Pilots log Wednesday the Thirty-first of August, 2016.

Pilots log Wednesday the Thirty-first of August, 2016.

This morning, I climbed aboard my shiny craft, the Mark I Ego, and flew into what I thought would be a warm welcome at the Wordsmiths. Little did I know. Warm? Warm indeed.

As I entered the controlled space of the library, a dark shadow flitted above my craft and opened fire. The rat-a-tat-tat of cannon and bursts of, ‘More like homework – More life homework – More like homework’ exploded around my ears as it tore holes in the Mark I Ego.

In a sweat of panic, I took evasive action and escaped, only to fly into heavy artillery fire from below. ‘Not fun - Not fun - Not fun’ burst around my intrepid craft, ripping into the Mark I Ego’s fuselage and sending it into a death spiral.

As the flames crackled and blinding smoke billowed from the doomed craft, I bailed out.

Landing in front of my attackers, I held my hands high in surrender and cried out, ‘Don’t hurt me, I’ll do better next time. I promise I’ll make it fun.’

I was let off with a dire warning of extreme punishment if I mucked up again. ‘Next time, it will be fun.’

It was a full crew today, except for Kristen who is on a temporary sabbatical.

Everyone put the two pieces together (except for Terry who was away and didn’t get a chance to put pen to paper this time).  We all read out our stories and there were some cracking yarns, most of which would make good competition entries.

If you would like your story put up on our blog, please send it direct to Terry. However, if you want to send it into a competition, don’t put it onto the blog.

After that, we tried a progressive story, based on a picture of a bride in a tractor with the groom running behind. With each person, in turn, adding a few lines to the yarn, the story stumbled ahead, weaving and jerking its progress. Chaos reigned and it sounded like a chicken pen at feed time.

At the start, before anyone else could move, Joleen grabbed the best job – scribe. She scrawled away furiously on the white board. In constant motion, she wrote comments, rubbed them out, changed them as the crowd roared their advice, until at last we had a rather good, totally disjointed story about a failed wedding, death, and mayhem.

After that, it was general chit chat time until, one by one, we limped away ready to re-charge our batteries ready for next week’s session at the Wordsmiths.   

See you all next week

Les