DiS Does Art: May 2020

Does anyone ever do pieces of writing for this? I’ve started writing bits of flash fiction (generally stories under 500 words) on this month’s theme. Written a couple so far… Might dig out some weird songs I made years ago and read over them.

Yeah, writing is definitely cool! There’s been some lovely written stuff posted in previous threads

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Ace, thanks :blush:. Will have a look through previous threads.

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Look forward to reading what you come up with!

I just cant come up with anything for this

I got the start of something and then didn’t know what to do with it so I’m just adding more and more distortion, which is ironically a sharp contrast from my usual approach of just adding more and more delay.

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I’ve not used my brain in months so not sure I can stri g a sentence together regardless of the prompt

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I’ve been listening to songs I like that are to do with comfort to get inspiration. Listened to Mother Stands for Comfort by Kate Bush, and then wrote something inspired by Cloudbusting instead.

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Might draw a picture of my new pillow.

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This was comforting! Brief fulfilled :smiley:

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I’ve been trying to do some writing for this. I’m finding it’s a tricky subject though - comfort writing quickly turns into lazy writing and then when I read it back I don’t like what I’ve written.

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Mine have been on the theme of comfort without being something I’d describe as comfot writing so far. One I actually like, but not sure if I’ll share it, fictional but a bit too close to my current (not that great) mental state - it’s from the present looking back to something from the past that brings comfort.

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I’ve attempted this a few times and my brain is AWOL. I can get a line out but it’s awful and then I don’t know where I’m going with it. Never been like this before where I’ve actually wanted to write and not got anywhere, even something terrible beyond that first line would be welcome right now but I just seize up.

Unearthed some old writing maps that I thought might help me but I just read them and then stared into the abyss.

I guess having no time away from the tiny Scout makes my brain shut down (and maybe lack of movement as I usually do almost all my writing into my phone whilst walking to and from work)

(I’m just going to say I’ve covered ‘comfort’ in all the meals I’ve made this month compared to pre-lockdown lack of cooking, this is sort of art)

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Oh here, just to be in the habit of sharing work - I remembered briefly writing something about food/memories/comfort in a larger piece about when I was first pregnant. Chucking this into the ring but it’s just a bit from an old journal so not edited, and ends abruptly because the rest goes on to talk about unrelated things, and I can’t find a way to wrap it up with my writers’ block.

And yes, my Nan put brandy in my tea when I was a child.

"I knew you were there straight away. I don’t know how, but I knew. I took you to Seville. I wandered around for hours on end; it was Easter and it was spring. The orange blossom was everywhere and I craved the smell to the point of wanting to eat it; I heard of a heladeria that made orange blossom ice cream but I walked for an hour to discover it had closed down. Out in the countryside that smell suddenly faded and sometime later morphed into the perfume from fields of wild lavender. Santa Semana, or Holy Week, is a strange time to be in Seville. There were hooded figures walking the streets ahead of religious statues, people dressed all in black on Good Friday, and kids held out bread to priests or clambered over one another to touch the statues. Incense filled the air. Jesus figures would appear from the clouds of heavy smoke. I spent the first four days with a friend who’d moved out to Seville at the start of the year, we did little but walked far.

I’d prebooked two days in a small French run hotel in the medieval city of Caceres, a three hour journey away. I listened to The Old Man Who Died in His Boat by Grouper and I thought that I’d always play that to you, for calmness. The scrubland was olive green, with flashes of red poppies, and bordered by candy floss tamarix bushes. Just a few days later on my return journey to Seville it seemed as though many of the tamarix were already balding and brown but I saw them fleetingly, like much of Seville, at their most blooming and fruitful. As I was.

One night I had migas in a fancy but dated restaurant. The migas was like a hug from my Nan. It reminded me of nights in her lounge watching Saturday night TV, drinking sugary tea in a china teacup with a nip of brandy, of eating marmalade on toast and of the lingering smell of the gas grill that I loved so much if only because we had electric at home. I remembered how I loved to touch and stroke things with the back of my hand, and discovering how soft the skin of her forearm was."

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This is great! Going to have to read again later when it’s not first thing in the morning.

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I always love your writing, and this is no exception. Awesome!

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Got the looper out. Time to go full Sheeran.

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Obviously the best way to overcome the anxiety of sharing writing is to try and animate it with Bananagrams tiles. Semi-successful. Hard to pace, especially with no punctuation. Will play around doing this with something else in future. Think it might be better to add one word at a time, instead of letter by letter. Will also add in some animated drawing or plasticine stuff + some music… if I have the patience.

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This is badass, such a nice way to take in a beautiful piece of writing

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