Not Only the Ink is Black – Inspirations: Part Three

The final insight into the stories behind the stories (and poems).

E-natomy of a Relationship

Written after coming out of a bad relationship where the other party, I can only assume to get back at me, was badmouthing me, saying he was scared of what I was going to do next because I was so desperate! Pffft! I couldn’t ditch him fast enough! But the words did really hurt me, so I decided to turn them into a story – not about me and him, but about a really scary fictional woman, and her bunny-boiler tendencies. It had the effect of diffusing my anger and hurt – and as an added bonus, made my writing tutor at uni laugh!


Sort of experimental in that I was playing around using surreal imagery in a Jim Morrison kind of way But I must admit, I did like the thought of white rabbits selling crack to poodles!

Murder on the Riverbank

Written after a visit to the gardens of Highnam Court, near Gloucester. There is a beautiful lake there, serene and full of lily pads. On the day I visited it, the air above it was also full of dragonflies. I began to think of all the things that they might see with their huge eyes. And yet they seemed desirous of their own company: the best secret-keepers!

Still Here

Written before my time at uni as part of the four ‘elemental’ stories. I loved the idea of some sort of exchange between a human and a supernatural, especially if the human was unaware of his part of the bargain. I didn’t have any knowledge at the time of diving but luckily a friend of mine did, and gave me some good information on diving computers and nitrogen narcosis.

The Swimming Pool

I came up with this short poem when I was in a karate class at my gym. I think I must have been awaiting my turn for something, or else it was at the beginning or end of the lesson, because I was looking down from the window at the swimming pool in the attached building around the corner. I thought of all the beautiful colours and patterns in the water under the lighting: things that people don’t normally notice. And I wondered about the hopes and fears of all the people who used it: did the water soak them up and become filled with thoughts? Or did they just sink to the bottom, like grit?

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