Last night was the launch of a Christmas writing project which was conceived by Tiny Owl Workshops and brought to life in the UK by a lovely lady called Vicky Pointing. The project took the story of Krampus as the inspiration for twelve pieces of flash fiction, which have been written by twelve different authors. If (like me before the project) have no idea who Krampus is, he is the anti-Santa Klaus. A goat-like demon who would frighten children into being good or else haul them off to the underworld.
I was really happy, excited and proud to be chosen as one of the writers. The stories have all been illustrated by professional artists and have been put into Christmas crackers which are to be left in cafes around Leeds. If you are in Leeds this Christmas, look out for them!
Apart from the obvious high of being chosen as one of the writers, I was pleased because this was only the second piece of Flash Fiction I’d ever written. I love Flash Fiction. It’s great to read if you only have five minutes to spare with a cup of coffee. It’s also great if, like me, you would love to write a novel or full length play but find that after a week or two (maybe a month if I’m lucky) you get fed up, bored and want to start something new. That’s why I like blogging. It gives me a finished piece in one sitting. I think you have to just accept the kind of writer you are. I’d love to be able to write long, beautiful prose but that’s not who I am. No matter how much I try long and want it, I could never do that.
The launch night itself was fab and not just because of the three free glasses of wine I drunk. Nine of the authors were there and it was amazing and interesting to hear their takes on the story of Krampus. The venue, Outlaws Yacht Club in Leeds, was amazing too. It was a quirky, shabby-chic kind of place, with art work on the walls and home-made Christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling which made me want to replicate them but knowing that there was no way I could. I’m definitely a writer not an artist, more’s the pity.
The end of the night meant a mad dash to the train station to catch the last train back to Hull. Lots of running with a big Mary Poppins type handbag on one shoulder and a bag with a full set of the Krampus Crackers in the other. As I was doubled over, huffing and puffing when I finally made it to the platform, I realised that I couldn’t have done either the writing or the running two years ago. To quote Fat Boy Slim, “You’ve come a long way, Baby.”