Here is another article I wrote for the Blue Cube.
http://www.latestgreenenergy.com/ocean-dead-zones-on-the-rise
There was no specific brief other than to write about the environment. After only a little research I began to find there were many environmental problems arising through human mistreatment of our environment. I decided to write about what I thought was the most shocking of these untold problems.
I needed to write some Copy about shopping. With it being so close to Christmas the crux of the article was obvious. The only question was; what shall I say about Christmas?
Find out here:
http://www.aarkshop.com/is-christmas-red-the-pros-and-cons-of-christmas-shopping.html
Tags: Christmas, Christmas Shopping, Consumerism, Copywriting, Shopping
This is a revised piece of Uni work from about a year ago. It attempts to deal with a couple of major issues under the restriction of a very low word count. I think that it is relatively successful in dealing with the issues of post-colonialism and ‘sickness of character’ in the West. It also briefly touches upon media influence in the Western hemisphere; the real and the digitally created. However, this being said I feel that I didn’t make use of the short story format effectively. There is no real story arc here, merely a quick glimpse into a few hours of the protagonists life. That being said I think that I use the character and the scenario well enough to highlight the crux of the story; the question of reality. What is the reality of Africa? What does it consist of? What do we, as Westerners, believe it to be in contrast to what it actually is?
Close hands, blind eyes.
“He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed as the tides and seasons swayed.”
He reads these lines several times before putting the book down. He places it on a flimsy, fold-down table nestled tightly into his fat gut. He opens another packet of complimentary peanuts as the head of the big metal bird dips towards the red ground below. A gentle arcing descent begins; a 22 degree left side banking manoeuvre that sweeps aside the biggest peaks of the landscape. They were mountain landscapes that grew tall enough to whisper in the ear of God until someone took a plane up and found the sky empty. A dull thud of rubber on tarmac signals his defeat of ‘the Dark Continent,’ His heart strains against the inside of his rib cage and he mistakes it for the throbbing in the quote from his book, and doesn’t recognise it as the early onset heart disease that it is.
He’s in search of a long forgotten, recently remembered place that never really existed. Jack Conrad, now 47, had received a copy of ‘Heart of Darkness’ from his father as a boy. When he finished reading it he had decided upon pursuing a life of adventure for himself. He had opened his father’s A to Z, pointed at Sheffield and pronounced, “When I grow up I shall go there.” Back in the present he looks out of his porthole shaped window and can only see the endless blue blanket of the sky that he’d wrapped Africa up in since he was a child. He had carried it with him as an idyll of beauty since he had seen a photo of an elephant at age 6. It was a big blue comfort blanket, placid as a stagnant lake. It was something he could retreat into from under the dull English sky of every winter he had to weather, and every summer too. He retreated into it and thought of Africa and his grand arrival there. Here are some of the things that Jack didn’t think of; Rourke’s Drift, Kitchener’s Scorched Earth policy and the first use of the term ‘Concentration Camp.’ He did think about a blue sky and red earth between his toes.
The plane comes to a halt, the door is opened. He has done it. Jack exits the plane and assumes a steady walk along the smooth marble floors of O.R Tambo International Airport. He is determined to look calm whilst not having a clue where he’s supposed to be going. Symbolic of his determination he clutches his copy of ‘The Call of the Wild’ to his chest. His eyes find a large yellow sign adorned with a severe black arrow impossible for him not to follow. Above the arrow it says, “Over 100 stores and 45 different restaurants.” He follows the arrow with the thought of provisions for his trip in mind.
He stocks up on what he sees as cost-worthy duty-free provisions that consist of; one fifty millilitre bottle of Joop! Homme, acquired for an extremely cheap 150 Rand. A twenty four packet multipack of Walker’s crisps. Six litres of Malvern Springs mineral water. He also carries a large Big Mac meal due to his strong belief that in-flight food is never as bad as people say; it’s just simply not enough.
Jack heads straight for the exit that towers above him in glass, enormous and clean. It reflects his silhouette and sets up a clear juxtaposition with the country that streaks out behind him all the way to the horizon. Jack sees through the glass without really seeing. He sees his reflection standing out against the landscape. He approaches from the West to meet the pale reflection coming from the East. Man meets reflection and Jack is passes through the shining sheet of glass. He steps out of the airport underneath the same sun that he woke up under that morning and feels different. He jumps in a cab. It is dented and almost broke down. It whines like it’s struggling in the heat like a wounded animal. Jack appreciates this.
In the back of the taxi the double frown of the golden arches contrasts Jacks big white smile as he tells the taxi driver that he has no hotel booked and is there, “To see the real Africa!” The driver flashes a smile back that isn’t so white and Jack is pleased with the progress he is making. He empties his McDonalds bag quickly as the driver urges his taxi on under the blue sky. His heart begins to strain in his chest again as lush green trees in straight parallel lines flash by the taxi window. The driver takes the London Road offramp from the N3 Highway and what trees are left here become jagged and disorganised.
The taxi driver pulls into a dark side street. He welcomes Jack to, “the real Africa.”
Forty-five minutes later Jack will be stood in the exact same place minus everything valuable about his person, including his clothes, and bleeding from his nose. He will look to the dull glowing orb of the sun as it sinks over the West of South Africa. As it goes it will take the last few streaks of red out of the sky and Jack will be left alone in the dark under the black blanket of the sky. Soon, the sun will have gone and with it, back to the West, Jack’s vision of Africa.
For now, he has a few minutes to stand with a confused smiling staring at the blue of the sky and rubbing the red earth of that country between his fingers.
Tags: creative writing, Short story, unpublished, writing
Here’s a site that I wrote some copy for over the past week or so. A travel article was called for… which left me stumped to be honest. My passport has been out of date for a long time now and it’s been a while since I visited anywhere that wasn’t Aberystwyth (for Uni) or Birmingham (for living). Attempting to write about a City that I hadn’t recently visited was out of the question. The article would be dotted with inaccuracies and lacking in any real substance. Then I remembered how great the City I live in is and wondered why it had taken me so long to realise that. So here’s what I came up with;
http://www.amazingtravelunlimited.com/all-about-birmingham.html
So that thing down there, that’s a bit of volunteer work I did for a friend who’s volunteering himself for a new online magazine. He needed some copy for an article describing the functions and uses of three of the top fitness gadgets on the market today. I wrote down some words and he made them look fantastic. Check him out on twitter @rrobinsondesign.
