeful chattering that they are happy to be out. The noise quickly subsides as they hurriedly rush to another classroom.
After a little while, a group of three students leave the building to converse by the bench I’m sitting at. They talk between themselves for a couple of minutes with only the odd glance at the creative writing student sat beside them, strangely scribbling into a notepad. There conversation mainly centres on their previous lesson which apparently was a welcome class and in their own words, was “pointless”. Other than their “pointless” drama welcoming class, the group sporadically converse about other subjects such as housing, television, clothes and food. Apparently one of the group, a tall girl with curly blond hair and a tribal tattoo on her back, likes the show ‘two pints of lager and a packet of crisps’ as she talks for over a minute about an episode she watched the previous night.
The group’s conversation turns to a dance class they all attend. The blond girl stands in front of her friends and begins to show them some dance steps she had learned before coming to Edge Hill. She gloats at how her dance instructor had noticed how her dance style gave away that she had previously done ballet. She continues to dance, as though she was performing on stage. After the impromptu dance show and a quick cigarette, the group begin to walk away from the area in the direction of the main building, restoring silence back to the area.
Jamie McNally
Continuously, people brush by me non stop. People go about their business, occasionally some drop inside the university shop, or swing the double doors open as they enter the bar. Each time the doors swing the noise of the crowd becomes more audible, yet I can follow no string of conversation only random utterances and words. Across from me a girl sits still with her nose in a booklet gripping two bottles of soft drink and a gossip magazine. To my side, notices line the walls. Two couples crowd around them and bump me a few times before striding off again. The girl with the booklet takes leave at the site of her friend, who takes one of the bottles as she gabbers on about not being able to remember where anything is as the first girl nods, agreeing, with a “yeah, yeah”. There is a stale smell of smoke in the air mixed with the soapy smell of toiletries I can only assume is coming from the shop across. Suddenly, there is a bizarre sight as two girls in bright yellow dresses and afro wigs, probably as part of some kind of promotion, walk their way in on a pair of tall stilts. The first manages somehow to climb inside a photo booth as the second behind her sways and laughs hysterically behind, somehow managing to keep her balance.
Mark Smith
----------------
The rather vast ‘courtyard’ that overlooks the Edge Hill pond is an ideal place to see and observe diverse events and people without really being too obtrusive. It is also the best place to be - out in the open, with the soothing sound of the water and the light, cool breeze – on a bright, sunny day like this. There are quite a few students walking around : Some just out of classes, strolling, with all the time in the world. Others rushing to get to theirs on time. A lot of them sport fluorescent green wristbands which tells me that they are fellow freshers.
From where I’m sitting opposite the Learning Resource Centre Building, I can see just some of the famous Edge Hill ducks. But the noises of the others much further away from my line of vision, drift across the water as if to confirm their presence to me. The area is suddenly very quiet and devoid of the usual gaggle of people and I have time to look around at all the buildings … the mixture of the classical brick and stone ones with that of the very modern glass and steel ones, very pleasing to the eye. Striking that elusive perfect balance between the old and the new, the ‘ancient’ and the ‘modern’. Just then a man walks past with his dog. He (the man, not the dog!) is wearing a thin, brown sweater over a white and blue checked shirt in such a way that you can only see the collar part of his shirt. The dog is an adorable Labrador (hey that kind of rhymes on some weird level!) and is happy to be out and walking in the warm sunshine, one can see that with the way his tail keeps constantly wagging. He seems relatively harmless and quite friendly though. Before I can observe him more, a large group of guys and girls walk by and I hear two of the girls call out my name. My friends - Lucy and Lisa - on their way to the faculty of Education. I nod a greeting to them and we talk a bit before I remember that I have an assignment to complete and before they remember that they have to get to class!
The unfamiliar noise of the seagulls pulls my gaze overheard and I see that there are many of them around - on the roofs, over the water, in flight – screeching their lungs out as a way of communication with each other. Somehow whenever I see or hear the word ‘seagull’ , my mind immediately brings up the image and story of ‘Jonathan Livingston Seagull’ by Richard Bach, which is one of my favourite books. It does that now and I become kind of lost in thought over it before a guy talking rather loudly on his mobile, settles down on the bench right next to mine. He is wearing a red t-shirt and a tan coloured jacket and blue jeans and seems really agitated over something. The wind blowing my way and the guy’s weird accent prevents me from hearing what he is saying but I gather that it is something about not being able to make someone do something they don’t want to. Though clearly preoccupied with his talk, he has time enough to look in my direction and give me a weird look that wonders why I’m observing him so closely. I take the hint and turn my attention elsewhere. Two other students from my Creative Writing class are sitting at some distance, nearer to the edge of the smaller pond, which is right in the middle of the courtyard. One of them is sitting with her back against the inner wall bordering that pond, her feet up on the ledge, her notebook on her knees. I see her comfortably settled but furiously scribbling. She stops for a moment, as if sensing my gaze, looks over at me and waves. I wave back, just as the ducks in the smaller pond start flapping their wings furiously, splashing water in all possible directions, while some of them fly over to the actual pond. This catches the attention of a group of students who have just walked out of the CMIST building and they head closer – some of them lean over the edge and feed the ducks some scraps, while some of them just eye them rather warily from a bit further away, as if afraid that they might get their heads bitten off if they went any closer. Two of the braver ducks venture close enough to the girl feeding them, for her to scream and back away hastily with the ducks still venturing closer.
I become so absorbed in the spectacle that it is almost too late before I realise that I have to be back in the class within the next 2 minutes. I pack up my things and walk away, wondering what eventually happened to that girl feeding the ducks.
ANUSHREE NANDE
2:21pm, Sports Field:
Cars line the perimeter of the field, maybe close to a hundred. The field itself is deserted, apart from one man, a janitor of some sorts walking along the track. Four students just past the far end, probably walking to their cars. There are three in front, one behind. A van drives past behind me and as it leaves, the only sound to be heard is birdsong. Students pass by going nowhere exciting judging by the scuffing of feet.
The flow of students seems almost continuous now, talking within their groups about stationary and general small talk. Two wasps are circling branches on the tree beside me. I'm not a fan of wasps but right now it's a case of live and let live. One of the insects moves to a lower branch and my fear returns; I feel myself shuffling back and turning to watch it's movements almost obsessively. The wasp flies around the nearby branch, almost menacingly, he can sense my discomfort. The field ahead is once again deserted and another van drives by, as a group of giggling students pass me.
Heather Sutton
There is a slight rustling of the leaves caused by a tiny breeze of the wind. Several of them have tiny, uneven holes in them. They have clearly provided a veritable feast for the caterpillars and other such tiny creatures. Some are browning, a sign of the change in the season. Others are still resisting the onset.
The Edge Hill bus on its tireless journey, with three or four students sitting inside. The Edge Hill bus driver has a bored, mundane, tired expression on his face, clearly showing his love for his job.
A woman walks by with sunglasses on, seeming unaware of the lack of sunshine making the act of wearing sunglasses slightly redundant.
There is a car waiting patiently at the gate. The gate doesn’t rise, apparently playing a malicious game with the car and making the driver more and more frustrated.
A JCB ploughs its way down the beaten road which silently groans under the immense weight of the beasts powerful tyres. Not content with the punishment it has handed out, it reverses back to give the road more.
A line of nine bollards stand beside the road, eight of which stand tall and upright. One however leans pitifully to one side, the victim of an innocent accident or a drunken misdemeanor.
Mark Parker
The LRC has a coffee house inspired atmosphere with the comforting sound of light conversation and the frantic tapping on a computer keyboard. Sat in the centre of the room, there is a constant flow of students as they grab a quick coffee before lectures or walk around casually searching for the book they desire. A man directly in front of me catches my eye, his posture relaxed and legs crossed as he reads his newspaper in the corner of one of the sofas. He occasionally furrows his brows as he reads something that causes disapproval, the sound of him fiddling with his chocolate bar wrapper reflecting this. His relaxed persona is a contradiction to the five or six women sitting opposite him already in an intense and deep conversation. However, the light topic of dogs, “...bed and lead...oh God I told Dan he had to buy some dog food!” matches the chilled atmosphere of the room.
A crash of papers shoots through the library and leaves a red faced and green wristband student sheepishly drop to his knees in a frantic attempt to retrieve them. I notice a member of staff look sympathetically at the student but she remains seated, shuffles a few papers around her own desk and takes a few sips of her brew before heaving herself off her chair in a moment of guilt to help him.
Meanwhile, the group of women have exploded into laughter as one of the older women has burst into an improvisation of an angry cat, complete with sound effects. After a bit of sighing and the wiping of eyes, the women settle down and attempt to change the conversation topic with “my hairdresser always says I sit with one shoulder above another, don’t know why!”
Sarah Nicholson
29/9/2008 14.20 Edge Hill University Campus
Serene surroundings broken only by the heavy and constant mumble of cars. A cluster of boys “Go on lad! Go on!” A nervous and seemingly lost girl combs her fingers through her hair self consciously, keeping her head to the ground as she manoeuvres her way through the campus. Excited fresher’s converse; “Are you on campus or off?... Which halls do you live in?... Have you been to the S.U?... Which course are you doing?...” Loud jingle of keys and coins as a man walks by, camera in hand. A jogger dressed in shorts and a woolly hat speeds past followed by a couple hand in hand laden with Aldi bags.
Louise Costigan
The Rock Garden
I position myself against the trunk of a tree, allowing its rough bark to scratch my back like a lover. The stillness of the garden absorbs my mood and slowly, before my eyes, it comes alive. Insects chirp and dragonflies dance in the air like myths, whilst in the distance I can see the gentle mounds of rabbits punctuating the greenery. The image transports me to the summer days of old; reading Richard Adams and allowing my mind to pillage the burrows of Watership Down.
The distant drum of traffic brings me back and I cast my gaze above, at the cracks of blue peering through massing clouds. It is then that I notice, nestled in the leaves of a high tree, a hula hoop.
Discarded.
I focus my thoughts on this lost, child’s toy and suddenly I’m drunk again. And I’m laughing. And I’m launching the circle into the air. Into the stars. Or else trying to but only reaching the lowest branch. Blaming my pathetic throw on the world and its incessant swaying.
A man appears from out of the foliage. Deer like. He darts through the clearing with his head down. I manage to note an official looking uniform before he runs out of sight.
I stare at the rocks in the wall, taking care to avert my eyes from the cracks. I try to relate their colour to the atmosphere of the garden but the deer returns. Hurrying through with a clip board in hand.
His intrusion into my solitude makes me question time. I become unsure of how long I’ve stayed.
As I gather my things I steal a single feather so as to remind myself to return…
Jesse Thomas
Creative Writing: Taking Notes outside the College Shop
Inside the shop there are the usual suspects, things that you might find in most shops like chocolates and food, booze, toiletries, stationary, paper, books and second hand books which is quite a good idea at a university and at the back there is a display for the Edge Hill hoodies.
There are lots of people walking past and I can only catch little bits of conversations. Two girls walk past me quite quickly, one asks the other, “Where are you going?” she replies, “Getting signal.”
A group of lads walk past and one shouts, “Yeah, that poster!” and the others start to laugh.
Laughter is the main thing I can hear come to think of it, along with the bleeping of the till, music playing in the bar and the swish of the automatic doors as people walk through them.
Most people are buying sweets and chocolate but there are two guys with A3 sheets of card, maybe they are doing art or making posters for tonight.
A girls voice says, “Can you hold this?” there isn’t a reply so I’m assuming whoever it was she was talking to held whatever it was she wanted holding.
Two lads come up to me and ask, “S’cuse me love could you tell me where the SU is so I can sign up to some stuff, sports like.”
“Yeah, just go through them doors and it’s a little door on your left.”
-Someone shouts really loud, “SHE’S IN THE JUNGLE!”-
We all laugh then the first lad that spoke asks, “Them doors where they play pool and that?”
“No, no the doors right at the end there.” I answer pointing him in the right direction.
“Ah right, someone sent us down here,” he laughs then says goodbye.
Some people are giving me some really funny looks but I suppose I might look a bit odd just stood here writing away. Ouch I think I just tried to slice my own finger off with some paper!
A couple walk past arguing, the girl is shouting at the lad, “That’s not funny, say you’re sorry, you’re an arsehole, don’t talk to me…say you’re sorry!”
Lots of random bits of conversation; ‘Yeah it’s a good un’
‘So Mel nearly got battered’
‘She put some pants on me head!’
‘So when’s that gunna start for ya?’
I’ve just realised that there is no rubbish on the floor, I’m quite surprised really as I thought there would be more when there are so many people about, there’s only an elastic band on the floor. Although the cigarette tray in the bin just outside is full, it’s not a good sight.
A girl with a really nice dress on just walked past; I wonder where it’s from.
I’ve only just noticed that photo booth, its strange sometimes how you can look at something everyday and never really notice what is there.
Two lads walk past with big bottles of water and pretend to throw it at a group of girls
Just as you go into the shop, there’s a big patch of brown parcel tape on the tiles, I wonder why?
Three girls walk past, one asks, “Do you wanna go to town? I want to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” another girl asks a bit dismissively as if it would be pointless and boring, it’s a bit of a different view really.
The Red Hot Chilli Peppers song ‘Californication’ is sounding from the bar, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all day.
Two girls are giggling to themselves and one laughs, “A big fat a*se you mean?”
The other sounds a bit shocked and laughs, “May! Don’t say that!”
“I’m joking!”
“No you’re not!” and they both start laughing again.
A group of people walk past and one asks, “Are you going out tonight?”
Someone else replies, “Yeah Stanley!” in a funny voice and they all start laughing.
There’s a group of lads acting all macho, it’s quite funny really, they keep flicking he occasional eye over to some girls just to check if they’re watching.
“Yeah I’ll just have to smile it off won’t I, not a lot much else I can do.”
The clip clop clip clop of heels on the floor.
I can’t see who’s talking because I’ve got my head down writing but it is boys voices I can hear.
“Tell a joke.”
“Na, I don’t know any good ones.”
“What about UNDALAY!”
More laughter followed by, “Shut up you clown.”
“I’ll just kick her in the back of the heels so she falls.” Laughter.
“That’s a bit harsh, you’re evil!” more laughter.
Someone jus said, “That’ll be reet!” That reminds me of home!
“I just spent £500!” Would it be nosey of me if I wondered what on.
“I hope not all of that was on booze for this week.”
Two girls start laughing.
Dawn Wild
An annoyingly happy man is squeaking past me with a prehistoric wheelbarrow. He bounces towards me, desperate to say something, and chuckles
“That’s an odd place to sit down and write, isn’t it?” I sigh, partly because I’m far too hot, and partly because I’m trying to think of something captivating to write, and he and his wheelbarrow continue to annoy me.
“Not really, considering I’m writing about you.” Now his smile is insincere. Bye bye wheelbarrow man.
I’m not here to chat; I’m here to write something interesting...And it’s really not working.
I can feel some warm ventilation thing seep out of the wall. It smells musty, almost dirty. I shuffle to the left but I block a doorway. I shuffle to the right but realise all this shuffling isn’t helping me write anything vaguely significant. I stop shuffling. A man trudges past on some tractor type thing, and its noise gets closer, then closer, then passes. I struggle for inspiration so I eat a crisp. Next, I look pantomimically to the left, then to the right, as if with some sort of purpose. To my left, the map tells me ‘You are here’. To my right I see something drop from the tree. I like the way trees move when there’s a breeze, a bit like they’re dancing together to a ballad. I could imagine them getting lighters out and swaying. Maybe that’s what causes those big forest fires in Australia... Possibly.
I stop thinking about the tree when I realise that the thing that dropped from it was bird poo. Nice.
A cardboard box sits next to the bin. My suspicion boils, and my patience starts to melt down like a lit candle. I push myself off the ground; ready to take a look...Tractor man is back so I wait for him and his noise to pass.
The box is as empty and uneventful as this work, but thankfully there’s a cute little bird box on the ground that cheers me up. It looks so little and cosy that I wish I could live in it. The birds aren’t grateful for it; they just sit in the trees and poo.
A fellow blonde rushes past me and glares. My insecurities mirror hers as we both know who I’m writing about and we both feel uncomfortable as a result.
I wonder whether tractor man is doing laps, just to annoy me. I don’t like tractor man. A pack of 18 year old males laugh, shout and occasionally push each other in order to make the 18 year old females in the location consider the males to be masculine. I feel insecure so with one hand I write and with the other I let my finger tips stroke the grass. I dig my fingernails into the dirt then panic about hygiene.
A couple amble down the path, and I debate whether they are a result of fresher’s week and a mixture of vodka-red bulls.
I think I may throw something at tractor man.
I contemplate how much time I have left to write something inspirational and figure it’s too late.
My phone rings. Hello mum.
Jenny Thacker
Monday, November 12, 2007
Guerilla Writing
Guerilla Writing First Year Writing Students
September 2007
3:47pm – It was noisy inside the Library, the smell of coffee from the shop in the corner spreads through the room like a wave. The last remaining people waiting to enrol are looking tired, bored, hung over, whatever. They huddle into groups in the room, some large some small, whispering amongst themselves with the anticipation of what is ahead of them visible on their faces. Two long queues still remain; one girl who is right at the back of the longest queue (with what could be a Burberry bag slung around her shoulders) is half-standing, half-slouching. She looks towards the person at the front, a grinning man in a black duffel coat who must look very small from where she is, and turns her head away to roll head eyes and sigh. Struggling to hold her heavy-looking folder full of paperwork in just her left hand, she uses her right to prop up her chin. Perhaps she fears if she doesn’t her head will fall right into her shoulders and she’d be stuck like that, neck less forever…
3:50pm – The sun reflects on the outside windows of the Library, making them shine like mirrors or precious metals. Orange barriers stand just below the ground floor windows in the mud, looking out of place and shocking next to the green grass and brilliant white direction sign. They are almost sad standing there, right next to the light from the window however not basking in it themselves, instead forced to be in the shadows of nearby trees. A strong wind blows past and howls, making brown leaves fall from the trees and scatter like flour through a sieve. The windows wobble and lose their glint, the direction sign leans forward and makes a creaking sound, and it is only the barriers that do not move. They stand sturdy and stubborn until the wind has gone.
3:54pm – Four people sit on the benches, two men, and two women. One man whose hair is jet-black apart from his fringe which is blonde, is talking loudly; “mate I’m telling you it’s well freaky…” The other man, who has a shaved head and a good few years on the first man, nods his head. He seems to be nodding in agreement but his eyes are looking off elsewhere and he has a bemused look, making it likely he is nodding more at the fact he is already aware of what the other man is just figuring out, and has been for some time. The two women on the other bench are sitting cross-legged toward each other; One with platinum blonde hair next to dark tanned skin, the other bright red hair the shade of a letterbox. The blond girl wears pink leg warmers over black sheer tights ad keeps bending down to check he back of her legs, searching for a imaginary ladder. “It’s a good deal, it’s not great but it’s ok”, says Red, twirling her hair around her finger in thought.
*
The girl sat next to me is smoking on a cigarette she passes a lighter to the girl she is talking to, however the other girl is unable to keep the lighter lit long enough to light her cigarette. They begin talking about their home life and what they miss. “I especially miss Dave” the girl in the green jacket says as she blows smoke into the air.
There is a girl in the shop looking confused as she searches through the sandwiches, she finally finds one she wants and makes her way to the tills.
The doors constantly open and shut as people are rushing in and out.
Two girls walk past me talking excitedly about their plans for later, laughing as they do.
The boy in the black T-Shirt is stuffing papers into his bag and looks around him, he opens his bag again and pulls out what looks like a campus map, he stares at it intently for a moment. Relief spreads across his face and he walks off in the opposite direction.
Two girls in pink coats stand laughing as they point to items on the shelves in the shop.
There is music playing in the marquee next to me it gets louder as more people enter.
A big group of people is coming towards me; one boy pulls on his jumper as the wind picks up.
The girls next to me light up another cigarette with difficulty the lighter is cursed as it cuts out again.
The girl in the blue top laughs to herself as she enters the marquee, she recognises someone she knows and goes across to talk to them. The boy in the red hoodie follows the girl into the marquee. They all seem to know each other.
A member of the cleaning staff is wheeling a trolley full of cleaning materials through the door she stops for a moment before carrying on.
A mobile phone rings and is answered by a girl in black, she smiles as she talks to the person on the other end.
Two students can be seen laughing and joking behind the halls of residence
next to the road, where multiple cars pile into the campus like a set of
falling dominos.
Walking past the moving vehicles, a young girl on her mobile is quickly
walking away as voices can be heard echoing in the hollow hallways inside.
The sunlight reveals itself from behind the small cotton wool clouds
drifting across the sky with the gentle zephyr, warming the solid ground
below. The gentle breeze slowly nudges the dead leaves on the ground, and
the once bundled debris is now scattered across the sunlit road.
The leaves slowly move past three women, who are busy discussing about how
Peggy describes things, whilst two girls walk by laughing about how the
night before they had been smelling each others hair.
Several birds can be heard in the trees, singing their early autumn song
nestled in the red and gold leaves. Below, three women sound lost as they
continuously ask themselves if they are going the right way. Towards the
right, a man wearing a deep blue top can be heard whistling and seen walking
away with a spring in his step. To the left, a man is seen carrying a box on
his left hand, balanced perfectly like a waiter.
Several students quickly navigate the winding streets of the campus like
mice in a maze, whilst the autumn sun up above begins to sink behind the
clouds, and the gentle breeze of autumn becomes a chilling winter wind.
There’s a builder questioning the reception desk. It only seems like polite banter.
A convoy of students bundle by. They are jabbering and chatting away to each other. It’s a thunderous sound as their feet pound the elevated ground.
You can see passers by through the glass doors on their journey throughout the campus. They seem to flicker by like traffic.
I can hear the sound of typing on the far corner and papers are rustling too.
The sun is beginning to descend sending rays of bright sunshine through the glass exit. The light is almost blinding. Hundreds of fingerprints are now visible on the panes because of it. The tarmac outside reflects the light so strongly it hurts my eyes.
The receptionist answers the telephone. She introduces herself as Pam.
Janet Atkinson
*
Two Men one with a Ladder stand talking to the receptionist. Receptionist looks bored
Is combing her hair and eating an orange
Man drinking coffee from a plastic cup
Man talking loudly on mobile phone Receptionist tells him to turn it off or leave
He leaves and can still be seen outside shouting angrily down the phone
Man in a business suit and shiny black shoes flicks through a folder looks agitated
A couple (Man and Woman) sit opposite not speaking
Various people hurry by from corridors
Young man sits writing next to me
Girl trips up spilling the contents of her bag swears repeatedly
Girl sits nearby eating an apple noisily
Man arrives with planks of wood and goes outside
Woman opposite reads a paper (Daily Mail)
Cleaner arrives to empty the bin
*
Drama Building
Two gentlemen in business clothes walk past, one with a tie and no jacket, the other with a jacket and no tie.
The wind stirs the curving branches that almost reach the ground. Within the confines of this small tree there is just enough room for two lovers to stand face to face, isolated from the world by the curtain of near-dead green leaves. On this cold day, not lovers take advantage of the spot.
A workman in a yellow vest pauses to put down his cases just long enough for a smoke. He tips back his hard hat, re-gathers his load, and is off.
Dead vines creep up the distant wall, stripped of leaves by autumn’s chill knife.
Three tall trees beyond the building sway; the tallest is a gaunt aspen-like tree, framed by two evergreens. As the wind shifts them they lean towards each other, whispering secrets.
A boy I don’t want to talk to comes up, pretending to be a man innocent of all the reasons I don’t want to talk to him.
The wind cleaves through cotton and denim, turning my pale fingers paler with cold.
Red hooded jacket and knit cap with earflaps—a man who doesn’t mind looking a bit silly for he doesn’t need his clothes to show how tough he is.
Mustard trying to be gold—a car drives past.
Almost androgynous, a boy and girl walk past in complimentary if not matching outfits.
Dull red hair and bright yellow stripped jumper toned down by somber gray lines.
“I’m not lying about that,” he protests as he walks by, trying to convince the person on the other end of the cell phone.
Amy Reynolds
CMIS Building
A group of people walk past, talking- some are probably students.
A woman walks past wheeling a box-like thing on wheels. It’s green and blue.
Three girls walk past. All are wearing jeans and they are all talking.
The woman with the box is standing by the roadside. She has long blonde hair and is wearing a black business suit with a red shoulder bag.
A blonde girl wearing a furry black coat walks past. Her high-heeled boots make a long clacking noise on the paving stones.
An old woman in a red jumper leans against a wall to have a smoke out of the chilling wind. As she finishes her cigarette and leaves, two boys- they sound Irish- walk past.
Three students walk past a duck, two girls and a boy. The boy and one of the girls have dark hair, while the other is blonde.
The woman with the box-with-wheels-thing talks to, and then walks away with, an old man in a blue jumper. After they have left, a black-haired girl talks on her phone- and argues with the person on the other end of the phone- about not going to the beach party.
Two middle-aged men meet up and stand talking and smoking. After a minute or so, they move out of the wind.
Finally, an old man in a wheelchair, with one leg, wanders (wheels?) away…
Patrick Thornton
*
Blonde haired girl walks through clutching what seems to be over one hundred blank postcards in her hands. The cashier is laughing as the till continually beeps. A workman walks passed holding milk and sugar. The corridor has a continuous stream of students flowing through its automatic doors now.
Girls stood outside the photo booth discussing bad photos, they giggle together as they struggle to find the coin slot.
The radio plays on in the background.
A cleaner parks her blue and yellow trolley, sighs as she straightens her uniform, then walks, with purpose, into the shop. A lone bottle of coke on top of the photo booth is casually picked up by a man in a grey sweatshirt.
The mixed jangle of car keys and jewellery as a group of girls walk down the corridor, all with mobile phones in their hands. They walk into the shop laughing loudly their comments drifting back “What about her last night!...”
Two male students discussing their time table go to enter the shop but decide against it and leave.
Dark haired girl says to her companion “I want milk”, before heading to the crisps stand.
Danielle Brack
*
A man in black and blue carrying a small child in pink walks across the courtyard. The trees violently rustle in my right ear, in my left silence, with an infrequent tapping from a thick metal pipe running down the building.
The small garden in front of me curves, forcing people into a bottleneck formation. Many people pass me leaving the door to my right. All shapes and sizes some are thin some are large. Some have bling some are bland others dress as what I consider the norm student look: hoody and jeans.
A lad sits on the other end of the bench with his laptop, his hand on his chin as though working on a puzzle his dress sense very skater.
Loud footsteps now emanate from up ahead a small women to my surprise. The man and child return, this time the child has a slight trot as though she is excited about were she is going, her hand falls from her fathers as she runs.
I suddenly notice that the floor beneath me is coated with bird droppings and feathers I look up anxiously.
Some students with scraggly hair struggle to get things out their bags as a lady with blue jeans and red coat passes giving them no eye contact. Two girls voices grab my attention as they break the silence and discuss were to go, both their heads look round as though their in a foreign country.
As things quiet down the tapping of the forgotten laptop gets my attention and my stomach churns with hunger. A group of students pass all wearing waterproof coats and have huge rucksacks as if there off camping their hair is thrown about by the wind.
Two older ladies pass both laughing. A man suddenly turns the corner to were I sit and startle him, he looks like a technician with a name badge and photograph.
Two lads return a foldable camera stand over their shoulder to the main block behind me.
The wind blows against my face, along with clarity it brings muck as it drags up feathers and spirals them in the air creating an impressive tornado effect
A lad walking away from me wears an expensive looking suit jacket with a naff pair of jeans along side his friend wearing a cap an odd mish mash of styles but it works. Two painters appear almost from nowhere talking about eBay and carry their paint-coated cups inside.
*
Group of students walking past, I can hear the faint chanting of “which room are we in, are we going the right way.” From personal experience would appear to be first year students.
Workmen in their hard hats and vibrant jackets, drill away the silence.
The gentle swaying and soft rustling sounds of the plants and bushes that surround the lake.
The brown water that fills the lake gently ripples.
A man in a yellow T shirt sat outside the café drinking from a polystyrene cup, appearing to be enjoying the view.
Students engaged in deep conversation, laughing and joking whilst leaning against the brown wooden slats of the bench.
Birds that occupy the lake squawk and float aimlessly whilst basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Ducks walk cheekily back and forth between the lake and the café unconcerned with the steady flow of human traffic.
The steel black railings that surround the lake contrast heavily with the natural beauty of the plants and wildlife that inhabit it.
A man in a crisp white shirt and black trousers chats on his mobile phone outside the café.
Two women rush past pulling vibrant pink trolley’s, looking as if they are late for an appointment.
An orange tractor shunts debris to one of two large red skips.
Rushing past is a very formal looking woman eager to reach her destination.
Ducks pecking at the neatly cut grass surrounding the lake, squawking as if annoyed that it doesn’t have much to offer.
A seagull flies over the lake diving toward it, then ascends higher and higher before it vanishes over the roof tops.
Jacqueline Brack
*
A lone student jogs around the track methodically, wearing his white vest and grey shorts. His arms and cheeks red from the cold autumn wind. In the distance 3 young men fire a football at the goal keeper. All caged behind the green fencing. To the left of the field, just behind the rugby posts, a group of girls leave a building. Clutching their files tightly to their chests they turn to each other and chat while one girl adjusts her bag on her shoulder.
In the corner to the right there are a cluster of trees, rocking back and forth in the wind over looking the fields and running track. Standing tall they are surrounded by long uncut grass. Behind the trees is the student accommodation, a big building with windows running down the side.
Near to where I stand a green fence circles the whole track, about 2 meters away from the track itself. Beyond the track sits a pit of gravel in the shape of a triangle, its use I have no idea!
*
I walk into the bathroom and see nothing but white tiles smeared with stains of all colours from white to green and black all mixed into one. A person stands before me dressed in faded green jeans with a short rip on the back of the left trouser leg. His shoes are just as dilapidated as they to match the dirty array of colours that are smeared on the wall. There seems to be a stark contrast going on as his top half is much smarter consisting of a clean white shirt with thin lines of grey. His face is a yellowy white and clean shaven. I can’t see his face as he stands urinating and looking to the ceiling. I quickly move over to my urinal spot before his look of urinating pleasure turns to wonder and anger as to why this 1st year student has walked into the toilets with a pen and pad and is staring at him attentively.
The dark blue swing chair beckons me over and I sit down in front of a computer screen that reads please log in. I’m in the library. I look around trying to write down what I see but nothing interesting catches my eye apart from the two boys laughing over a website to my far left and the Goth looking girl to my right who is completely submerged in her own world. Then the moment comes. I see her.
Have you ever seen a girl who is so pretty but not in your face pretty? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such a girl with sky blue eyes that flicker and flitter in a mesmerising dance as it scans a computer screen? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such a nose that is short and pointy but not in the way that makes you immediately think Pinocchio? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such two glossy lips that gleam in the light above where she is sitting, making them seem like two thick slices of tomato? That’s what I’m seeing now. The sky blue eyes dance their way over to my position and stop. Her seemingly smooth pink cheeks with the white surface area draw back. The thick slices of tomato now turn to lean slices of pepperoni as they too retreat and wrap themselves around her soft jaw line. As they retreat an army of around 20 white squares march their way through, with the two Generals at the front. She is smiling at me. I shift in my dark blue chair and crease my jacket in the process as I utter a quick sorry and turn my head and pretend to be looking at something else. She turns back and so do I. Have you ever seen an average sized head, a bit like a pumpkin with purple-red highlights that look like strands of anorexic liquorice? That’s what I’m seeing now. She turns to the side. Have you ever seen a left ear play hide and seek behind hair that looks like strands of anorexic purple strands of liquorice? Peeping itself in and out, poking its round head and then its lobe with a dark spot on it. That’s what I’m seeing now. I don’t know why I keep comparing her to food, maybe it’s because she looks good enough to eat. Or maybe because I’m so damn hungry.
I decide to end this observation before I turn into some kind of stalker and make my way over to her. Past the Goth in black clothes and big brown bag who is still in her own world and finally next to this physical specimen. I explain to her what I’ve been doing and her face creases up as the army of white squares burst through the slices of pepperoni again and the pink cheeks tense themselves up as if in some kind of muscle competition. I look down at my pad of black scribbles and water stains from when I was in the toilet as I ask her name. She laughs and says Becky Cunningham. Have you ever seen such a girl with such features? If you have, her name is Becky Cunningham. She is whom I saw.
Emmanuel Ogwang
*
Outside the Performing arts building
A group of girls swiftly move past me giggling and smiling at each other, a work man then walks past them chatting on his mobile phone. At that moment the University bus revs around the corner as students all bustle out of the Performing arts building shouting at the bus as if it was a person ‘ STOP!’
The sound of the crisp golden brown leaves rustling along the floor and the wild September wind almost drowns out the noise of students rushing around the campus. A man on a moped quickly speeds around the corner that the bus once went and leaves the smell and vision of smoke behind it.
A blind is protruding through a window that has been forgotten about and bangs in rhythm against the red brick wall, at that moment the sound of a door slamming loudly in the Performing Arts Centre echo’s around the whole building. The sound of footsteps soon picks up as every body else is silent and it is as if time has stopped and everything is calm. Not for long though, as a girl walks past rustling a crisp packet after walking out of the building with the electric doors slamming together behind her.
*
The Terrace Café
The first thing that caught my attention in the terrace café happened just as I entered the doors two girls barged there way past me. The first, a tall red haired girl, was listening intensely to the gossip her shorter friend was dishing out. They seemed to have found out what ever “Sammy” was hiding from them.
I then took a seat of the first free table I could find. I found myself absently looking round at the place until a flash of steel caught my I eye. I turned towards the till where a man in a grey pinstriped suit was walking away and immediately the two workers on the tills looked straight down not daring to look at each other.
I looked towards the fridges where two students were lingering mumbling to each other just out of earshot from the two teachers sat in the table In front of them were whispering hurriedly between themselves. Then the taller and the younger of the two threw her arms in the air with a twirl and both of them burst into laughter that forces people to look up at the sudden outbreak of noise.
Then a sudden movement from the tills again force my attention their way. I look round to see my roommate Michael standing their with a bottle in one hand whilst the other is waving at me. He heads towards my table but doesn’t stop “I’m supposed to be in a lecture” he tells me as he walks straight through the double doors behind me.
September 2007
3:47pm – It was noisy inside the Library, the smell of coffee from the shop in the corner spreads through the room like a wave. The last remaining people waiting to enrol are looking tired, bored, hung over, whatever. They huddle into groups in the room, some large some small, whispering amongst themselves with the anticipation of what is ahead of them visible on their faces. Two long queues still remain; one girl who is right at the back of the longest queue (with what could be a Burberry bag slung around her shoulders) is half-standing, half-slouching. She looks towards the person at the front, a grinning man in a black duffel coat who must look very small from where she is, and turns her head away to roll head eyes and sigh. Struggling to hold her heavy-looking folder full of paperwork in just her left hand, she uses her right to prop up her chin. Perhaps she fears if she doesn’t her head will fall right into her shoulders and she’d be stuck like that, neck less forever…
3:50pm – The sun reflects on the outside windows of the Library, making them shine like mirrors or precious metals. Orange barriers stand just below the ground floor windows in the mud, looking out of place and shocking next to the green grass and brilliant white direction sign. They are almost sad standing there, right next to the light from the window however not basking in it themselves, instead forced to be in the shadows of nearby trees. A strong wind blows past and howls, making brown leaves fall from the trees and scatter like flour through a sieve. The windows wobble and lose their glint, the direction sign leans forward and makes a creaking sound, and it is only the barriers that do not move. They stand sturdy and stubborn until the wind has gone.
3:54pm – Four people sit on the benches, two men, and two women. One man whose hair is jet-black apart from his fringe which is blonde, is talking loudly; “mate I’m telling you it’s well freaky…” The other man, who has a shaved head and a good few years on the first man, nods his head. He seems to be nodding in agreement but his eyes are looking off elsewhere and he has a bemused look, making it likely he is nodding more at the fact he is already aware of what the other man is just figuring out, and has been for some time. The two women on the other bench are sitting cross-legged toward each other; One with platinum blonde hair next to dark tanned skin, the other bright red hair the shade of a letterbox. The blond girl wears pink leg warmers over black sheer tights ad keeps bending down to check he back of her legs, searching for a imaginary ladder. “It’s a good deal, it’s not great but it’s ok”, says Red, twirling her hair around her finger in thought.
*
The girl sat next to me is smoking on a cigarette she passes a lighter to the girl she is talking to, however the other girl is unable to keep the lighter lit long enough to light her cigarette. They begin talking about their home life and what they miss. “I especially miss Dave” the girl in the green jacket says as she blows smoke into the air.
There is a girl in the shop looking confused as she searches through the sandwiches, she finally finds one she wants and makes her way to the tills.
The doors constantly open and shut as people are rushing in and out.
Two girls walk past me talking excitedly about their plans for later, laughing as they do.
The boy in the black T-Shirt is stuffing papers into his bag and looks around him, he opens his bag again and pulls out what looks like a campus map, he stares at it intently for a moment. Relief spreads across his face and he walks off in the opposite direction.
Two girls in pink coats stand laughing as they point to items on the shelves in the shop.
There is music playing in the marquee next to me it gets louder as more people enter.
A big group of people is coming towards me; one boy pulls on his jumper as the wind picks up.
The girls next to me light up another cigarette with difficulty the lighter is cursed as it cuts out again.
The girl in the blue top laughs to herself as she enters the marquee, she recognises someone she knows and goes across to talk to them. The boy in the red hoodie follows the girl into the marquee. They all seem to know each other.
A member of the cleaning staff is wheeling a trolley full of cleaning materials through the door she stops for a moment before carrying on.
A mobile phone rings and is answered by a girl in black, she smiles as she talks to the person on the other end.
Two students can be seen laughing and joking behind the halls of residence
next to the road, where multiple cars pile into the campus like a set of
falling dominos.
Walking past the moving vehicles, a young girl on her mobile is quickly
walking away as voices can be heard echoing in the hollow hallways inside.
The sunlight reveals itself from behind the small cotton wool clouds
drifting across the sky with the gentle zephyr, warming the solid ground
below. The gentle breeze slowly nudges the dead leaves on the ground, and
the once bundled debris is now scattered across the sunlit road.
The leaves slowly move past three women, who are busy discussing about how
Peggy describes things, whilst two girls walk by laughing about how the
night before they had been smelling each others hair.
Several birds can be heard in the trees, singing their early autumn song
nestled in the red and gold leaves. Below, three women sound lost as they
continuously ask themselves if they are going the right way. Towards the
right, a man wearing a deep blue top can be heard whistling and seen walking
away with a spring in his step. To the left, a man is seen carrying a box on
his left hand, balanced perfectly like a waiter.
Several students quickly navigate the winding streets of the campus like
mice in a maze, whilst the autumn sun up above begins to sink behind the
clouds, and the gentle breeze of autumn becomes a chilling winter wind.
There’s a builder questioning the reception desk. It only seems like polite banter.
A convoy of students bundle by. They are jabbering and chatting away to each other. It’s a thunderous sound as their feet pound the elevated ground.
You can see passers by through the glass doors on their journey throughout the campus. They seem to flicker by like traffic.
I can hear the sound of typing on the far corner and papers are rustling too.
The sun is beginning to descend sending rays of bright sunshine through the glass exit. The light is almost blinding. Hundreds of fingerprints are now visible on the panes because of it. The tarmac outside reflects the light so strongly it hurts my eyes.
The receptionist answers the telephone. She introduces herself as Pam.
Janet Atkinson
*
Two Men one with a Ladder stand talking to the receptionist. Receptionist looks bored
Is combing her hair and eating an orange
Man drinking coffee from a plastic cup
Man talking loudly on mobile phone Receptionist tells him to turn it off or leave
He leaves and can still be seen outside shouting angrily down the phone
Man in a business suit and shiny black shoes flicks through a folder looks agitated
A couple (Man and Woman) sit opposite not speaking
Various people hurry by from corridors
Young man sits writing next to me
Girl trips up spilling the contents of her bag swears repeatedly
Girl sits nearby eating an apple noisily
Man arrives with planks of wood and goes outside
Woman opposite reads a paper (Daily Mail)
Cleaner arrives to empty the bin
*
Drama Building
Two gentlemen in business clothes walk past, one with a tie and no jacket, the other with a jacket and no tie.
The wind stirs the curving branches that almost reach the ground. Within the confines of this small tree there is just enough room for two lovers to stand face to face, isolated from the world by the curtain of near-dead green leaves. On this cold day, not lovers take advantage of the spot.
A workman in a yellow vest pauses to put down his cases just long enough for a smoke. He tips back his hard hat, re-gathers his load, and is off.
Dead vines creep up the distant wall, stripped of leaves by autumn’s chill knife.
Three tall trees beyond the building sway; the tallest is a gaunt aspen-like tree, framed by two evergreens. As the wind shifts them they lean towards each other, whispering secrets.
A boy I don’t want to talk to comes up, pretending to be a man innocent of all the reasons I don’t want to talk to him.
The wind cleaves through cotton and denim, turning my pale fingers paler with cold.
Red hooded jacket and knit cap with earflaps—a man who doesn’t mind looking a bit silly for he doesn’t need his clothes to show how tough he is.
Mustard trying to be gold—a car drives past.
Almost androgynous, a boy and girl walk past in complimentary if not matching outfits.
Dull red hair and bright yellow stripped jumper toned down by somber gray lines.
“I’m not lying about that,” he protests as he walks by, trying to convince the person on the other end of the cell phone.
Amy Reynolds
CMIS Building
A group of people walk past, talking- some are probably students.
A woman walks past wheeling a box-like thing on wheels. It’s green and blue.
Three girls walk past. All are wearing jeans and they are all talking.
The woman with the box is standing by the roadside. She has long blonde hair and is wearing a black business suit with a red shoulder bag.
A blonde girl wearing a furry black coat walks past. Her high-heeled boots make a long clacking noise on the paving stones.
An old woman in a red jumper leans against a wall to have a smoke out of the chilling wind. As she finishes her cigarette and leaves, two boys- they sound Irish- walk past.
Three students walk past a duck, two girls and a boy. The boy and one of the girls have dark hair, while the other is blonde.
The woman with the box-with-wheels-thing talks to, and then walks away with, an old man in a blue jumper. After they have left, a black-haired girl talks on her phone- and argues with the person on the other end of the phone- about not going to the beach party.
Two middle-aged men meet up and stand talking and smoking. After a minute or so, they move out of the wind.
Finally, an old man in a wheelchair, with one leg, wanders (wheels?) away…
Patrick Thornton
*
Blonde haired girl walks through clutching what seems to be over one hundred blank postcards in her hands. The cashier is laughing as the till continually beeps. A workman walks passed holding milk and sugar. The corridor has a continuous stream of students flowing through its automatic doors now.
Girls stood outside the photo booth discussing bad photos, they giggle together as they struggle to find the coin slot.
The radio plays on in the background.
A cleaner parks her blue and yellow trolley, sighs as she straightens her uniform, then walks, with purpose, into the shop. A lone bottle of coke on top of the photo booth is casually picked up by a man in a grey sweatshirt.
The mixed jangle of car keys and jewellery as a group of girls walk down the corridor, all with mobile phones in their hands. They walk into the shop laughing loudly their comments drifting back “What about her last night!...”
Two male students discussing their time table go to enter the shop but decide against it and leave.
Dark haired girl says to her companion “I want milk”, before heading to the crisps stand.
Danielle Brack
*
A man in black and blue carrying a small child in pink walks across the courtyard. The trees violently rustle in my right ear, in my left silence, with an infrequent tapping from a thick metal pipe running down the building.
The small garden in front of me curves, forcing people into a bottleneck formation. Many people pass me leaving the door to my right. All shapes and sizes some are thin some are large. Some have bling some are bland others dress as what I consider the norm student look: hoody and jeans.
A lad sits on the other end of the bench with his laptop, his hand on his chin as though working on a puzzle his dress sense very skater.
Loud footsteps now emanate from up ahead a small women to my surprise. The man and child return, this time the child has a slight trot as though she is excited about were she is going, her hand falls from her fathers as she runs.
I suddenly notice that the floor beneath me is coated with bird droppings and feathers I look up anxiously.
Some students with scraggly hair struggle to get things out their bags as a lady with blue jeans and red coat passes giving them no eye contact. Two girls voices grab my attention as they break the silence and discuss were to go, both their heads look round as though their in a foreign country.
As things quiet down the tapping of the forgotten laptop gets my attention and my stomach churns with hunger. A group of students pass all wearing waterproof coats and have huge rucksacks as if there off camping their hair is thrown about by the wind.
Two older ladies pass both laughing. A man suddenly turns the corner to were I sit and startle him, he looks like a technician with a name badge and photograph.
Two lads return a foldable camera stand over their shoulder to the main block behind me.
The wind blows against my face, along with clarity it brings muck as it drags up feathers and spirals them in the air creating an impressive tornado effect
A lad walking away from me wears an expensive looking suit jacket with a naff pair of jeans along side his friend wearing a cap an odd mish mash of styles but it works. Two painters appear almost from nowhere talking about eBay and carry their paint-coated cups inside.
*
Group of students walking past, I can hear the faint chanting of “which room are we in, are we going the right way.” From personal experience would appear to be first year students.
Workmen in their hard hats and vibrant jackets, drill away the silence.
The gentle swaying and soft rustling sounds of the plants and bushes that surround the lake.
The brown water that fills the lake gently ripples.
A man in a yellow T shirt sat outside the café drinking from a polystyrene cup, appearing to be enjoying the view.
Students engaged in deep conversation, laughing and joking whilst leaning against the brown wooden slats of the bench.
Birds that occupy the lake squawk and float aimlessly whilst basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Ducks walk cheekily back and forth between the lake and the café unconcerned with the steady flow of human traffic.
The steel black railings that surround the lake contrast heavily with the natural beauty of the plants and wildlife that inhabit it.
A man in a crisp white shirt and black trousers chats on his mobile phone outside the café.
Two women rush past pulling vibrant pink trolley’s, looking as if they are late for an appointment.
An orange tractor shunts debris to one of two large red skips.
Rushing past is a very formal looking woman eager to reach her destination.
Ducks pecking at the neatly cut grass surrounding the lake, squawking as if annoyed that it doesn’t have much to offer.
A seagull flies over the lake diving toward it, then ascends higher and higher before it vanishes over the roof tops.
Jacqueline Brack
*
A lone student jogs around the track methodically, wearing his white vest and grey shorts. His arms and cheeks red from the cold autumn wind. In the distance 3 young men fire a football at the goal keeper. All caged behind the green fencing. To the left of the field, just behind the rugby posts, a group of girls leave a building. Clutching their files tightly to their chests they turn to each other and chat while one girl adjusts her bag on her shoulder.
In the corner to the right there are a cluster of trees, rocking back and forth in the wind over looking the fields and running track. Standing tall they are surrounded by long uncut grass. Behind the trees is the student accommodation, a big building with windows running down the side.
Near to where I stand a green fence circles the whole track, about 2 meters away from the track itself. Beyond the track sits a pit of gravel in the shape of a triangle, its use I have no idea!
*
I walk into the bathroom and see nothing but white tiles smeared with stains of all colours from white to green and black all mixed into one. A person stands before me dressed in faded green jeans with a short rip on the back of the left trouser leg. His shoes are just as dilapidated as they to match the dirty array of colours that are smeared on the wall. There seems to be a stark contrast going on as his top half is much smarter consisting of a clean white shirt with thin lines of grey. His face is a yellowy white and clean shaven. I can’t see his face as he stands urinating and looking to the ceiling. I quickly move over to my urinal spot before his look of urinating pleasure turns to wonder and anger as to why this 1st year student has walked into the toilets with a pen and pad and is staring at him attentively.
The dark blue swing chair beckons me over and I sit down in front of a computer screen that reads please log in. I’m in the library. I look around trying to write down what I see but nothing interesting catches my eye apart from the two boys laughing over a website to my far left and the Goth looking girl to my right who is completely submerged in her own world. Then the moment comes. I see her.
Have you ever seen a girl who is so pretty but not in your face pretty? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such a girl with sky blue eyes that flicker and flitter in a mesmerising dance as it scans a computer screen? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such a nose that is short and pointy but not in the way that makes you immediately think Pinocchio? That’s what I’m seeing now. Have you ever seen such two glossy lips that gleam in the light above where she is sitting, making them seem like two thick slices of tomato? That’s what I’m seeing now. The sky blue eyes dance their way over to my position and stop. Her seemingly smooth pink cheeks with the white surface area draw back. The thick slices of tomato now turn to lean slices of pepperoni as they too retreat and wrap themselves around her soft jaw line. As they retreat an army of around 20 white squares march their way through, with the two Generals at the front. She is smiling at me. I shift in my dark blue chair and crease my jacket in the process as I utter a quick sorry and turn my head and pretend to be looking at something else. She turns back and so do I. Have you ever seen an average sized head, a bit like a pumpkin with purple-red highlights that look like strands of anorexic liquorice? That’s what I’m seeing now. She turns to the side. Have you ever seen a left ear play hide and seek behind hair that looks like strands of anorexic purple strands of liquorice? Peeping itself in and out, poking its round head and then its lobe with a dark spot on it. That’s what I’m seeing now. I don’t know why I keep comparing her to food, maybe it’s because she looks good enough to eat. Or maybe because I’m so damn hungry.
I decide to end this observation before I turn into some kind of stalker and make my way over to her. Past the Goth in black clothes and big brown bag who is still in her own world and finally next to this physical specimen. I explain to her what I’ve been doing and her face creases up as the army of white squares burst through the slices of pepperoni again and the pink cheeks tense themselves up as if in some kind of muscle competition. I look down at my pad of black scribbles and water stains from when I was in the toilet as I ask her name. She laughs and says Becky Cunningham. Have you ever seen such a girl with such features? If you have, her name is Becky Cunningham. She is whom I saw.
Emmanuel Ogwang
*
Outside the Performing arts building
A group of girls swiftly move past me giggling and smiling at each other, a work man then walks past them chatting on his mobile phone. At that moment the University bus revs around the corner as students all bustle out of the Performing arts building shouting at the bus as if it was a person ‘ STOP!’
The sound of the crisp golden brown leaves rustling along the floor and the wild September wind almost drowns out the noise of students rushing around the campus. A man on a moped quickly speeds around the corner that the bus once went and leaves the smell and vision of smoke behind it.
A blind is protruding through a window that has been forgotten about and bangs in rhythm against the red brick wall, at that moment the sound of a door slamming loudly in the Performing Arts Centre echo’s around the whole building. The sound of footsteps soon picks up as every body else is silent and it is as if time has stopped and everything is calm. Not for long though, as a girl walks past rustling a crisp packet after walking out of the building with the electric doors slamming together behind her.
*
The Terrace Café
The first thing that caught my attention in the terrace café happened just as I entered the doors two girls barged there way past me. The first, a tall red haired girl, was listening intensely to the gossip her shorter friend was dishing out. They seemed to have found out what ever “Sammy” was hiding from them.
I then took a seat of the first free table I could find. I found myself absently looking round at the place until a flash of steel caught my I eye. I turned towards the till where a man in a grey pinstriped suit was walking away and immediately the two workers on the tills looked straight down not daring to look at each other.
I looked towards the fridges where two students were lingering mumbling to each other just out of earshot from the two teachers sat in the table In front of them were whispering hurriedly between themselves. Then the taller and the younger of the two threw her arms in the air with a twirl and both of them burst into laughter that forces people to look up at the sudden outbreak of noise.
Then a sudden movement from the tills again force my attention their way. I look round to see my roommate Michael standing their with a bottle in one hand whilst the other is waving at me. He heads towards my table but doesn’t stop “I’m supposed to be in a lecture” he tells me as he walks straight through the double doors behind me.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Upcoming Events
Yet another reading at The Rose Theatre, Edge Hill, organised by the Writing Department
ALAN HALSEY 9 February 2006: 7.30 : 3 pounds
Alan Halsey is one of Britain's most versatile poets. His work ranges from textual poetry that The Guardian described as 'exhilaratingly explor(ing) language and ideology, running different jargons and discourses together' through to visual works available in both book and CDRom formats that collages image and text into a new entity. Much anthologised, Halsey's books include A Robin Hood Book, an imaginative re-working of the myths surrounding Hood and the collaborative Fit to Print (with Canadian language-poet, Karen McCormack) which mimics the presentational techniques of the newspaper. He works as a bookseller from his base in Sheffield. He runs West House Books ( see www.westhousebooks.co.uk )
Alan will be supported by Scott Thurston, who will be launching his first substantial collection, Hold, which is published this month by Shearsman Books: www.shearsman.com
Next event: Paul Magrs: Rose Theatre, 20th March: One of the most prolific young writers around, Paul Magrs is the author of several novels, including Marked For Life, Does It Show? and To the Devil – A Diva! He has also published Strange Boy, a children’s novel, and a short story collection, Playing Out. And he writes for Doctor Who.
ALAN HALSEY 9 February 2006: 7.30 : 3 pounds
Alan Halsey is one of Britain's most versatile poets. His work ranges from textual poetry that The Guardian described as 'exhilaratingly explor(ing) language and ideology, running different jargons and discourses together' through to visual works available in both book and CDRom formats that collages image and text into a new entity. Much anthologised, Halsey's books include A Robin Hood Book, an imaginative re-working of the myths surrounding Hood and the collaborative Fit to Print (with Canadian language-poet, Karen McCormack) which mimics the presentational techniques of the newspaper. He works as a bookseller from his base in Sheffield. He runs West House Books ( see www.westhousebooks.co.uk )
Alan will be supported by Scott Thurston, who will be launching his first substantial collection, Hold, which is published this month by Shearsman Books: www.shearsman.com
Next event: Paul Magrs: Rose Theatre, 20th March: One of the most prolific young writers around, Paul Magrs is the author of several novels, including Marked For Life, Does It Show? and To the Devil – A Diva! He has also published Strange Boy, a children’s novel, and a short story collection, Playing Out. And he writes for Doctor Who.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Short Story Conference
THE SHORT STORY
May 13 2006
Edge Hill, UK
Opening Speaker: A.L. Kennedy (Indelible Acts, Original Bliss)Panel Members include:
Professor Patricia Duncker (Seven Tales of Sex and Death)
Ra Page – Comma PressDan McTiernan – Transmission magazine
Joanne Reardon – script editor (radio)
CALL FOR PAPERS
After many years of comparative neglect, the short story is now acknowledged as a distinctive genre, of crucial importance to world literature. The introduction of a National Short Story Prize marks a revival of interest in the UK. Collections and anthologies are being reviewed more frequently, while short story sites and e-zines are proliferating. As a condensed and fragmentary form, the short story seems especially suited to a twenty-first century readership.
Edge Hill College is hosting a one-day conference aimed at all those writing and researching the short story, whether as practitioners or as literary scholars (or both). Proposals are invited on any aspect of modern and contemporary short fiction and should last no longer than 20 minutes. They may include creative work and presentations. Topics may include – but are not limited to:
§ The short story today – generic identity - the novella - short short stories - sequences and cycles – hypertext– genre and subgenre (e.g. science fiction, horror).
§ Creative presentations - practice-based research – the poetics of the short story - online publishing – small magazines – adaptation.
§ Individual authors (20th and 21st century) – women’s writing – the short story in translation – international perspectives - postcolonial writing - the oral tradition
Please send 100 word abstracts to Dr Ailsa Cox by 24 February 2006 to: coxa@edgehill.ac.uk
The event will also act as a platform to launch the North West Short Story Network (Edge Hill, Lancaster University, St. Martin’s College, Liverpool Hope University, Salford University, Manchester Metropolitan University
Fees £55/£30 for students
For further information please contact Ailsa Cox, Department of English; tel 01695 584121
May 13 2006
Edge Hill, UK
Opening Speaker: A.L. Kennedy (Indelible Acts, Original Bliss)Panel Members include:
Professor Patricia Duncker (Seven Tales of Sex and Death)
Ra Page – Comma PressDan McTiernan – Transmission magazine
Joanne Reardon – script editor (radio)
CALL FOR PAPERS
After many years of comparative neglect, the short story is now acknowledged as a distinctive genre, of crucial importance to world literature. The introduction of a National Short Story Prize marks a revival of interest in the UK. Collections and anthologies are being reviewed more frequently, while short story sites and e-zines are proliferating. As a condensed and fragmentary form, the short story seems especially suited to a twenty-first century readership.
Edge Hill College is hosting a one-day conference aimed at all those writing and researching the short story, whether as practitioners or as literary scholars (or both). Proposals are invited on any aspect of modern and contemporary short fiction and should last no longer than 20 minutes. They may include creative work and presentations. Topics may include – but are not limited to:
§ The short story today – generic identity - the novella - short short stories - sequences and cycles – hypertext– genre and subgenre (e.g. science fiction, horror).
§ Creative presentations - practice-based research – the poetics of the short story - online publishing – small magazines – adaptation.
§ Individual authors (20th and 21st century) – women’s writing – the short story in translation – international perspectives - postcolonial writing - the oral tradition
Please send 100 word abstracts to Dr Ailsa Cox by 24 February 2006 to: coxa@edgehill.ac.uk
The event will also act as a platform to launch the North West Short Story Network (Edge Hill, Lancaster University, St. Martin’s College, Liverpool Hope University, Salford University, Manchester Metropolitan University
Fees £55/£30 for students
For further information please contact Ailsa Cox, Department of English; tel 01695 584121
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