THE SOUND OF SNOW
I wrote one complete story, and two other bits that could be counted as self contained - the second and last pieces - the others are fragments that I never really found going anywhere - but this is the sum of what I did inthe first hour of the workshop. I think the opening one is probably the best though and it's the one I did allow one of the other participants to read, or struggle to read, given my lousy hand-writing.
THE SOUND OF SNOW.
Bob Snow never shuts up. He has one of those deeply irritating high pitched squeaky chalk-down-a-blackboard voices that goes right through you, and he never, ever stops talking. He is a living inducement to migraine headaches.
From his cheery, cheesy good morning hello three weeks ago, I have never been able to escape from this incessant bore. I like isolation, solitude and my peace & quiet. His droning telepathic timnitus gets at me wherever I go.
He talks in his sleep. That means that he talks in my sleep too. ‘We’re on the same frequency’ he tells me over and over. He is so glad to have found someone on his wavelength he says.
I don’t know if he can hear me. Either his telepathy is only a one-way transmission, or I just can’t get a word in edgeways. As I cannot currently afford the airfare from Canada to London, where he lives, I am writing to you. If you see him, tell him for me: ‘For Christ’s sake, Bob, just shut up….’ (173 words)
THE SOUND OF SNOW.
Bob Snow never shuts up. He has one of those deeply irritating high pitched squeaky chalk-down-a-blackboard voices that goes right through you, and he never, ever stops talking. He is a living inducement to migraine headaches.
From his cheery, cheesy good morning hello three weeks ago, I have never been able to escape from this incessant bore. I like isolation, solitude and my peace & quiet. His droning telepathic timnitus gets at me wherever I go.
He talks in his sleep. That means that he talks in my sleep too. ‘We’re on the same frequency’ he tells me over and over. He is so glad to have found someone on his wavelength he says.
I don’t know if he can hear me. Either his telepathy is only a one-way transmission, or I just can’t get a word in edgeways. As I cannot currently afford the airfare from Canada to London, where he lives, I am writing to you. If you see him, tell him for me: ‘For Christ’s sake, Bob, just shut up….’ (173 words)