Down the rabbit hole

"As close to being inside a reader's head as possible"

On Friday 15th April I had the pleasure of being invited to the wonderful live event Are You Sitting Comfortably, hosted by White Rabbit, and heard my flash fiction read aloud.

Seven other writers had the same experience of being read, and falling down the rabbit hole into the funny, creepy and sometimes nightmarish world of other people's dreams.

You can read an extract here of the piece read, and I have no current plans to upload the full version as I have a project in mind!

I know White Rabbit will be publishing a new podcast soon to feature the other writers chosen. You can hear my work featured on this one at 31.00 minutes.

The next theme is Monsters, so I'm constantly on the look out for more inspiration.

What are your monsters?

Bunnies only

What's on my clipboard #4 - Flash fiction extract

The following is an extract from a flash fiction piece I have submitted to White Rabbit under the theme of Dreams. The full story is based on my fear and experiences of sleep paralysis.

The sounds start to get louder. Bones crack, joints creak, a papery, leathery noise of dry skin rubbing against itself. My bedroom is sinewy and dank, like a cave with the tide coming in. The waves crash closer towards me; small watery creatures rush away, spooked; gulls scream and wheel overhead. The sun plummets behind the very edge of the ocean, leaving me alone and cold. The tide is around my waist now, choking me, smothering me. On dry land, something climbs onto my bed.
My body is a hundred-weight, immovable and leaden. Concrete boots on an outlaw swimmer. The mattress squashes here and there as the creature makes itself comfortable. My heart hammers against my ribs in an awful tattoo. A shadow towers above me and it watches. And it waits.

 This piece was written by me, Ruth Sedar, and I claim all copyright and author's rights. Please contact me for further information.

What's on my clipboard #3 - first draft fiction

The following is an extract from my current fiction work in progress.
I've not written in the first person before, so this is really an experiment for me! The extract is a rough first draft, written in sprints, and totally unedited - so please forgive the wild leaping between tenses.

“Let’s take the stairs, it’ll be quicker,” Mum said. She was unusually quiet. We hefted the stuff up the first flight of stairs. I slammed the heavy suitcase down on the landing, panting for breath. I am horrendously unfit. I’m not fat; just feeble.
“This is, essentially, awful.” I said.
Mum glared at me. “Just get on with it, please, Katie. It’s not that bad.”
I looked at the small shoebox in her hands as scornfully as I could. We carried on up the stairs, getting increasingly sweaty and agitated until we reached the fourth floor. 

The door to the flat swung open, and standing there was a short girl with untidy hair.
“Hi!” she said. “Come on in! I’m Becky!” I rolled my eyes back and sighed.
“I’m Katie, and these are my parents.” I waved in the general direction of the only adults in the room. My Dad looked at Becky’s legs for a beat too long and then held out a sweaty hand.“Mike, pleased to meet you, Becca.”
“Becky,” she smiled widely, and held out her hand to Mum.
“Karen,” Mum said, distracted by the sunshine pouring in through the kitchen window, “Look at the light in here! Have you seen it, Katie?”
I’m getting impatient to see my room. “Yeah, lovely. What number was mine, Dad?”
Dad wrestled with the box and dug in his pocket for the keys.
“Two,” he said, looking at the keyring.
“Great!” Becky piped up, “You’re next door to me!”
“Oh good.” My will to live was being sapped away by my embarrassing parents and this relentlessly cheery teenager. “Shall we?” I gestured towards the corridor.

This piece was written by me, Ruth Sedar, and I claim all copyright and author's rights. Please contact me for further information.

Never Forget: Just Write

After a long drought and two languishing fiction works sitting quietly twiddled their metaphorical thumbs in the hard-drive, I have finally been inspired to write fiction this weekend. Maybe the Spring time flowers are helping, or the extra hours of daylight, but I am at long last ready to write again.

It all started on Saturday afternoon by binge-listening to some of my favourite music from University, and it got me to thinking how few accurate representations there are of being a student in fiction. Everything I've ever read has leant so heavily on the side of cliché that it becomes tedious and predictable. I want to write something accurate, funny, and (hopefully) heart-warming enough for at least one student, somewhere, to read it and say "This is me."

My major "This is me" moment happened last year when I read Caitlin Moran's How to Build a Girl, and wept with laughter at a plage in central France. In her main character, Johanna, I saw huge amounts of my teenage self in uncomfortably accurate HD. I want to give someone that same feeling of familiarity, of toe-curling embarrassment and of wanting to defend that person to the last. So I #amwriting.

This bad-ass elephant from the Magical Lantern Illuminations in London never forgets to write. If I could drink liquids by pouring them into my mouth through my nose, I wouldn't forget either. Elephants are ACE.

"The time has come", the walrus said, "to speak of many things"

It’s no great mystery that I’ve been living and working in Truro, (Cornwall, UK) for the last two and a bit years. My full-time job is the one that brought me down here, and having left it is my reason to leave.
It’s finally time to pursue my passion for writing, so this rite is about how writing got me here, and how writing has scooped me back out.
I intend to do freelance copywriting and chase creativity whenever I have the chance.

I have always loved Cornwall. My family and I visited south Cornwall for years on holidays, year in and year out, nothing would change except sometimes the village we visited, or the four-seasons-in-one-day weather. The beauty drew us back year on year, so when a job came up I jumped at the chance to live in such a beautiful and timeless place.

My job was in retail – after five years using the past tense sounds mad – and I was lucky enough to manage an excellent shop filled with wonderful people. I have grown. Not up – I will never grow up – but lots of useful things have been learnt, both the easy way and the hard way.

Writing has remained a pillar of calm and relative normality. Having spent the bulk of time here alone, it has acted as a constant reminder that I can escape loneliness, albeit through the page. I’ve had short fiction read and recorded, written an ad script and made some decent headway into my novel.

Now I am able to fight writer's block with no distractions. This piece doesn’t really have an ending. It’s a new start and a new chapter. Stick with me, it'll be fun.

Published work, podcasts and white rabbits...

I have exciting news!
You can find a piece of my fiction read aloud and featured among other writers on a podcast here.

My piece features at around the 30 minute mark, and is read by the talented Gareth Brierley and Bernadette Russell who combined are White Rabbit, a cabaret-style performance group who read original work by authors who have submitted short fiction pieces on a theme - the theme this time was Heroes and Villains.

Please be aware my piece does contain explicit language.

For more information of submitting your own work, follow the rabbit down...