Creative Writing Blog

“I understand the practice is commonplace in the best households, sir. The poet Shelley, sir…”
“Never mind the poet Shelley, Jeeves. He has no bearing on what I wish to discuss”
“Very good, sir.”

I don’t remember how I climbed the elephant. I remember the smell and feel of it: mud and temple oils, wrinkled skin. I remember looking into intelligent eyes as I hauled myself past the ears, hoping the beer on my breath wouldn’t startle it. I remember the laughter of my pals, as they climbed.

I only agreed to meet him as a favour to Elodie. She pleaded with me, “I so want you to know him, grand-tante, then you will love him as I do.” Elodie, my favourite grand niece. So accomplished; so chic and full of promise. What she wants to marry this rostbif from her university for, I do not know.

The floor was wet. She lifted her feet gingerly, leaving sticky footprints. This was where the scent was coming from. A strange scent, but familiar. Somewhere deep in her psyche, she felt a subtle thrill, like the scent was waiting for her. Her eyes opened wider. 

Set a timer for five minutes. In that time, cut twenty words from that text. Now do another round of the above. In fact, do round after round of the above, until you’ve cut the piece from its current length (600 words) to half that (300 words).