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Writing

Getting Creative Under Covid-19: Creative Writing Coronavirus Style

I’m not ashamed to admit this lockdown is sending me a little stir crazy. I know I have lots of time to focus on doing things I’ve been putting off, ‘use this time purposefully’ was the advice of a friend, which I get and wholeheartedly agree with.

The problem is in the execution.

You see, my headspace seems well, cramped with all the stuff that’s going on in the world. And I know it’s not healthy to wonder and ponder on all this stuff we have no control over (apart from staying home and washing your hands manically), but I’ve found my concentration levels are shot.

And this is a real pity, because right now, this is the ideal time to hibernate and incubate and come up with some really smart ideas…

Anyhows, that hasn’t happened, but what has happened is my better half set me a “Creative Task” to give me something do (if you want to cue a picture of trying to occupy a bored 5-year old you wouldn’t be far off).

He said to me: ‘You should write a short story’.

And I kinda liked that idea.

He said ‘I like poems and I like stories that have a twist, so see how you get on’. Then he patted my head like I was a good dog and circled back to his corporate speak conference meet.

And so I set to with my task, the result is below:

But before I go,

Let me just ask,

Does anybody else want to share?

Can we make it a thing,

To creatively beat this Coronavirus-y thing?

From me to you.

I see you, you know. You may not think I can, but I can.

I see you racing about, scraping ice off your car, whooshing toxins into the air as you stomp onto the accelerator to get where you’re going, as fast as you can.

You leave the house every day at 7am. Sometimes you’re a few minutes late and I know it, you spin your wheels harder in your haste and whip up shards of gravel.

Sometimes they hit me in my face.

I don’t say anything. I know you’re busy, got things to do, places to be, people to see.

Rush. Rush. Rush.

It’s not just you. There’s so many others like you. I watch you all as you gad about trying to be in so many places at the same time.

I hear you on the phone, talking to people about the lack of time, about how many things you want to do and I want to say: Come, sit here with me. Let’s take the rays of the sun as he beats down from the blue.

When it rains you scorn and scoff so much. You run even faster to get where you’re trying to go. I see you now grumbling with that smear of wet on your face.

But I love the rain, it makes me shimmy in delight.

I’d like to say to you: Come, sit here with me. Let’s take the pelts of rain as he lashes down from the grey.

But I don’t think you would.

Because you’re always too busy. Hither and thither, flitting between here and there. Never stopping to notice me.

And I’m calling you.

I’ve often wondered if you can’t hear me, and so I try and stand out. I wear my brightest clothes and adorn myself with all the most beautiful accessories I can find.

Sometimes you pause and say how pretty.

And I call to you and say: Come, pause longer, take a moment to appreciate all that we have.

But you don’t. Your attention is always so fleeting. You’re always so busy with this and that. You don’t have time for me.

And so I try harder. I get brighter, more stunning, but still you don’t come and sit with me.

And then I die.

And you grumble about me littering your floor. Making a mess you have to clear up and don’t you have enough to do already.

I know you’ll never get around to clearing me up, even though you keep meaning to.

But it’s okay, because I will wilt and rot and become part of the earth once more.

I wish you’d have come and sat with me, spent some time just to be.

I know I’m only a petal, but at least I can see.

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