Shit.

Sketch book Project

A quick post to let you know about my future project...as the writing seems to have come to a messy standstill. My boyfriend recently told me about this website http://arthousecoop.com/projects/sketchbookproject . The basis is you pick a theme and they send you a sketch book and away you go! You do not have to stick rigidly to it nor do you have to draw neccessarily, so for me this is kind of perfect. I picked 'The greatest story ever told' and will be experimenting with voice and narrative in a diary esque style throughout (atleast that's the plan). If time allows I will also attempt to illustrate or photograph. For now, I think I am just a little bit shitting myself over the pressure of a whole book to fill. I will scan and upload entries as they happen if anyone out there is interested! (They also offer a digitalising service at an extra $20 or $40 later, but I think that's a little too optimistic for me). So if you fancy it do! The books will tour cities in America and you will be notified when somebody reads it, all very exciting and good for the ego!

*Have now been informed this is a reference to the Bible. I feel very stupid but will continue regardless

unexpected

Terry carried on down the road. Forty eight doors and not one ‘yes’ yet. He knocked hard this time to match the grandeur of the door. This door had one of those neighbourhood watch stickers on its window, reminding him he wasn’t welcome. His charity collection box remained empty and he began welling up. It seemed pointless to continue.

As Terry walked away he heard what he thought was a woman shouting. Plagued by sleepless nights, tossing and turning (in-between crying), Terry shook it off as mild insanity. The shouting became screaming and he ran back to his previous competitor, attempting to latch his ear on its highly polished surface. Sure enough this woman was screaming, screeching, adding to the inhospitable feeling surrounding Terry.

“Hello! What’s happening? Are you in pain?” asked Terry. Unsure sure why he’d asked the last question, it seemed the obvious culprit for such a well behaved road.
“I’m having a BABY, you idiot. Call me an AMBULANCE!” shouted the woman. Terry didn’t carry a mobile phone after his wife died. Too many calls of sympathy and encouragement. And they weren’t going to get her memorial garden that he’d promised, completed any quicker.

Terry sought help from the neighbours he hadn’t yet tried, cut short by an expected silence. The road’s peculiar stillness once again ran through him. He'd only just begun getting back to “normal”, as promised.

He caught sight of a middle aged man walking his dog towards him and looking again, making sure it wasn’t a mirage. The man didn’t have a phone either but if he told him the house number he’d go home right away and ring them. Terry agreed and trotted back to the house.

His ear once again met the finely lacquered door, checking the woman was still OK. The front and back door couldn’t be opened and Terry told her he wasn't going anywhere until proper help came. Her crying grew louder and Terry couldn't help but think only about his wife Mary now. She didn't cry once.

Twenty minutes and several panicked exchanges passed, the ambulance finally arrived. Terry briefed the men and thought best not to hang around now they had the door open.

He could no longer continue collecting for Mary’s cause and dropped the bucket on the expecting woman’s wall. This was Mary’s purpose all along.