Writer's Gramps

 There was and interesting article by Piers Blofeld in the Writing Magazine about writing degrees. I for one, having studied Mining Engineering at university would only study 'writing' at university if I wanted to compare Swift with Hardy and engage in academic discussion over grammar theory. To get my mining degree I had to learn how to calculate the rate of flow of viscous fluids through narrow pipes among other fascinating subjects. Of a great deal more value was Auld Wull's lessons on how to 'listen' to the roof talking. As a result of that experience, when I decided to learn how to make a few bob from writing, I took the Writers' Bureau course and learned how to get published. There was an added incentive that they offered a refund if I had not earned the cost of the course by the time I had finished it - I had done that by the time I was half way through. To illustrate, if I wanted to know how water leaches the taste and colour from tea leaves, I'd go ...

Dead or dying I’d have described my muse over the last year or so but my Writing Group triggered a remarkable recovery with a challenge to write a short story on the subject of photography. I struggled for a while but, as a last resort, used this mind mapping thing and found several story lines. There was a kind of James Stewart Rear Window, where the cameraman saw something that have a clue to some criminal activity; petty or otherwise according to choice. Then there was the bride who fancied the best man and as the cameraman, or woman, checked the focus, they saw them smile to each other – had the groom been set up for a scam? In this focus moment, there are other interrelationships that could be seen, jealousy between the bridesmaids maybe, even the in-laws. In the end I settled for a group all smiling until the lawn sprinkler at the reception venue came on and created a rainbow effect – beautiful picture but it makes the mascara run. I don’t know if it was having to dig for a s...

 Like many others, my writing muse went to sleep during the long isolation of covid and I was even considering giving up on writing and sketching when, in frustration I turned to an old Bernard Cornwell and found - "Darkness. Winter. A night of frosts and no moon. We floated on the River Themes, and beyond the boat's high bow I could see the stars reflected on the shimmering water. The river was in spate as melted snow fed in from countless hills ... We spoke in whispers. The night was full off noises. The water rippled, the bare branches clattered in the wind, a night creature splashed into the river, a vixen howled like a dying soul, and somewhere an owl hooted. The boat creaked. Sihtric's stone hissed and scraped on the steel, A shield thumped against a rower's bench. I dared not speak louder, despite the night's noises, because the enemy ship was upstream of us ... " I read and felt the old desire to create surge again. It's not the de...

  As I understand it, thought processes and decision making in the human brain are based on complex chemical reactions. I have always been taught that this is what separates us from other living things, but it seems animals can learn and retain what they have learned. In other words, the lessons are coded and stored in their brains. What about plants? Having given this a good deal of thought, not research and analysis, just ordinary musing, has made   me wonder if trees, for example have some sort of slow basic chemical memory that allows them to modify their behaviour. One assumes that plats have some sort of common ancestry in a single cell unit but evolved into the varieties we have today by a process similar to the way a virus mutates, only taking centuries, even millennia, instead of weeks. How did the fir tree decide it was easier to survive and reproduce in climates with short summers by making its leaves narrow and needle like? How did trees decide to cast their leav...

I ‘ve been asked where stories come from and I give several logical replies; they come from history, Sir Walter Scott’s Tales of a Grandfather is full of story lines and even plots; thsy come from overheard conversations; they come from memories but   … I have a great deal of respect and even fondness for the leader of our local writers’ group but the latest idea, a follow on from the childrens’ story exercise to that of a rhyming one was a genre too far. Turning it over as I sat looking out through my window at the trees, I decided not to take part and put it out of my mind. I reached for my note pad and wrote - A leprechaun, Called Sean All dressed up in a fine suit of green, As smart as has ever been seen *** He heard a low flying swallow say   You’re looking your smartest today *** He’d just started to jog When he noticed a dog *** My name is the thing I’ve forgot It’s might be Sam or just Spot It could be Ron or maybe it’s Rover I’ve consider...

  For Bees in my Bonnet, I wrote a short story about trees thinking. It’s called Have a Good Day because it purports to be a conversation between the President and two scientists, who wish each other ‘Have a good day.’ It was speculative, but then I came on Peter Wohlleben’s book, The Secret Network of Nature and read that when Roe Deer bite the bark off a tree, they leave saliva, the tree detects the saliva and produces bad tasting sap. If the scientists just broke a piece off leaving no saliva, the tree just produce healing fluid. I then realised I’d inadvertently been working on a really possible scenario. It seems the trees also communicate to other trees when they are running short of water, allowing the others to reduce their intake and conserve the resource. Wohlleben comments that unfortunately pests tune in to this communication and attack the trees in trouble. Harping back to my story, maybe trees do talk to me after all. http://sullatoberdalton.com/pen-sullatober/s...