In
this crazy world of sound bites, tweets and single character texts –the ‘y’ from
my husband springs to mind. He meant ‘yes’, I thought he was asking, why? – the
Guardian invited well-known writers to join their Twitter challenge. They asked
for 140 character novels and the responses were surprisingly good. I say, ‘surprisingly’
not, I hasten to add, because I don’t love and respect the authors in question
but more because it couldn’t be done, could it?
My
half-brother had a stab and I was suitably impressed. He’s not particularly
known for his musings, incredible artist that he is, his talents are more
generally seen in his elaborate, if slightly terrifying, tattoos:
Awake. I'm late, procrastinate. That rat race; a slave, there lies in a hellish place, I hate! I realise with tired eyes, YES! it's Saturday. By Gareth Hares.
Awake. I'm late, procrastinate. That rat race; a slave, there lies in a hellish place, I hate! I realise with tired eyes, YES! it's Saturday. By Gareth Hares.
So
I thought I’d have a go:
Her finger hovered over the bell. 8pm, he’d said.
She could walk away; he’d never know. She rang it. Better him, than
an orphan for ever.
So, over to you! I look forward to reading your novels :)