Creative Writing Exercise #1

muddy-boot-tracks-clipart-cliparthut-free-clipart-hz0xiu-clipart

A while ago I wrote here that I had an idea that writing some short stories is something I would like to do, I haven’t forgotten and now that we are in the winter and work has finished for a while (at least until March), I have plenty of time. The trouble is, I have great ideas for stories, but when it comes to putting them down “on paper”, I freeze, mostly from all that self doubting time wastage. So I am taking a short writing course from a book to get me going. This, like everything I write on this blog, is my writing, for me but so that I can share, just saying 🙂

Names I have been called, (with some exclusions ((even though I may have deserved them)).
Keith.
Hedgehog.
Sprout.
Sprog.
Oi*.
Spike.
Four Eyes (yes, how original, I bet you stayed up all night thinking of that particular chestnut).
Boffin.
Chef.
Dude.
Also, while not a name I went by I did used to think I was some sort of prodigal son, occasionally, when I walked into a room someone would groan and say Jesus Christ?¿!

Now write a paragraph about one of these names.

My name was Keith, but it never really fit me, like an ill-fitting glove it never felt comfortable. Contrary to any stories I have told in the past, the name Spike came to me by a gentleman named Ian (I think, it is a long time ago) who worked in the same department as me at the Royal Bank of Scotland when I was eighteen years old. It’s because I had spiky hair, yeah, I guess I should say that he must’ve stayed awake all night thinking of that name too, but it stuck, and more importantly, I liked it, not in a “oh, that’s a cool name” kind of way, but in a “wow, what a great name, why wasn’t I christened that” way. When I say it stuck, it really did, in those initial months I never (except to family) had to ask to be called Spike instead of Keith. There were a few stories about how I got the name, one was that I used to spike people’s drinks in the pub I worked in Islington, that used to be funny, but now not really so. Another was that my parents were strung out on LSD in the 60’s and named me after the dog in “Tom & Jerry”, I liked that one, I even used to have a belt buckle with that character on it. Some nick names wear out, and people go back to their given names after a while, but while I have learned to never say never, I really don’t see that happening. I am Spike.

*It wasn’t really Oi, it was a slight gasping, almost a choking noise along with a vigorously shaken finger. I had just traipsed a load of mud in and left footprints across my friend’s carpet, Steve was so horrified that while walking, oblivious to my mistake, I heard the choking noise and looked to see what the problem was. Steve was staring at me, almost apoplectic, shaking his finger and trying to warn me to stop, but in his desperation he had actually forgotten my name. I should have been all apologetic and running around to clean up my mess, but oh man, he was too funny.

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