A way forward

I’ve mentioned that the next topic for our writing group is ‘Rope’ but with the added stricture to write in a different genre from anything you’ve done before. I’ve written so much in so many different ways that although I have plenty of ropey ideas, I can’t think of a genre I’ve not used. Two writing friends have written theirs, and it’s added to my angst because their pieces are (as usual) excellent. I know if I turn up at the next meeting with a story which doesn’t involve rope, or involves rope but is in a genre I’ve used before, the group would be accommodating and forgiving, but I wouldn’t be generous to myself, and definitely not forgiving!

I researched various ideas and came across a couple of genres I’ve not used – speculative fiction. supernatural, futuristic. Well, I did write a short, very short story set in the future about a grandmother who is living off-grid who is visited by her granddaughter who has all the devices of a futuristic character, so that leaves speculative and supernatural. From a practical and time point of view a supernatural piece would be more straightforward to write.  I also considered science fiction/fantasy, fantasy, horror, superhero fiction and alternate history, I’m not sure I’m up to science fiction – which I now remember was a favourite genre when I was a young teenager, fantasy which I have little idea about, and superhero in which I have zilch interest.

What springs to mind is alternative history – because of course it could be my own alternative history, not just of the English winning the Battle of Hastings, or Edward VIII not abdicating. Supposing I had gone to a different school? Supposing I had married someone else? Supposing after winning a national writing competition I’d been taken up by a publisher? Supposing I’d never had glandular fever at a crucial time?

Yes, I think I’m beginning to see my way forward with a story which involves rope, written in a way I’ve not written before.


  1. andrewbeechroad

    It was just 5 am and it was already hot.
    That clammy heat which promised nothing but a bad feeling.
    The sun was already climbing up behind the Hollywood Hills and I needed a drink.
    Ropey Red had been found dead.
    His signature weapon a thin red and green stiletto rope wound round his now lifeless neck.
    In his day during Prohibition he used it plenty of times to rub out low dealing hoodlums.
    The sort of guys the Mob wanted rid of but who were so low on the streets they employed Ropey Red to send’em to that Pawnbroker in the sky.
    And now it was his turn.
    Not that I was bothered, I needed a drink and a Californian bagel, the sort of bagel that promised plenty but like some high sophisticated Dame dripping stones delivered trash.

    Liked by 1 person

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