Friday 19 July 2013

Friday, 5pm-8pm, Flyer Fiction 1: Foraging For Townsfolk

So, a week ago, I'd not long finished my first stint at Cornerhouse; the 5pm to 8pm slot. I'd picked this time because I thought my observations might benefit from the leaving-work-early-on-a-Friday phenomenon, or POETS day, as my dad calls it (Piss Off Early, Tomorrow's Saturday). And so it did: for the first hour I was furiously scribbling down notes on the comings and goings at the Cornerhouse bike stands. These notes were to prove a Very Good Idea, and as the weekend went on, I noticed various behavioural patterns, returning bikes, regular passers-by and visitors, and just one-off points of interest that found their way into the subsequent short-short stories that I came up with, one a day for four days, and left for four Cornerhouse stands cyclists on each of those days.

This week, I'm going to publish the stories here in the order in which they appeared in public and in that original incarnation - although I edited them and made changes as I went along, I did make a concerted effort to finish all observations and stories in the three-hour stint I had given myself, so things are a little rough around the edges and I can already see where I'd like to make amendments and perhaps additions. While some think that flash fiction is written in a flash, I'm of the opposite opinion and feel that it is read in a flash, but the crafting of the work takes longer, so this was rather an unusual exercise for me, and I'd like to spend some more time with the drafts before the final result reveals itself. In the meantime, let me know what you think of the pieces so far.

The first story was inspired by a ladies' bike with a nice wicker basket, having noticed as I was locking my own bike up that in the basket there was a broken pen and a penny. I drew on my own experiences of once having a (sadly now broken) wicker basket, which seemed to attract all kinds of littering activities, along with a stalker who left me fresh flowers, always yellow, at regular intervals over a period of about eight weeks. The story also makes a reference to the aforementioned POETS day and gives a further nod to the writer by suggesting their gift to the "you" of the story could be a poem.

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Foraging For Townsfolk
By Sarah-Clare Conlon

A broken pen and a penny – these were the treasures you'd gathered in the basket of your bicycle from commuters rushing up the ramp to the station and dumping en route. It was a collection, but not really an impressive one; not one you could shout out to the world on social networking, not one you would even bother to tell your friends about over a glass or three of POETS day white wines.

There had been more bits and bobs, but, as you hated queuing and your supermarket trips involved only the five items or fewer till, having too much in your basket naturally frustrated you. The empty pop cartons found their way straight into the bin next to the Cambridge stands, while the discarded free press ended up in the recycling, once you'd found out what was on telly, of course, and, then, during the ads, indulged in the rush-hour crushes.

I wanted to add to the urban miscellany that you'd decided to home. Something small, undiscardable? You might miss it. What about making a real statement and leaving you a poem? It could work. In the end I decided that nothing says it like flowers. But, in this heat, I have no idea what state they're going to be in when you find them.

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