I’m Too Tall For Mics

Today, I’ve been in Newcastle for the final Writing Squad meet (of this year; there’ll be more workshops sometime in October). We talked about performing our prose/poetry in front of an audience, and learned some techniques for being comfortable and confident with a mic (which I don’t think I’ll ever be…they don’t reach my mouth). It was very interesting, and despite my apprehensions beforehand, I found it to be a really enjoyable session.

But more on that later. I’m pretty tired at the moment, so I’m just going to leave you with the narrative I did in my favourite exercise of the day (again, I’ll go into more detail later). It was written in five minutes (my excuse in case you think it is awful; I’d also like to add the ending was rushed, and I know it needs work) but I hope you enjoy it.

Bye for now,



I shouldn’t drive. I know I shouldn’t. But I’m the one who gets behind the wheel, and she is the one who climbs into the passenger seat. It is her car, it is her country, but I am the one in control. But she is happy; as soon as the car is switched on, the windows are down, and the music is turned up to the highest volume.

We drive at ease, not caring where we go, or how we get there. Arms out the window, sunglasses on. It is a journey, but more importantly, a journey we do together.

Only the car is in discomfort. The gears grind, the indicator refuses to turn left, the wipers disagree with my commands, and the back knocks like a chipmunk on ecstasy. But we push on regardless of the complaints. We don’t allow the car to surrender, because we have places to go. And Walt is part of the family too, whether he likes it or not.

Eventually, we come to a stop. I look at her, and she looks back at me. Suddenly everything makes sense, and where we go doesn’t matter. There is no real destination, no road that we must follow.


Because we are already there.


2 thoughts on “I’m Too Tall For Mics”

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