'Nearer, My God, to Thee'

The task this week on my creative writing course was to combine creative writing with an historical event.  The piece should include creative writing and factual references. No prizes for guessing what I chose to write about.

On board the ill-fated ship, the Titanic, on her maiden voyage were the Collyer family. Harvey Collyer aged 31, his wife Charlotte 30 and their daughter Marjorie Lottie (Madge) aged just 8.  The family travelled second class and were moving permanently to Idaho, following in the footsteps of friends who had moved there, and everything they owned (including their life savings) went down with ship in the early hours  of April 15th 1912.

Whilst Madge and her mother survived, Mr Collyer didn’t and his body was never recovered from the waters.  Indeed out of 168 men travelling second class only 14 men survived.

Here is Madge’s story.

Madge awoke to the sound of whispering voices.  She wondered if it was actually the whispering that had awoken her or the fact that the soft purring which had rocked her to sleep had seemingly stopped.  “Momma” she too whispered.  Madge made out the shape of her daddy stood in the room and he turned, crouched and touched her cheek “go back to sleep Madge, it’s very late”.

As she heard daddy whisper to momma “but there’s no danger. An officer told me so” Madge drifted back off to sleep.

A sharp banging on the door stirred Madge from her sleep.  There seemed to be a commotion outside. Madge could hear muffled shouts but couldn’t understand a word of it. With eyes still bleary and a mind still hazy from being dragged out of a deep sleep, Madge momentarily believed she may be dreaming.  Her momma and daddy, already dressed, were hurriedly dressing her and attempting to put some sort of thick cork vest on her. Madge wriggled and squirmed until her momma chastised her “come on now Madge stop your fidgeting, there’s a good girl, we need to go”.  Madge asked her where, but she didn’t answer.

Momma pulled Madge into her arms and along with throngs of equally disheveled folk they hurried along the narrow corridors. Madge, in her momma’s arms, stared into the frightened nameless faces as they rushed by them, knocking them rudely and offering no apologies.  Madge saw smaller children than her, clinging on to their mommas, crying, some screaming and she tried to be brave, just like her daddy would want, but Madge was terrified, she didn’t know where they were going or what was happening and hot salty tears fell uncontrollably from her tired eyes.

As they climbed the staircase that would take them outside, momma’s grip grew tighter and Madge could barely breath.  Her momma was hurting her but she didn’t complain, something bad was happening and Madge did not want to make a fuss.  Daddy lead them outside and Madge blanched at the bitter cold.  It was so severe she felt it was biting her face.  The hot tears on her face soon became cold and painful.  If Madge thought that downstairs had been frightening, nothing could have prepared her for what befell her.  

There was a mass of panicked people, spinning in different directions as though they were lost. Madge heard people screaming “we’re sinking, we’re going down” and various officers repeatedly shouting “all women and children to the port side”, and daddy lead them to what Madge assumed was the ‘port side’. Madge looked up at the still starry sky and a sudden explosion made her jump in her momma’s arms. Suddenly the sky was lit up with rockets as though it was Guy Fawkes Night and amidst the chaos Madge found herself looking at something beautiful.  As if by chance, just at that moment, Madge heard the sound of the band playing ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’ this was daddy’s favourite, the one he would always sing to her and she locked eyes with her beloved daddy for the briefest instant and saw both fear and love in his eyes.

Suddenly out of nowhere a huge pair of hands wrenched her from her momma’s arms and she felt herself suspended in air, as though she was a bird who had taken flight, she screamed in terror “momma, momma, momma”.  The same rough hands set her down on a cold wooden bench and before she knew it, she was back in her momma’s arms, feeling momma’s sweet kisses and soothing reassurances. “Daddy, where’s my daddy” Madge whimpered as her momma rocked, kissed and rubbed the cold from her small hands. “Don’t you worry Madge, he will be along soon” she promised.

Madge felt the sensation of the boat being lowered into the black swell of the water below and she was terror-stricken.  She looked up at the desperate faces, frantically searching for his familiar face. Daddy was still on the ship which Madge now realised was sinking fast, although she did not know why.  Everybody around her were shamelessly moaning with grief for their loved ones and Madge too felt no shame in expressing her fear,anguish and hopelessness.  Her momma cried with her.

As the boat made contact with the water Madge looked on in horror to see passengers hurling themselves from the ship, hundreds of bodies were floating in the dark, icy water surrounding them with deep mournful wails and desperate pleas for assistance.  The officer with the rough hands rowed their boat away from the maddening confusion and the women screamed at him to go back for their loved ones.  He never answered them, he never even looked at them.  Madge curled up in her mother’s arms in a fetal like position and closed her weary eyes.  The howls of the poor souls left in the icy waters were slowly dying in the chill of the night air, until everything fell silent apart from the smothered sobs of the passengers on board.  Madge tucked her face deep into her momma’s bosom and gently hummed ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’.

Reference: http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/

Other news on the writing front.  

I have recently submitted one of my poems in a competition I stumbled upon (I will of course keep you updated) and I have also been sent the following link by my tutor www.inkitt.com/dreamlands?utm_campaign=w2&utm_source=writerscafe this is to write a fantasy fiction or science fiction novel (minimum word count 40000) closing date is the 14th December 2015 so a little bit of a tall order really.  As my chosen genre is usually crime/thriller I have come out of my comfort zone and given it a go and although it is highly unlikely I will have 40000 words written within 3 weeks time, I am enjoying exploring this genre and hopefully, even if I don’t make that 3 week deadline, it will be something I can continue and complete at a later date.  

Anybody out there who already has a fantasy fiction/science fiction novel, written but unpublished, or even a work in progress it is definitely worth submitting as the winner gets their story published.  

Good luck.

The Beginning

I love to write.  I mean I really love to write.  But am I good enough to perhaps one day get my work published? I have read everywhere the impact the countless soul destroying rejections and bad reviews can have. Whilst I have certainly written many poems, personally and for friends and family who have turned to me in their hour of writing need, have I got what it takes to write a novel.  As that is my goal, to enthrall others as so many authors have enthralled me.  How satisfying would it be for just one person (hopefully more) to read my book and say “wow, that was great”.

Everybody has to start somewhere and my start came courtesy of Blackpool and the Fylde College on a Wednesday evening with a small group of equally enthusiastic wannabe writers.  What a wonderful group of people I have had the pleasure to share my work with.  We are all different, we all want different things out of this course and we all come from different walks of life. However one thing is clear, we all love to read and have a passion to write.  We have been blessed with two wonderful tutors, both of whom have encouraged us to explore our minds, our talents and put pen to paper and begin to create our dream.

I have to confess that I started the course quite ignorant to how difficult it would actually be. I am no literary genius, I have no bachelors degree, masters degree or any degree truth be told. How on earth would I be able to write, edit and publish a book? Now 7 weeks later I feel much more confident, ambitious and believe that if I can set myself definite goals and maintain the desire to reach those goals I have much more of a chance to succeed.

Since starting the course I have now edited much of my poetry.  I have partially planned my book, written the prologue and a further 5000 words. I have undertaken the many challenges set by my tutors with great feedback and ever helpful constructive criticism.  It’s not much (baby steps) but it’s a start and I am a novice. I have done so much more in the last 7 weeks than I have done in the last 7 years. Whilst I still work hard, my children don’t seem to need me as much, unless the WiFi is down or they need a lift, thus giving me time write.  

My passion to write, which can be and has been smothered by the complicated path of life and the day to day relentless grind, has suddenly been reignited by these classes and the amazing people who were strangers to me two months ago.  My tutor said to the class one week, it was not just about the teaching but about being in a room with writers, with like-minded people who share your passion and who all feed of each other's ideas, aspirations and creativity.

One of the challenges we receive each week on the course is “the Scrabble Board Challenge” where a number of random words are provided for us (below) to use in a piece of writing.  Here is what I produced.

DI Burns looked at the massacre before him and recognised he was in the presence of the devil.  All the walls, seats and floor were pasted with the aftermath of the carnage that had taken place.  What had commenced as an educational tour had resulted in torture and dismemberment.  That this was all displayed in such a sacred place made the bile in his stomach kick and he wretched for the first time in a long time.

He gazed long and hard at the Virgin Mary splattered with the blood of the unsuspecting victims, she was unmoved, seemingly untouched by this debacle.  The Angel Gabriel looked down upon her as if his mere presence was a warning from god. He looked troubled, or maybe it was a trick of the light casting a sombre glow.

Burns was old and he was tired, he was three payslips from retirement.  He had seen too many corpses, inhaled so much blood that he felt it had rotted his brain. He was done, time served, goals more or less accomplished that is until today.  Before him lay sixteen teenagers, carefully arranged by their executioner. They were just kids, out on a school excursion as a treat for being straight A students.  Now here they were, a mangled mass of bloody faces with no graduation, no careers and no future.  Sixteen nameless faces to identify, to notify next of kin and to deal with the fallout thereafter. As the true horror of what he was witnessing washed over him like a tidal of terror he clutched the rail beside him and silently vowed for retribution.

Week 7 challenge was to create a blog, so here it is and I hope you have enjoyed it.  This is truly the beginning for me and over the next weeks, months and maybe years I hope to share my work with you and keep you updated of my progress and, of course, welcome any feedback. I am currently looking at perhaps publishing some of my poetry which is already prepared and good to go. Any direction of where to go with this would be greatly appreciated.