LAMcreative

As the snow fell to the rain soaked floor.

My eyes glided across the view from my window.

As my gaze turned upside down, the snow seemed to transform to a dusty ash.

I envisioned smoke and flame, an air of destruction.

The world appeared torn between snow flake and dust, mesmerising beauty and heart stopping despair.

The moment faded like the blink of an eye.

I chose to do creative writing for the complimentary studies module because I have always enjoyed creative writing. When I was much younger I used to write poems as a hobby and for fun, I found as I grew up I lost the time and the inspiration to keep it up. I hoped that by doing this creative writing module, I would become re-inspired and learn different ways of experimenting with written word. I also felt that creative writing has potential to go well with photography due to their visual qualities. For future work I could write a poem or story and then try to take photographs that link to it.      

I have been practicing photography for many years, and on occasion there has been need for a piece of creative writing to go along side my work. I have experimented in the past with different ways to place creative writing alongside a darkroom print.

Creative writing is very similar to photography due to the fact that they are both about creating a visual image. Writing creates a mental photograph; it gives the reader pieces and descriptions of a scene, allowing the reader to piece it all together, almost like a puzzle. It also leaves room for the reader to make their own interpretations about how something would look, feel, or sound. Photography on the other hand creates a literal photograph, an image that is really there and being seen and recorded by the photographer and camera. Photography can also be interpreted by a viewer, but in a different way. It depends on the kind of photograph as to if it leaves the viewer to make up their own minds or not. Often there is a clear moment happening visually in the photograph, but the events that led to the moment, and after are open to the viewer to decide and interpret how they wish. The interesting thing about both creative writing and photography is that different people will see things in different ways. It’s about personal ideas, influences, and life experiences. One person may see something and be reminded of a film they once saw, and someone else may not have seen the same film, but be triggered to think of something completely different.

As well as similarities between creative writing and photography, there are always large differences. Both practises, as long as you carry the necessary equipment can be carried out just about anywhere. However photography is far more technical in that there are many things to consider when taking a photograph. Aperture, Shutter speed, and ISO are key elements to taking a good photograph, not forgetting a good eye for composition. Then after this, you then have to put the image through Photoshop and think about size requirements and printing. If you are using a film camera rather than digital, there is even more work involved, such as processing the roll of film, making contact prints in the darkroom and then printing the image, which takes time in itself. If you wanted to write a poem or short story, it takes a lot less time, you can write it out, proof read it a few times, perhaps re-write it neatly and then it is finished.            

The way you handled it, you completely tore me apart.

You act like it was my fault.

I loved you, I thought you were happy.

Then you drop a bomb shell on me.

You tore my heart apart.

It took me a very long time to heal.

Just when I felt better, when I was starting to feel like myself again.

You show up, tell me that you miss me, and talk about giving things another go.

I believed you didn’t I, like the fool I am.

Led me to believe we would get back together again.

Yes, I am so glad could entertainment you.

I bet you were sat there laughing at me.

Trying to see how long you could fool me until I realised what a mug I was.

I was always a joke to you; something to play with till something else caught your eye, till you got bored.

I hated you for so long.

Yet you keep finding a way back.

I remove you from Facebook, you start emailing me, I remove you from Hotmail, and you start phoning me at all hours. I tell you to leave me alone, you text me more and more.

I had to change my number to keep you away.

You can disappear forever and never return for all I care.

You make me sick, and what bothers me most of all.

No matter how hard I try to get rid of you.

It keeps me awake at night, because I know you will find away.

I feel like you don’t give in to me enough.

I have so many needs and urges.

It’s like you just ignore me, like I have no say at all.

Yes it is true, sometimes you do give in to my call.

But what of all the other times you have denied me this pleasure?

I don’t think it is too much to ask.

I just want to explore, to experience new things.

The world is of full of so many different textures.

Smooth, soft, shiny, and ruff.

There are so many more, I want to know them all.

What does red feel like? How long does sticky last? Is smooth always cold?

I would love it so much if you would allow me to learn more.

I won’t get you into any trouble, I promise, cross my heart.

There is just one thing, something I have always wanted to do.

It would mean so much to me.

We hit the ground running, dancing as we went. The night was young and he was younger still.

The drinks flew as heads became lighter, floating down adventure lane, a fear of flying but see how I soar.

The fireworks blew and colours lit the night sky, the stars sparkled all around as I threw caution to the wind along with my socks.

A night of embrace, my heart thumped with excite, names were not important; the adventure was too much fun.

Whistle poor man’s sins are glaring; in whistle face of ghostly warning.

He is caught in whistle fact of an overt act – Buying greens on Sunday morning.

Whistle poor man’s sins cheese glaring; in whistle face of ghostly warning.

I used to be able, but now I cannot.

I used to be asleep, but now I am tired.

I used to be tall, but now I am short.

I used to be hungry, but now I am full.

I used to be happy, but now I am sad.

I used to be organised, but now I’m a mess.

I used to be grounded, but now I run free.

I used to be spoken, but now I am written.

I used to be fun, but now I am bored.

Large clunky shoes, shake and rattle as fish awake walk.

Far too big for me.

Passed down to me from my sister, mum insists fish awake grow into them.

Their great for stamping on boys toes.

Fish awake moon like exploring, climbing, jumping, skipping as fish awake go.

Fish awake am clumsy in these boots, fish awake always fall down.

Mum says fish awake will get used to them.

My sister says fish awake look much more grown up.

Fish awake feel as tall as a giant.

Fish awake like to stomp around making as much noise as fish awake can.

Everyone knows when fish awake coming.

An architectural mess, this building long eroded.

What once was it?

Lines, textures, and patterns collide.

Arches and hidden halls, copper rust and broken stairs, lead the eye through mystery.

Over grown moss and piping dust, the cobbles and water reclaim this land.

I long to look, to touch, and explore.

Like something I have never before seen.

An eruption of textures with contrasting depth.

She had been newly turned; the texture of blood in her mouth was still a strange experience. She sipped slowly, yet with the need to drink. It wouldn't be long before her new instincts would take her over and she would become one of them forever.

It was a warm night, and the others had invited her to join them out back under the moon for drink and smokes. Bathing in the moon seemed a strange idea as she ventured out to see them lying on towels, soaking up the rays of the moon.

Broken, stale, bread crumbs,

Sticky mould in cluttered recycling,

UNSANITARY!

Looks as if a bombs hit,

Messy, disgusting kitchen sink,

SOUL DESTROYING!

Embarrassing and uncomfortable,

Drives me up the wall,

Large clunky shoes, shake and rattle as I walk.

Far too big for me.

Passed down to me from my sister, mum insists I'll grow into them.

Their great for stamping on boys toes.

I like exploring, climbing, jumping, skipping as I go.

I am clumsy in these boots, I always fall down.

Mum says I will get used to them.

My sister says I look much more grown up.

I feel as tall as a giant.

I like to stomp around making as much noise as I can.

Everyone knows when I'm coming.