salesie Posted 23 May , 2009 Share Posted 23 May , 2009 How about: Lost: Pals' battalion That's pretty good, Michael, very clever in fact - but I think we need to stick to this month's theme if possible. Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 23 May , 2009 Share Posted 23 May , 2009 "Patron! The booze's good, food's not bad - why the empty seats?" Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Salesie, I two images of Micheal's. Battalion lost in Town's Estaminets and then Battalion lost on Front Cheers Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Salesie, I two images of Micheal's. Battalion lost in Town's Estaminets and then Battalion lost on Front Cheers Kim That first thought missed me completely, Kim - apologies, Michael. Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Been thinking again - painful! My next one, as a direct follow-on from the previous, was to be "Soldat. You who follow will fill them up. To all I say, Merci" Then it struck me; just turn the last two into a poem. Closing ranks "Patron! Booze's good, Food's not bad, Why the empty seats?" "Soldat, you who follow Fill them up. To all I say, Merci" Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Playing with words. Comparisions Hearth, warmth, Trench, freezing. Table, civil, Dugout, caveman. Chair, secure, Firestep, wet. Air, smoky, Mist, damp. Beer, necter, Tea, cold. Chips, tasty, Biscuits, hard. Women, smiling, Mates, sad. Life, bright, Death, here. Kim Edited to correct something. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Stretching it, here is possibly my first and only attempt at poetry. The tables and chairs, pitiful with their splinters and scores, Stand ready for the next night’s abuse. The scratched and pitted planks of the floor, Wearing last evening’s booze. The stale smell of wine, the rankness of burning oil Tell the passers by, here is an Estaminet; At which the soldiers, in the doorstep, wipe Flander’s soil From their boots, and live for another day. Cheers Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Love the contrasts in Comparisons, Kim - the juxtaposition of two highly different but co-existing worlds - separate dimensions usually light years apart but forged together in war’s mighty furnace. Cracking. The poem may be your first, but hopefully not your last. Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
squirrel Posted 24 May , 2009 Share Posted 24 May , 2009 Kim, smashing poem - succinct and powerful. Let's have some more - please! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Johnson Posted 25 May , 2009 Share Posted 25 May , 2009 That's pretty good, Michael, very clever in fact - but I think we need to stick to this month's theme if possible. Cheers-salesie. Why do you think the survivors are drinking? "Bad start, good recovery, Johnson." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 25 May , 2009 Share Posted 25 May , 2009 Johnson, Well Done, That man! Cheers Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Gunboat Posted 26 May , 2009 Share Posted 26 May , 2009 Cracking Poem Kim.....I remember when I was a teenager a major paper ran a competion to see if someone could conjour up a story in 3 words along the lines that Salesie suggested. The one that caught my imagination and stayed with with nearly 30 years was the philosophical metalphysical blockbuster : "God lay dying" Following the Estaminet theme: Living life fully,while we can Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
salesie Posted 26 May , 2009 Share Posted 26 May , 2009 Cracking Poem Kim.....I remember when I was a teenager a major paper ran a competion to see if someone could conjour up a story in 3 words along the lines that Salesie suggested. The one that caught my imagination and stayed with with nearly 30 years was the philosophical metalphysical blockbuster : "God lay dying" Following the Estaminet theme: Living life fully,while we can Nice one, Gunny. I don't see Hint Fiction as an end in itself (though I appreciate and respect the fact that some do), I simply see it as a useful writer's tool. In my opinion, it can be used to good effect within a story - placing a suspicion, a hint within a reader's mind of what's to come and/or to help form character traits and/or to hint at interrelationships (between humans and/or events) without slowing a story down with excessive words. Also, I see it as being good practice for writing poetry. Consequently, it seems to me that brevity has its place, but too much can lead to shallowness and/or confusion for both reader and writer. In my opinion, too much brevity leads to idealistic, black and white characters and stories - OK for children who have a black and white, idealistic view of the world, but most adults realise that varying shades of grey is the norm and need some depth to the stories they read otherwise they become bored by lack of realism, and if writing for adults then a writer needs plot options with which develop a story; too much brevity at the start can end with a writer being at a loss as to how to continue with a story; writers can face many problems when trying to forge a series of brevity driven short shorts into a much longer piece. I am, of course, in the main, talking about longer stories of say more than a couple of thousand words or so (any figure being arbitrary of course), where there is more time to develop characters and plots, and especially when progressing beyond several thousand words. But even with short stories a lack of brevity can be useful to a writer at times; excessive words, longer sentences etc. slow a story down, give the reader a breather, a time to reflect, and can give a writer a useful tool for building suspense before the action. That said, there is as with any art-form no such thing as a golden-rule - if it works for a reader then it works. These are just my own thoughts on Flash and Hint fiction - I see them as tools, as a means to an end, not as an end in themselves, and am well aware that others disagree. And, one of the most profound pieces of literature I've ever read was a mere twelve words long; written by Rudyard Kipling: "If any ask why we died? Tell them that our fathers lied." Even without knowing Kipling's history, it is clear that something profound lies behind his words, but when knowing the details of his relationship with his son, Jack, and of the circumstances of Jack's death then I can actually feel Kipling's deep grief and guilt that he took to the grave - his profound sorrow is palpable in those few words. Now an apology, Gunny - I'm going to "pinch" the God theme for my next offering of Hint Fiction: God slept; Trenches flourished, Estaminets thrived. Cheers-salesie. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 26 May , 2009 Share Posted 26 May , 2009 Drunken memories; Horses screaming, men dying. Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Gunboat Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 God washed his hands of War Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
bruce Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 Having suggested the title, I suppose i ought to have a go! They have all been so very kind, she thought, as she sat in her wheelchair in the sunshine. Who'd have thought it...living to be a hundred! Nobody seemed to mind when she asked if someone could push her outside from the party, into the sunshine, to look over the road........... Highs and lows? The latter was easy. The cattle trucks and the forced labour for the Boches when they came back again in the 40's. After three years in their country, she despised them, and always would. The highs? When the old place was at its most vibrant. Distinct memories are a bit hazy now, from so very long ago. When the place was full of those foreign men, in strange uniforms, all speaking a funny language. Maman working so very hard, all sorts of hours, and she.....enjoying the boisterous happiness of those foreign men....being bounced up and down on strange knees as they all seemed to make a fuss of her....the atmosphere of sweat, beer, wine and smoke....Yes......those were the best of days. Now.....looking over the road at where the old place had been.....Ah, such is progress! Demolished years ago, and now replaced with a new block, topped by that enormous yellow M. Just a new type of estaminet really, she thought, as her eyes closed and she dozed off in the weak French sunshine....yes.....those were the best of days............ Bruce Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 Excellent Bruce. Looking through two sets of eyes, an old woman's and a young child's. Nearly every sentence an image. Cheers Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
bruce Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 Thanks Ozzie. I usually stick to fact, so fiction is new to me! Bruce Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Gunboat Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 Can we have more forays into fiction then please Bruce as that was a delightful piece I thought Michael Johnson had the cornered the market when it came to saying so much with so few words...but it seems he has now has some competition. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
squirrel Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 very well done Bruce - more of the same please. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 For Drew, Post Script to Little Mate. Avonlea Rockhampton, Australia. 21st April 1920 Dear Madam, I am writing to enquire as to your health, and that of your daughter, Suzanne. We are now back home in Australia, and the men have written to me, expressing their concern about how you are getting on after the war. They have, in their letters, expressed their gratitude for your kindness in opening your house as an Estaminet, so that men who were far from home could take some time away from the serious side of the war. Your daughter Suzanne has been in the thoughts of the men, and we all hope that she has found happiness with a good man. May I be so forward, as to say that her kindness and compassion endeared herself to all my men, and she would not lack for a suitor amongst them. Please find enclosed a small contribution towards the upkeep of the dog, Little Mate. The men have made their thoughts about the little dog and his loyalty known to me, and all feel a loss at leaving him but are well satisfied that he will be loved and cared for, in your home. Please, Madame, do not hesitate to let me know if there is anything we can do for you. Respectfully yours, James Mitchell Captain 49th Batt, A.I.F Corbie, France. 1st September 1920 Dear Sir, Forgive the delay, please, in answering your letter of April. Suzanne , Madame Gervais’ daughter, forwarded onto me your letter as she does not write the English. If I may bring you to date. Madame Gervais has passed on. The Influenza here in France took a toll, and my great friend Madame succumbed to it. Suzanne expressed to me her regard for your men. The little dog, he is constant joy to her. I, as the Guardian of Suzanne, may I express the most humblest thank you on her behalf, at the generosity of your men. Suzanne has rebuilt the house as a café, and the generosity of your men have made her future secure. Sir, I have visited recently. The damage of the war is not the least visible in her café and her proudest possessions are the little dog who greet the visitor at the door, and the flag of the L’ Australiens that above the fireplace hangs. Impressing upon me her gratitude to you, Suzanne invites your men, if they should travel to France, to call upon her and renew their acquaintance with Little Mate and herself It is sadly, that I say, that there are not many men to court Suzanne. We in France, have suffered a terrible loss. Suzanne’s heart, if I may add, is with a young man in the nearby cemetery. The little dog is her constant companion and the people of the village, they terribly spoil him. The memory of what your men did, fades not for us. Yours, in respect, Jean Godenot Kim Couldn't get it to format correctly, but you'll get the drift. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Rockdoc Posted 27 May , 2009 Share Posted 27 May , 2009 Excellent! Keith Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Johnson Posted 28 May , 2009 Share Posted 28 May , 2009 Thanks Ozzie. I usually stick to fact, so fiction is new to me! Bruce Perhaps that is the common ground between us that defines our style. My writing has either been to do with medals, or the legal precising of court judgments. Fiction is also something fairly new to me. Kim, Do you think we'll ever be in the running for a literary award? I certainly could use the money! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted 28 May , 2009 Share Posted 28 May , 2009 Heck, Micheal, would I dare dream of such a thing!! Definately could use money. Trying to get over to UK, France, Belgium next year. Cheers Kim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Johnson Posted 28 May , 2009 Share Posted 28 May , 2009 My younger son's school has a March Break trip to Normandy and Flanders. We're tentatively down for it, but I'm not sure where we're getting the money. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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