freyawrightbrough

Today I write to you from work on my lunch break. I’ve been thinking about Matt Hsu’s prompt: “a mummified little man inside a chocolate wrapper” all morning while working and here’s what I’ve got.

Diary,

My sister once told me that Hans Christian Anderson tales were history books. I’ve always thought she was an idiot untill today. While walking through a London park I saw a tiny tent made of chocolate wrappers. I looked inside and found what I thought was a little mummy man toy. But when I picked it up it smelt and the tiny bandages began to disintergrate. I looked at the tomb’s inscription which read Here Lies Thumbelina. Then over the top in tiny red graffiti read Bigot! Toad Hater! 

Jeremy

Peladophobia – Fear of bald people. (Georgia Wellington)

8^th December 2013

I’ve managed to avoid them till now. My wife and family all have lovely hair. Shopping is a hassle, but mostly I’ve learnt to avoid the shortness of breath, dry mouth, nausea and dread. Peladophobia they call it: a fear of bald people.

I’d never met Dad. All I knew was that he went mad and disappeared one day when I was little. I saw a picture of him in the newspaper the other day (Mad Wig Man brings Christmas Cheer). I felt shaky. My stomach tied in knots like the hair stuck in the shower plughole. Everything was falling into place as his shiny scalp gleamed up at me. My mum used to say I took after her, but for two things I got from dad. Now I know what they are: hereditary baldness and peladophobia.

George

Tonight I was invited to write at Lost Movements, an art event in West End. We had an hour or so to write a story based on the inspiration from other artists in the space. I singled out the awesome people who were having their bodies painted by artists. This is the result.

Dear Diary,

Jen came to school today with no paint. She just doesn’t give one single fuck. One of the male teachers even told her to cover up.

She said we’ve been covering ourselves up for hundreds of years. She said it was a statement, time to make a change. Apparently hundreds of years ago it was cool to be orange, and they had this thing called a tan.

Jen didn’t want people to know how rich she was by the quality of her paint or the tint of her contacts. She’s never even been under the knife.

She got called ugly and slut by Tyson, but I thought she looked beautiful. It was scary really seeing someone. It felt so private. No contacts, no paint, just her and her uniform.  I felt angry for her. Could I interject?

I’ve always been into the paint. I go to all the best designers. Sometimes I even fork out for a real live artist if there’s a special occasion.

I’ve been painted as a Picasso, the universe, pixels, even the Mona Lisa. The other girls at school look up to me. We go paint shopping together and even do surgery days. I thought it was a channel for self expression. How would people know I was unique and artsy if I wasn’t painted? But after seeing Jen today I think it may be more of a mask. Camouflage even.

I looked around at my friends. They were all looking at Jen like an embarrassing parent at a party. I stood up and crossed the courtyard. I got my water bottle out of my bag, poured it all over my face, and began to scrub with my jumper.

Tyson opened his mouth.

“What?” I snapped. “Never seen a girl’s skin before?”

I think Jen and I are friends now.

Love

Cat

So a while ago I did a podcast with fellow 24 hour writing veteran Simon Groth which you can check out here:

http://www.futureofthebook.org.au/2013/11/05/extreme-writing-and-doo-wop/ (Also can download the podcast on itunes from if:book Australia.

Simon and a bunch of other awesome authors (including Nick Earls and Krissy Kneen!), editors and printers came together with a mission: to create a book in 24 hours. Printed and all!

Each author took a chapter passed it onto an editor and then compiled it into a book and sent it off to the US where they printed one copy and sent a picture back. Crazy right!? Definitely worth checking out Willow Patterns.

http://www.futureofthebook.org.au/willow-patterns-the-24-hour-book-remixed/

I am in the process of giving this site an extreme makeover as I embark upon my new project in just 10 Days time! The project is the 365 Day Challenge- where I write a story every day for a whole year!

You can still find a time capsule of my last project (24 Hour Challenge) on the 24 Hour Chalenge tab. Also there is a new podcast with me during the challenge at: http://2013.youngwritersfestival.org/podcast-24-hour-writing-challenge/

I simply got ‘lots of legs’ for this one.

I’m 6. I remember adults looking at me in pity and amusement. I’ve attached a lot of fake legs to my stuffed dog toy. He looks like some sort of toy story nightmare. I call him Dogipede (I think it’s sweet) the others try to look enthusiastic. This look has followed me well into adulthood. It’s the same look people get when I tell them I’m going on a date.

So From Tanwyn I got: “Your body is a composite of organisms. They have all become sentient, including the bacteria, and each is vying for total control.”

I always saw and felt the world differently. I thought I was the only one. When I was 10 I broke 4 ribs and an arm and didn’t even register it. I had to learn fear, it didn’t come instinctually.

When the Zombie apocalypse came, it wasn’t blood and brains, it was a sensation and I wasn’t surprised. You couldn’t see it and it certainly didn’t make sufferers groan. They dubbed sufferers zombies because most would just shut down and simple stare into space until they starved. The virus took over the organisms in the body and was highly contagious. Each becoming sentient, including bacteria and set about war for total control over their host. The pain it caused sufferers would render them useless doomed to live out the pain in isolation, finding it impossible to even articulate. We were sent notifications that it had been sent to earth to purge, so a new species could take over.

But I felt no pain, and I found other survivors. Other people like me. I wasn’t alone after all. The virus was very slow on us. So slow in fact, that we found a cure. We readied ourselves for battle with whoever was to take over but they never came. We were notified that the intergalactic financial crisis had hit and earth was essentially now worthless.

I just did the most epic interpretive dance and it didn’t record it. Now there is a lady from the festival about to interview me so I’m gonna have to skip this hours update. Next one I promise will be good.

A weirdly serious one, not what I was aiming for but it’s too late now I can’t go back- it’s written now. And here is it. Plus- it gets in my zodiac thread. Anyone picking it up yet? Oh and the trigger was from Darby Laughren “you could write about a series of peoples’ encounters with those (annoying) jets that are around during Riverfire”

I work shifts in the Mater Hospital. I used to live out on a Farm near Emerald, but now instead of a Rooster each morning, I wake up to the sound of Jets practicing for Riverfire. I hate Riverfire. Apart from the influx of stupid injured drunk people we get at the hospital, it embodies everything I find stressful; big loud crowds of strangers. I like to deal with people one at a time, patients are good like that. You can’t treat two at exactly the same time. I wouldn’t work anywhere else, but I fear living in the city, I am doomed to ignorant city people patronising me as if their lifestyle is worth more. 

So here is the trigger I go: “All the worlds inanimate objects suddenly develop personalities and now the human population must learn to deal with it.” I think a. went off topic and b. didn’t actually explain what has happened so only makes sense with introduction but its 3.5 hours to go. I’ve been awake 30 something hours and don’t particularly care anymore. Such a maverick! Can’t stop me!

The day it happened most object were harmless. Humans like objects, humans have been kind to objects for many years, we even make lots of them. But the wifi modems rose up against the humans, creating a 1 ft tall plastic coated army that blocked out all internet. For too long had the humans bashed, plugged unplugged and cursed at these small miracle devices who so kindly brought a kind electronic magic land into their houses and their workplaces.   

So 58 mins ago Joe gave me this absolute gem: An super intelligent bear must fight its way out of a gulag in an alternate history of 1945 Russia. Here is what I came up with:

1945. Russia. You were separated from your mother at birth. You lived your cubhood as a slave being taught to be a dancing bear. As you grew older you were sold to the Gulag who performed scientific experiments on you to see if they could raise an bear army. Only you survived. You wake up in a test room, finally the without sedation for one of the first times in your life. You know exactly what to do with this new energy: revenge.

You look down at your bionic arm. It is 10:27pm most of the camp will be asleep. You crush the padlock on the door with your hairy metal bear fist. You pad softly along the corridor and come to a guard.

‘Bear!’ he shouts, but in Russian.

‘Barely,’ you reply, but in Bear.

Your hilarious action quips will be lost on this crowd. You sigh as you break the guard’s neck like rabbit ready to be slung over a horse. He slumps to the ground and you enter the dormitory easily.

You snap, crunch, tear and shred everyone who comes into your path coming up with classic lines such as ‘Can’t handle the bare truth?’

When you get to the other side of the room you splinter the wooden door and make a break for it over the wall. You could stay and have a little more fun, but you have better plans. You’ve never had any friends before why not start now? They wanted a bear army? They’re going to get it alright.

You and me in the closet. My older sister had told me it’s what you do with boys at parties, and now you were just inches away from me in the closet. I breathed deeply and then immediately regretted it, inhaling a large amount of loose fur from my nan’s fur coat. I was nervous, what happened in the closet?

After what seemed like far too long I realised that the closet didn’t have the answers, I was meant to know what happened next and I didn’t. Anticipation turned into fear and embarrassment. Luckily the next thing you said was, ‘You read that book Narnia then? I got all the videos too.’  

When Jenny went down to do a routine quality check on the factory floor she found that one of the machines had malfunctioned and each condom it produced looked exactly like the Virgin Mary. It became an office joke that turned into a niche underground market, that turned into a global best seller, but only a brave few ever admit to buying them.

A Short Essay on Gender equality the Male Perspective.

After seeing  Oscar Jonsson’s run at Hand to the Queen end last week, it became clear that Seahorse kind is still not ready for a male in a position of power. It’s sad to admit but I fear that the veins of matriarchy run to deep in our society.

One of the burning topics I hear around the sea anemone at lunch is our right to decide on safe abortion. Unfortunately most of the traditional matriarch doesn’t see our bodies as our right. In fact I think this issue will be lost amongst the sea weed, particularly after outspoken feminist Therese Albert was elected as minister for horsemen. Currently Seamonkeys have a more advanced gender political system than us.

Nevertheless I hold out hope, and dream someday to see a King on the throne.

I can feel my knees turning to jelly and mind seeping out my ears. I always get this feeling when I am star struck. And it looks like Johnny Depp no less. This is a big one for my books. Not that I have a book, I just happen to like hanging out at LA Airport. I like the atmosphere, and what celeb doesn’t love a good dedicated fan? I walk up to him on the two wobbling pillars I usually call my legs. He is asleep. Then I spot it. It’s awful, he got a goatee? Must be for a role. Still I can’t bring myself any closer, I hate goatees. Why have so many of the stars that live around here suddenly got them I wonder?

Part 3 of my serial story. Probably one more to go.

Matthew stared at the second less than impressive tree in as many days. This time just a stump with a new sprout. It didn’t explain anything. He sat down on the stump and thumbed through the pages of his father’s journal. Flicking past leaf after leaf, each covered in spindly lettering spelling out stories from all across the world. This must have been one of the trees the storytellers had got their leaves from. Perhaps all the storytellers had been wiped out on cocktail night. Matthew knew the story well, his father had constantly reminded him of his role as a scientist during the water restricted years.   

How embarrassing thought the Micra. She didn’t know why her owner took her to these car networking events. They were nearly every night in city about 5:30 on the highway. She never got any better at them. The sound of beeping and warmth of headlight flashing washed over the little Micra’s dusty exterior. Why hadn’t she been washed? It was so embarrassing. Suddenly a Pajero cut in front of her. This was her worst nightmare. Beeeeep! Being forced to sound the long angry horn was Micra’s worst nightmare. She hated confrontation. But to her surprise a fiat close by sounded the soft toot toot of approval. For the first time she felt included.

Day 6 on Celebrity Moth Survivor. Fashionista Kevin has been on hunger strike for 48 hours with only Target and Jay Jay’s coats on offer. 

Mothality is now a word. Mash all the things. With all the other things! 

Around and around this tiny glass bowl. What did it all mean? I used to think the looming face that rains food was god, but now I’m not so sure. 

So after a visit from the younger young writers fest group I have this: I had to change dragon because I’d already had one, so Incorporated Maddy’s Dino tweet into the mix. 

Dino stared down its nose at me in a disapproving condescending manner. He did this every morning during our jog.

‘A stegosaurus could hunt you down!’ he shouted. His voice was horse (intentional typo! I promise) from all his stupid quips and his stupid little arms flailed about as he sped along.

That was it. We would endure this no more, I was leading a rebellion. No longer would he be the fastest rex. No longer would he oppress the good rexes of the T-Run Jogging group.

I forged ahead, we were neck and neck. I saw my break but ironically failed to see an oncoming stegosaurus. We collided.  No one ever knew of my heroic attempts thwart the regime instead they call me ‘T-klutz.’ 

Yeah I stole your name Darby sorry I’m doing it to a lot of people. Oh my god I kid you not – a bikie just went past my window revving all the way!

He looked like the famous Bikie leader Buzz of the Bikie Bandits, it wasn’t much to work with but he’d take it. On his 21st birthday Darby made the most of it, and had bikie themed party. He didn’t have many parties so he went all out, he thought it was very convincing. Unfortunately so did the Hades Saints who attempted assassinate who they thought to be Buzz.  Luckily the police also had a tip off about the party and saved Darby’s life. Unluckily, they arrested him for weapon development.

Here lays Freya, on the straight and narrow till junky Michael got her onto the hard stuff & she overdosed on caffeine.

Under 24 words. My my. 

5/10/2013 international reporter Lucy Sweeney, Germany.

Raving Lunatics Dance the House Down.

Some say you could hear it from the other side of town, others say their arrhythmic moves registered on the Richter scale. This was the 43^rd annual International Society of Bad Dancers Rave.

Already known to be one of the most dangerous international events, injuring thousands every year, this was to be the most disastrous year yet.

Witnesses say they saw moves never tried before, such as slithering snakes and the where’s wally waltz. But when it came to the freestyle event, the jumping, jiving and sporadic movements of the crowd created a landslide. Rocks tumbled down and now cover the entire venue.

No-one is said to be seriously injured however the rescue team continues to work around the clock to free the dancers who have continued to rave in a mark of unity.

Prompt was ‘failed magician’.

Alexandria the Amazing horrified her audience

When she was arrested on stage for fraudulence

Eddie the Excellent was less than entrancing

His assistant was shot with an arrow while dancing

Fabio the fascinating freaked out his assistants

Their hair ablaze he continued the show with persistence

So assistants beware, don’t be a sucker

A magician can be a pretty dodgy… fellow.

So I got “The owl and the pussycat didn’t go to sea” from Lou LaBelle + Catherine Grainger sent in ‘Beach bitches’. A wave of tired just hit me and this is the result. If this is hour 9 I dread to imagine hour 20… Be ready for weirdness. At least I’ve included Father Ted references.

Owl: It’s a nice day. Go on, go on, go on.

Pussycat: I’m not going to the seaside.

Owl: Ah go on.

Pussycat: It’s not because I’m a cat and hate water. It’s not because the sand gets on my whiskers. It’s not even because the public transport is a nightmare with that new rabbit announcer. It’s that stupid gang.

Owl: Bloody beach bitches.

Part 2

Jamie,

If you found this letter then you have done everything I wanted you to, and I’m very proud of you son. I’m sorry I had to leave when you were little. I hope this key has kept you busy long into your twenties at least. But most importantly I hope this made you travel; meet people you never would have met, eat food you’d never tasted, see things you’ve never seen.

Love

Tim

P.S. Sorry it’s just a letter mate. There’s no pot of gold… army doesn’t pay enough.