Guest

Pronouns

Editing

Title

1

Amelia Armande

they/them

Noah Martin

We’re All Ghosts Here

2

Paul McNally

he/him

Ella Brasington

More than paper

3

Noah Martin

they/them

Tom McNally

Hell

4

Ella Brasington

she/her

Amelia Armande

The Hunt

5

Tom McNally

he/him

Paul McNally

Migrant labour

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: ‘brick'

The agents lay the brick before the toddler. It glares.

"A simple test today," they say. "How many uses can you think of for this brick?"

The child hugs it tight, furiously.

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: ‘brick'

It is useless now. I panicked a little too hastily. Called the authorities too suddenly. Now it’s hundreds of pounds of glass and metal. And they had sent what I imagined to be a violent signal out to my phone.

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: ‘brick'

The brick considered its next move, crumble or soldier on. The contractors are coming tomorrow, which is undoubtedly a bad sign for a building like this one.

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: 'brick'

Brick by boring brick, the mortar scrapes and the chains rattle. Whimpers whittle into whispers. I do love a good vintage.

Warm-up - 30 words or less, no title, prompt is: 'brick'

You and me, let’s hoover up all the iron. Let’s parcel it into neat little oxides. If someone builds a house out of them in two billion years, avenge us.

Amelia Armande first draft

We’re All Ghosts Here

Dark into the light. Rolling skulls and roaring flames.

We all start off screaming, in joy and in pain

Don't hide your eyes darling, it's all just a game.

White knuckle tight up down into darkness again

No time to look back at the shadows you missed

Smile for the camera gripped in the bony fist.

Smile for the reaper, then out through the gift shop.

Word count: 60

Amelia, your editor is:  Ella Brasington

Ella’s edits

Looks like it is a poem
60 words, lots of space
Might be a wider metaphor here, but don’t want it to be too obvious
Can you think of a fun thematic thread to be built into another stanza
Is the rhyme game on point?

Dark into the light.

Rolling skulls and roaring flame.

We all start off screaming, in joy and pain

• Can we squeeze out another couplet here, maye the clacking of the rails or the first jump, just to feel like we’re amping up the ride. I feel like the next line naturally follows the first big scare.

Don't hide your eyes darling, it's all just a game.

White knuckle tight up down into darkness again

• Maybe you pass by the outside and look out to the onlookers? This is another couplet space I think

No time to look back at the shadows you missed

Smile for the camera gripped in the bony fist.

• Relief once the picture is taken because you know it’s almost over?

Smile for the reaper, then out through the gift shop.

Word count: ??

Amelia Armande second draft

We’re All Ghosts Here

Dark into light.

Rolling skulls and roaring flame

We start off screaming, in joy and pain

Wipe off the blood, click clack along the same

Route you've taken again and again

Don't hide your eyes darling, it's all a game.

Light into dark

White knuckle up down stomach tight fright

Glowing faces leering

Onlookers jeering

But you're here, alive

On the ride of your life

Final clink clank climb

High flying triumph

No time to look back at the shadows you missed

Smile for the camera in the bony fist.

Smile for the reaper, then out through the gift shop.

Word count: 100

Paul McNally FIRST DRAFT

Working title

The ghost train always cost too many tickets. That's what I would tell myself. The ride towered and shuddered - a section of the track teasing out into the open, relieving the other kids for a few seconds before plunging them back into the delightful horror. I had this glorious spiral of bright red tickets, but think of how few I would have AFTERWARDS! The truth is: every year I would return home with tickets unspent and once the fair was over their value would drain, becoming just PAPER and I would save them in a drawer and this would give me pleasure, more than the ride ever could.

Word count: 108

Paul McNally your editor is:  Tom McNally

Tom McNally’s edits

The ghost train always cost too many tickets. That's what I would tell myself. The ride towered and shuddered - a section of the track teasing out into the open, relieving the other kids for a few seconds before plunging them back into the delightful horror. I had this glorious spiral of bright red tickets, but think of how few I would have AFTERWARDS! The truth is: every year I would return home with tickets unspent and once the fair was over their value would drain, becoming just PAPER and I would save them in a drawer and this would give me pleasure, more than the ride ever could.

Is it too literal?
It’s a bit over the limit
Clarity?
Did I communicate what I meant to?

The literalness is good, and the central image is communicated. A title could join it together rather well: ‘Just Paper,’ ‘Precious Paper,’ ‘Paper,’ could all work.

Consider moving the voice from first to third person.

Delete ‘That’s what I would tell myself,’ Start with the ride shuddering, put the idea of cost afterwards. The ride sounds exciting, but you’re not actually on it. That sounds bad, BUT you’ve got the glorious spiral.

The glorious spiral is lovely but if you’ve got space, a further Dahlian description of them as a physical object would really sell it.

Delete ‘more than the ride ever could,’ you can infer that well enough without spelling it out.

Word count: ??

Paul McNally SECOND DRAFT

More than paper

The ride towered and shuddered - a section of the track teasing out into the open, relieving the other kids for a few seconds before plunging them back into the delightful horror.

The ghost train always cost too many tickets. I had this glorious spiral, bright and red, but think of how few I would have AFTERWARDS! The truth is every year I would return home with tickets unspent and once it was over their value would drain, becoming just PAPER and I would save them in a drawer and this would give me pleasure, more than the ride ever could.

Word count: 100

Noah Martin FIRST DRAFT

Working title

The cold nibbled hungrily at their extremities, these miserable and embattled parents. Children hung lazily from their arms, tired and hungry and unable to understand what all the waiting is for. Women and children don't take priority here, this barren wasteland where something about alton towers? lol

Word count: 42

Noah Martin, your editor is: Amelia Armande

Amelia’s edits

I really like this ‘women and children don’t take priority’ idea, I think pushing the warzone/battlefield metaphor is a good way to go. Do you want to keep the focus on the waiting? You can look at time stretching out, border patrol imagery perhaps. For only 100 words you could leave them in endless waiting and make it a meditation on that state, revealing the Alton Towers queue as the punchline. Or if you want to find a moment of drama, perhaps someone comes through with a FastPass? Maybe that could be your ending, someone cutting ahead, passing through, the injustice of it, and then ‘Women and children don’t take priority here, this <description> land honours only the FastPass.’ Something along those lines.

Word count: ??

Noah Martin SECOND DRAFT

Hell

The cold nibbles hungrily at their extremities, these miserable children and parents. They have been waiting for hours. Even though it is no surprise to them, it still feels as though time has detached itself from the clock hands, to free fall, undulating through their legs. Women and children don’t take priority here, no-one does. Between machinery screaming and children squealing, parents desperately ignore as they are asked for the 15th time, is it nearly over? But it won’t be over for a long time, they have Alton Towers day passes, and there’s at least 5 more rides to go.

Word count: 99

Ella Brasington FIRST DRAFT

Working title

First draft

A whip-crack scream crashes overhead as towers tumble under stampeding foot. They clamour for instruments, blunt or sharp, tooth and nail if they have to. Tremulous chaos shimmers in the air for a searing hot second before the authorities descend. Silence falls into the quivering hands of the Chosen one. The hunt begins. A wince precedes a reaching swing. Squeals of glee and trills of fear erupt as hidden treasures cascade from cavernous troves.

Word count: 74

Ella Brasington, your editor is: Paul McNally

Please give another 25 words
This was supposed to flow, but it didn’t come
It has lost some momentum
Where is it going?
Stopped at a certain point, loose on a rink
Distill what we have, use it for the best

Paul’s edits

The hunt begins. Silence falls into the quivering hands of the Chosen one. A wince precedes a reaching swing. Squeals of glee and trills of fear erupt. And before we know it, hidden treasures have cascaded from cavernous troves.

They clamour for instruments, blunt or sharp, tooth and nail if they have to. The Chosen one descends for a searing hot second. A whip-crack scream crashes overhead as towers tumble under stampeding foot.

And all the while tremulous chaos shimmers in the air.

Word count: 83

Ella Brasington SECOND DRAFT

The Hunt

The hunt begins. Silence falls into the quivering hands of the Chosen one. A wince precedes a reaching swing. Squeals of glee and trills of fear erupt. Before we know it, hidden treasures cascade from cavernous troves.

They clamour for instruments, blunt or sharp, tooth and nail if they have to. The Chosen one descends for a searing hot second. A whip-crack scream crashes overhead as towers tumble under stampeding foot. They claw and writhe, as warriors do. Seething as glory is ripped from ham-pink hands. Ravenous spittle departs nubile lips.

All the while tremulous chaos shimmers in the air.

Word count: 100

Tom McNally FIRST DRAFT

Migrant labour

We were shipped in from the front and let me tell you we were not pleased about it. One moment we were sheltering in place and the next we’re at the seaside waiting in a van so we can frighten some daytrippers.

There was never any glory for us, was there? There was only ever going to be the grunts from the attendants, the whirr when the ticket machine gets broken, the stupid gulls and stupider children. Sometimes they chuck stuff at us, who died for freedom.

The only explanation they ever gave us was that we came cheap.

Word count: 99

Tom McNally, your editor is: Noah Martin

The characters have come from one place to another - could you straighten that out?
The complaints in the middle section are bad. Could you make those more specific and funny please.

Noah Martin’s edits

We were shipped in from the front and let me tell you we were not pleased about it. Not that the back would have been any better. It's not the destination, it's the journey, and none of us wanted to do this one. From safety and shelter to hot sun, and hot sand, and pink freckled tourists looking at us scared enough we wonder if they're new here too. There is no glory here. Only grunting attendants and callous hands. Children passing between us, oblivious, running to escape the merciless hunger of urban seagulls. The only explanation they ever gave us was that we came cheap.

Word count:

Tom McNally SECOND DRAFT

Migrant labour

We were shipped in from the front and let me tell you we were not pleased about it. Not that the way back would have been any better.

It's not the destination, it's the journey, and none of us wanted to take this one.

From safety to hot sun, hot sand, pink freckled tourists looking at us, so scared we wonder if they're new here too.

There is no glory here. Only grunting attendants and callous hands. Children passing between us, oblivious, running to escape the hungry gulls.

The only explanation they ever gave us was that we come cheap.

Word count: 100