The child within

Man, that was hard. Write from the child's perspective? As if I'm ever going to have to do that, right?! Still, we should always push ourselves as writers...

This week's assignment was writing a scene with a child as narrator. This completely changes everything, from your spelling and grammar to your storytelling skills to the editing. Truth be told, I kinda enjoyed the freedom of no grammar rules and the ability to just go off on tangents and then spring back into the story with no need for linking sentences. It's kinda like me, in real life, hehehe...

And while I'm not sure there will be a need for the child's perspective in my prospective novel, you never know when it will come in handy.

Anyways, as usual, assignment is below, and all words copyright moi. Will be interesting to hear what you think about this one.

Child narrator: Puppies

Jessica? Jessica?!! I can’t find Jessica. I HAVE to find her. She gets scared all alone. She doesn’t like it when she can’t see me. And so I go outside into the yard and I see them and I don’t like it, not one bit.

MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!

Mummy, mummy, please come quickly.

MUUU-UUUUUH-UUUUUH-UMMMY!!

Please, mummy. PLEASE.

And there is my mummy and she can see me crying but it’s not me she needs to see – no, uh-uh – and so I point and I cry and I scream again MUUUUM!!!! STOP THEM!!!!

But mummy is wiping my eyes and calming me down but I don’t want her to do that so I squiggle and I squirm in her arms and I yank my arm away and I point again and try to jump up and down so she can see. I don’t want to look at them any more. They are naughty boys and they are hurting that poor little puppy. I put my hands over my ears and I close my eyes and stamp my feet because I don’t want to see it anymore. But even with my eyes closed I can hear the puppy crying.

And now I can hear mummy. She is yelling at the naughty boys and telling them off and yelling for daddy and then daddy comes and he is saying those bad words that mummy always tells him off for saying. I always giggle when he says them but even now I can’t because the poor puppy is sad.

My cousins are naughty boys – nuh-aww-tee. I don’t like them at all but my aunty is nice and she always has chocolate in her fridge that she lets me eat as long as I don’t tell anyone about it – oops. My aunty is nice and I like her but the boys are bad boys. Very bad boys. I hit at them as I run over to see the poor little puppy but they laugh at me. They are bigger than me and they think they are soooooo clever but they aren’t at all – nuh-uh. And now my daddy is dragging them into the house and they are going to get it soooo bad.

I didn’t like seeing what they did. I came out into the yard to look for Jessica. Jessica is my favourite dolly and she is reallllllly soft and she always comes with me wherever I go but I couldn’t find her and thought maybe I had left her outside. Sometimes Teddy takes her outside for a play as well. Teddy is our puppy. We have had Teddy since I was fwee-half and that was a looooong time.Teddy is my friend as well and we always play together with the ball I throw the ball and Teddy runs and gets it and brings it back and I find that funny. And also Teddy always follows me around and he is really small and those boys had his legs and they were pulling and it looked like they were trying to pull him in half and it was horrid. They were laughing and laughing and Teddy was crying and I was crying and now I’m crying more because poor Teddy is just lying there and I don’t know if he’s ok.

Mummy? Is Teddy ok? But mummy doesn’t say anything and I go and grab her leg and pull on her skirt tug tug tug Mummy?

“Darling, mummy needs to get Teddy to the hospital for puppies. Do you think you can go and get me my phone?”

But muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-uuuuuuuuuhm! Is Teddy ok-ayyyy?? If we have to take him to the puppy hospital is he going to go to heaven? If Teddy is going to heaven I am going to kick those boys. I don’t care if they are bigger than me. They hurt Teddy.

“Darling, please fetch mummy’s phone. Daddy is busy and I really need you to be a big girl and help mummy. Can you do that for me?”

And so I go inside because mummy always keeps her phone on the table with her keys that is in the hallway and I reach up on my tippy toes to get the phone. And as I go past mummy and daddy’s room I can hear those naughty boys crying and daddy is yelling at them I think good and I take mummy her phone.

And mummy talks really softly in the phone but I can’t hear what she says because she goes away. I try to pet Teddy softly Teddy it’s ok mummy is going to get the doctor and we’ll fix you up and you won’t need to go to heaven and then I won’t let those naughty boys anywhere near you anymore nuh-uh. But mummy yells at me to stop touching Teddy and I don’t know why. She does that a LOT. And then she goes to get a blanket from inside the house and wraps Teddy up but really softly because she says we don’t want to hurt him anymore. I don’t like that Teddy hurts. I don’t like it at all, nuh-uh.

But then I don’t know what’s going to happen because mummy rushes off in the car she said I can’t come with her and to stay here. And daddy is still in with the naughty boys. I can hear my aunty coming up the driveway calling for the boys and I think oh no and I run up to her and tell her Aunty Sue the boys were pulling on Teddy’s legs and mummy has taken him to the hospital and I think he’s going to go to heaven do you think Teddy will go to heaven? And as I am asking her that she looks funny like her face is all screwing up like that orange mummy told me not to eat because it was bad and brown and wrinkley and she runs inside calling for Dan – that’s my daddy, he is Dan, like man, only Dan – and I think uh-oh but then I can see Jessica. She is on the driveway and I try not to think that maybe she was under mummy’s car because she wouldn’t like that. She looks all dirty and so I say come on Jessica let’s go get you cleaned up and so I take Jessica into the cubby house and I shut the door and the windows and I brush Jessica down and set out the tea cups and we have a tea party. Jessica and I both know that out here in the cubby house we can’t hear any of the yelling and the fighting and the bad words that get said inside the house. We are in our hiding place and nufink can touch us in here, nuh-uh. NUFINK.

***

..ummm.... yeah... so, like, sorry...

So I had the best intentions, and did what I always do - got distracted. Forgot about it. Went away. Gave up?

No, no, no! I am not giving up. I got distracted by doing an awesome creative writing course at the London School of Journalism, and received some wonderful feedback from my tutor which has encouraged me no end. Now, I've started the advanced course. This is going to be the magic one. Every week, we need to write at least 1000 words on a specified area, but the wordage must also relate to the book we want to write. If that makes sense. In short, in a couple of months' time, I'll have around 10,000 words written which can be used as a basis to get this bloody thing done.

The idea I'm working on is the vague one I've had for a while; I'm going to use the course as a way of exploring whether it can take on a life of its own, or whether it is just going to be another one of my crazy ideas.

But I thought, while I'm doing this course, I could always share some of my wordage... And so below is my first piece. This week's topic was setting; this is the view of Adelaide through my character's eyes. Let me know what you think! All words remain my intellectual property.

Setting: Adelaide

It’s like an oven. The sun beats down and burns you before it’s even reached your skin. It tingles. The beads of sweat live permanently on your forehead, little droplets of moisture desperately trying to keep you cool. They fail. It’s hot. Hot, hot, hot, hot, HOT. January in Adelaide is just stifling.

But there’s a pay-off. Clear blue sky – not a cloud to be seen – a beautiful cobalt colour that’s unlike any sky anywhere else. The sky as only Australia can do it. Sit on the sand, stare at the waves coming in, under the clear blue sky – only once the sun has lost its bite, though. Between 11 and 3, sit under a tree. Then, after work, drive down Anzac Highway, the wide promenade connecting city to sea, and in 20 minutes you’re at the beach. (Bless the “20 minute city” – nothing’s ever too far away.) Al fresco dining by the rolling waves. Cocktails on the sand. Walks to the end of the jetty, chatting to the late-night fisherman trying their luck in the darkness below. The beachside lifestyle – absolute perfection.

...and that’s all there is. Adelaide, South Australia. Beachside living. Lovely, as long as all you want to do is go to the beach. No career prospects to speak of. A close-minded population. Limited entertainment, particularly for teens and 20somethings. The reputation of a big country town is justified.

Adelaide is the kind of town kids are just itching to leave. You finish school; if you’re lucky, you go to university on the east coast, where people actually have a life. If not, you leave as soon as you have your degree in your hand. A lot will flock to Melbourne; closest “proper” city, even if it’s full of Victorians. Most will go travelling. See the world, do the London thing, then come home in their mid-20s ready to settle down and start a family. And so the cycle begins again. God, they marry so young in Adelaide. Mortgage, marriage and babies before you’re 28. It’s not a life for me.

It’s a town full of families and old people. It’s a town where you’ll see the same faces at the same clubs and bars every Friday and Saturday night – and of course, there’s no going out on a school night. Out for dinner on a Wednesday? Best be home by 9pm; I’ve got work tomorrow. The disenfranchised yoof hang out at the malls, creating a ruckus, mainly because there’s nothing else for them to do. The underage drinkers hoon around in their V8s as soon as they get their license, stealing traffic cones and setting up impromptu street blocks all over town. After all, what else is there to do?

Once a year, Adelaide comes alive. It used to be when the Grand Prix came to town, but Melbourne stole that from us back in the mid-90s – they’re prone to doing that, taking whatever is good and claiming it as their own. But then, that statement could be a result of the all-permeating inferiority complex that hangs in the air. It’s almost like it’s pumped into the water, along with the fluoride and calcium that makes the water so tasty – we can’t possibly have an optimistic population, so let’s have a paranoid one. I wouldn’t put it past this state government. Bunch of facist wankers, and no one ever seems to be able to vote them out. I’m sure they’re on the fiddle...

But anyways, back to the good points. Every March, Adelaide feels like an actual proper city. It’s when the arts festivals come to town; naturally, the government moved all the other big social events to also happen in March, therefore giving overload during that month and an overwhelming underload for the rest of the year. If it’s not March, a concert by Bryan Adams is the height of the social calendar. In March, there’s the Adelaide Festival of the Arts, the Adelaide Fringe – second only to Edinburgh in size - and Womadelaide. Add in the big car race and the horse race, and you’ve got yourself a city in the sun. And then 1 April comes, and it’s back to tea and biscuits with gran.

Actually, that is a rather fitting description of Adelaide, “city of churches”. Once a hugely progressive place – second in the world to give women the vote, no less – it’s turned inward with inferiority since a massive banking collapse in the 1980s. No longer progressive in any way, it’s a city which considers it a great thing to be building a business around the conference industry. I would call it the Birmingham of Australia, but nothing is ever that bad. At least Adelaide is beautiful. It really is. The sea on one side, the lush green hills on the other. At least the hills stay green; water restrictions these days – did I mention the dwindling water supply? Oh yes, we’re running out of water – mean that suburban gardens are generally brown and decaying. But then, there’s an ever-expanding wine industry just an hour away – think Barossa Valley, Clare Valley, McLaren Vale – no mention of how they water the grapes on a regular basis. Bores?

The wine and the arts do give Adelaide a slight pretention. It’s an odd mix – redneck wonderland, and yet arty and pretentious. The only non-convict settlement in Australia – and that’s something we’ll tell you at every opportunity – Adelaide does have some wonderful old buildings and a heck of a lot of churches. The Torrens River runs through the northern part of the city centre, with the Festival Theatre’s white angular rooves on one bank and the Adelaide Oval and Memorial Drive Tennis Centre on the other. St Peter’s magnificent cathedral is at the “cathedral end” of the oval (so dubbed by the incredibly inventive cricket commentators), overlooking the city centre just at the foot of the slight hill which heads to the ‘burbs. Our one proper big tall building dwarfs the rest of them, and the entire city centre is contained within one square mile. A mall in the northern part of that square mile contains the iconic “mall’s balls” – two giant mirrored spheres, a marvel of modern art, again showing the artier side of the population.

I’ll always be one to defend Adelaide. I stayed while others left. I made myself a career – or attempted to. But, like most career attempts in Adelaide, I hit a brick wall in my mid-20s. Just as all of my graduating class’s travellers returned for the three Ms – mortgage, marriage and minions – I’m leaving. I can’t handle it anymore. Too many bad memories; too many skeletons; too many ghosts hiding around every corner. No, what I need is a fresh start. An innovative perspective. A new life. The question is: where can I get it?

© Lauren McMenemy, 2010