This is why I don’t write fiction

Almost 2 years ago I did a creative writing course. It was the first course I had done since losing my eyesight and I wasn’t sure I would be able to manage it. Luckily the college was able to arrange an absolutely terrific teacher who not only photocopied all the course materials to larger print for me, but who also allowed me to smuggle Dad in for extra assistance. To date I think this is still one of the most enjoyable things that we have done together.


We all had to provide an excerpt of what we were working on to the class for critique. Everyone else had a novel in the works (some of which I am still eagerly anticipating) but I, preferring the more instant gratification that comes from blogging did not. I could have submitted a blog of course, yet for some reason I decided to give fiction a go.

The result is below.



Sweat poured from his brow, the beads so large he would soon be sitting in his own private lake. He moved to the window in search of relief, but not even a howling gale could’ve stemmed the flow. Yes, it was hot and the air-conditioning unit was out of order, but this wasn’t why he was sweating.

He began to pace, glancing every few seconds at the entrance to the ward . The moments dragged by; tick, tick, tick. Any minute now he’d know. His fate would be sealed.

“What if she dies?” he thought to himself. “Oh God, what if she lives?”

Dr Napoleon James Anderson was a smart man, a rocket scientist with a doctorate in physics. But there was no point in asking him to change a light bulb or hang a painting, it would just never happen. Alas, if only Janet had realized this before the wedding.

 Not that it would have made any difference, with his blue eyes and chiselled jaw; she still would have married him.

 Lost in thought, Napoleon did not notice the ward door finally open. As he looked up, a smartly dressed young woman wearing a stethoscope around her neck and carrying what looked like a medical chart  came striding purposefully  toward him. It was then an unexpected thought arose: “She’s cute; I wonder what she’s doing later.” He shook his head vigorously, now was not the time.

“Mister Anderson I presume?” She said, a hint of a smirk crossing her lips.

Pffft, he thought. “The Matrix, How original.” Doctor actually,” he said, getting to his feet, a note of irritation in his voice. “How’s Janet, is she dead yet?”

Caught off guard at Napoleon’s apparent lack of sensitivity, the woman continued.

“My apologies, Doctor Anderson” she said, before regaining her composure. “Regarding your wife, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, Janet will live.”

Napoleon tried to appear relieved . “And the bad news?”

“Well Sir, ahem, Doctor…”

Perhaps she wasn’t so cute after all .

“Your wife…”

 Bang! The ward door flung open. There stood Janet , closely followed by two confused and harassed-looking nurses. Her dressing gown hung  open, revealing her once luminous white skin that was now a light shade of green. Her eyes were flaming and her nostrils were flaring. She looked like a woman possessed. . 

 Napoleon gulped, was it too late to run?

 “Hi Janet,” he said, inching toward the door. “You’re looking well”. “You’ll have to excuse me, I was just on my way out”.


I think I should stick to what I know, don’t you?







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