flannel from an infant’s nightgown, baby that grew up into Uncle David and Uncle James and maybe even Dad until the flannel was soft like a baby’s skin and fragranced with dust and the heat of thirty years of airing cupboard, creamed by time and laundry soap and the mangle and drying in front of a coal fire, softened by big hands holding small bodies, cutting around the stainsThis is very first draft but together they (randomly) tell the story of a woman and her marriage and affair and divorce. I though it was interesting and it's fun to write without line breaks, instead considering the words on the page as blocks, some orientated on their sides. I'm enjoying thinking about words as shapes and marks on the page not just the sound of the read out loud words.
I'm also thrilled to be able to sit in on a third year poetry class next year. That should be great fun, especially as I don't have to produce an assignment for that. I have a short story to work on too but I shall enjoy looking at other people's work for the next few days. Which will give my back a rest!