Bespoke stories, written on the spot

A simple question can take you to some very interesting places.


I had my second outing as a writer in residence yesterday. This time I was in Oxford Street Books, Whitstable, writing stories inspired by whoever came into the shop. To make life more difficult, I decided to try and write these stories – brief flash fictions – on the spot. Give me the inspiration for a story, and you can take the resulting slice of literature away with you. Now.

Partly, I wanted to demystify the process of idea generation. I wanted to show people – and myself, too – that ideas can be found anywhere, and that the writing process can be very quick, when necessary. I also felt that I, like many writers, spend a lot of time hanging about in the shadows, eavesdropping and observing, finding small details that could form the beginnings of a character or a story. I wanted to be more open about this process, I wanted to thank the people who inspired me, and show them what I had produced as a consequence – even if it was rubbish.

So armed with my now familiar toolkit of 3x5 cards, BlueTac, paperclips and pencils, I set about my task. I picked customers at random and said something like this: "Excuse me, but I'm a writer and I'm working on a special project here today. I'm writing stories inspired by the people who come into the shop. Would you inspire me please?"

This question tended to generate a nervous laugh, a look of terror or just blank incomprehension, so I quickly followed up with a simple instruction: "An easy way for you to inspire me would be to tell me your favourite word. What is it?"

Now, the answer to this question wasn't very important at all. But it opened the door to further probing. It was remarkable how quickly I could go from a simple question ("So, why is peace your favourite word?") to something much deeper ("So, do you feel that your life is in a dark place at the moment?") I had no idea these brief conversation would be so revealing.

I'd furiously scribble notes and when the conversation seemed to have run its course – and people wanted to talk for a lot longer than I expected – I would ask them to browse the shelves while I wrote something for them. Every time I sat down to look at my notes, I had no idea what I would write. But I always managed to produce something. I would give the result to the customer, and stick a copy to the wall or a shelf for other people to read.

It was an exhausting, but inspiring day. Massive thanks to the great people at ReAuthoring who – yet again – made this all possible. Here are some photos (be kind – keep in mind, each piece of writing took about 90 seconds! And apologies for the handwriting):

This is Anne, reading "Anticipation", which she inspired

Anticipation, inspired by Anne

Start Counting

This guy had a great attitude. He inspired Start Counting

Brilliant Brian – he owns the shop and makes great tea

Jane enjoying "On the Edge", which she inspired 

On the Edge

Some of my stuff, pinned in place

The Woman Who Married a Parrot

Wendy with "The Woman who Married a Parrot"

The poster I put up in the window

Poster for inside the shop

I wrote stories on the reverse of these "thank you" cards

Stories from the festival writing shed

Sometimes it's worth making a plan, if only for the fun of ripping it up

I spent a lot of time thinking about how I would spend my time as a "writer in residence" at the Lounge on the Farm music festival. I experimented beforehand with new technologies. I spent ages downloading apps and trying to get them to work. I wanted my iPhone to be a pocket-sized multi-media publishing hub.

But I abandoned most of what I'd planned to do within maybe 30 minutes of arriving on site. There were so many actual, real-life walking, talking and partying people to interact with. I wasn't that bothered about tinkering with my phone or reaching out to a virtual audience.

Instead, I went analogue. My creative tools became sharpened pencils, 3x5 cards, paperclips and string.

I accosted passers-by and asked them to reveal their most and least favourite words. I strung these together, hung them in the breeze, and made a story out of them. I wrote flash stories on my 3x5 cards and gave them to people as they queued for burgers or sipped their tea – "Would you like a fresh piece of fiction with your Earl Grey, madam?" Nobody said no. I wrote provocative lines on cup-sleeves for the owners of a coffee stall – their customers loved them, they reported later.

I sat in my writing shed – shared with the rest of the brilliant ReAuthoring team – and answered endless questions from curious people: what are you doing? why? are you really a writer? like, properly?

I learned how easy it can be to slip a little literature into someone's life – just a scrap of paper and a few words will do the job. And how varied, surprising and pleasant the effects can be. Ten words in the right order can make someone laugh, call over their mates, stop, laugh again, then go away "for a bit of a think".

I'm a writer in residence again next week, this time in Whitstable, where I'll be taking over Oxford Street Books for a day. I'll be writing on-the-spot flash stories and other literary morsels, inspired by the customers and the books they browse, from 3pm to 5.30pm. Drop by and I'll write something for you.

A quiet moment, writing outside the shed

A story left on the grass for anyone to find

A coffee customer enjoys his shot of words

A line on a coffee cup

Fun people enjoy a story I wrote for them

One of the many lines I pinned to the shed

In my tent, I reside

I've wanted to be a writer in residence for ages. Next weekend I finally get my chance, though not in the circumstances I imagined.

What I had in mind, I think, was an august yet innovative institution – maybe a university or an arts organisation, a theatre. I would have a comfy office, a grand title, a small but welcome stipend. I would "say a few words" when called upon, and graciously accept whatever plaudits came my way. I might potter about in slippers and be a little eccentric.*

Instead, I will be in a field, sleeping in a tent. My great wish is that it doesn't rain. Actually, rain is inevitable; I just hope it won't rain too hard or too persistently.

I will be at the Lounge on the Farm music festival in Kent, just outside Canterbury (July 6-8). I'm a member of the LoungeStories team. There will be five of us working shifts. My task is to wander around the festival site, talking to people, eavesdropping on occasion, taking in the experience and then using it all as inspiration for fiction – stories, poems or maybe just an interesting line or an arresting image.

We'll be publishing and even performing our work on the spot, for festival-goers to read and enjoy. They might even recognise themselves in writing they inspired.

To get the words out, we'll be using a wide range of social media – Facebook, Instagram, Audioboo, Tumblr and others. There'll be old media in the mix too, I hope, even if it's just the odd haiku on a Post-It note.

The idea is to experiment – with how we find inspiration, what we write and how we make it available. I have no big plan for how I'll use my time, just a willingness – perhaps a determination, even – to make a bit of an arse of myself.

It should be fun. I will report back.

* On reflection, this sounds like the kind of writer I might be in 40 years' time, but not just yet

The weather will be like this, won't it?