| Status: | Active, open to new members |
| Coordinator: | |
| Group email: | Creative Writing group |
| When: | On Tuesday mornings 1st of the month |
| Venue: | Members Own Home |
Leader : Olive Mercer ; Meeting : 1st Tuesday at 10.30 - 12.30
No experience necessary. We aim to enjoy ourselves and entertain each other with our efforts.
Recent Example
Creative Writing 3.9.24b
Sadness snatched at her, as it often did
It was fully six months since Mike had walked out on her, without warning. She had woken to find herself alone, and a note on the other pillow, in the dent his head had left. 'Sorry, darling, it's over'. Waking now on a summer morning, sadness, no, worse than that, grief, snatched at her, as it often did. It was 'darling' she couldn't get out of her head. Call her that when he had callously ditched her?
It's no good, she decided. It can't go on like this. Take up something new, keep busy, block it out. Pull myself together. And stop talking to myself! That evening, for the first time since that dreadful day, she went to the Plume of Feathers pub, alone. A game of darts was in progress. The two of them had been members of the darts club, after Mike had taught her to play, Steeling herself, she walked over as a game finished. 'Hello, I'm back'.
Several of them recognised her. 'Hello, Ellie', said Jack. 'Long time no see. Fancy a game?' Much to her surprise, she had not forgotten her skills, and she passed the best evening she had had for a long time. When she got back to the flat, slightly light-headed, she thought, 'Tomorrow I'll get his old dartboard out of the hall cupboard. New Ellie, here I come'.
Over the next few weeks she practised daily, and found the concentration lifted her spirits. Every Saturday night she returned to The Plume, and afterwards she went back home, always alone.
It was Saturday morning when she hooked the board on the back of the front door as usual and got out the darts. She had just scored her second bullseye of the morning when the doorbell rang. Still with a dart in her hand, she opened it to see Mike standing there, with a bunch of red roses. 'Hello, darling. I've missed you.' Without speaking, she threw the dart, and he fell in the doorway. The roses fell beside him.
When the police arrived, Ellie was sitting impassively on the hall chair, the door still open, but blocked by the body of Mike, and his roses. 'He called me darling', she said.