Who is your Samantha?
This may seem like a funny title for a blog post, so let me explain a little...
Thursday morning was the first 'art of writing freely' workshop with Rosalind Brookman, and we weren't quite sure what to expect, or how brilliant we'd be at it. Yet 120 minutes later, we had all produced six different pieces of written text on widely ranging subjects and had great fun doing it!
We were given various writing prompts, random titles that we then had to write about, nonstop, for ten minutes.
Probably one of the most important pieces of advice Rosalind gave us was the three biggest blocks to creativitity: focusing on form and structure, our own judgment and other people's judgement (or perhaps more correctly, what we perceive as other people's judgment, but is in fact, creativity block number two ie: our own!)
So since Inspired Collective is aiming to build a creative community that learns from the skills of others, builds each other up and inspires us to explore our creativity, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and write my own 'Samantha story' here, and urge all other attendees to post their own in the comments string below. Let's see what comes out!
Samantha's Story: Things to include: Samantha, 29, moody, Henry VIII, 'right a wrong',
'Her alarm didn't go off, meaning she was late out of bed, so no time to wash her hair, and it was day two of 'batiste' and there's only so much dry shampoo you can put on your hair before it starts to look bad. Either you a) look like a sloven, who is too badly organised to get up early enough to actually manage freshly washed hair and have resorted to expensive talcum powder so you can convince yourself it counts as 'groomed' or b) possibly worse, depending on where you sit on the age spectrum, but at 29, she wasn't overly concerned with this scenario: you look like you have grey hair (which you do, but you spend obscene amounts covering it up only to be too lazy to wash it frequently enough) and a greyish tinge to your forehead,which if you have fine lines, your normally delicate creases now look more like crevasses.
Anyway, that's not what's bothering Sammantha today.
Having made the journey into work, she's now trying to focus on mentally preparing for her Year 9's History lesson, yet another day in the court of Henry VIII. God, the Tudors bore her stupid. Absolutely rigid. And all of her students too, since this is probably the third time so far in their school career that they are tackling the subject. Synopsis: a fat, old, ugly, lecherous, libidinous b****** who, through the abuse of power, gets to bed and 'shed' (poetic license) any woman that he wants.
Bit like Weinstein really. Didn't turn turn out so well for him though. She smiles a little wry smile to herself. Today she might introduce the concept of 'righting a wrong' into class. See how this flies with the testosterone-fuelled Year 9'ers. Should spark all sorts of fireworks and some interesting conversations. God, it was exhausting trying to inject some life into the disinterested lot she had to teach these days.
Or maybe, the reality was she was a little moody because the IVF had failed. Ok, truthfully, she was a lot more than a little moody. She wanted to find someone to blame. Someone she could, guilt-free, strangle, kick and punch with complete immunity. But no pain inflicted of course. Because Samantha wasn't really a bad girl. She was teacher for goodness sake! She spent far too many hours for far too many days looking after other people's children. Just one day she'd like one of her own. To bore them with the Tudors :-)
PS Sammantha delivered the best Tudors lesson ever, totally rocked it. She went on to give birth 9 months later to twin girls who went on to excel in every capacity, gaining A*'s in History. Of course.
Just a little fun!
Happy weekend all :-)