This one was taken today on my way to get the bus home. It's in the centre of Newcastle and is a new building that they are finishing off. I wish I could have found something more interesting to take a shot of but that's why this is a challenge!
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
003 and 004 of 365
This first shot was taken yesterday when I was a little rushed off my feet. Yes, it's an orange. I've tried to make it as interesting as possible but it hasn't really worked... :))
This one was taken today on my way to get the bus home. It's in the centre of Newcastle and is a new building that they are finishing off. I wish I could have found something more interesting to take a shot of but that's why this is a challenge!
This one was taken today on my way to get the bus home. It's in the centre of Newcastle and is a new building that they are finishing off. I wish I could have found something more interesting to take a shot of but that's why this is a challenge!
Monday, 15 February 2010
The 365 Challenge #2
I wondered if I could get a shot of my desk that would look alright without me having to tidy and polish it. My desk is always a mess - papers everywhere, scribbled notes, paperclips.... you get the idea. So, I didn't tidy my desk and took a couple of shots hoping for the best. It's not brilliant but it's not as bad as I thought it would be...
Click on the title of the post to take you to my flickr page where you can see this in a bigger size
Click on the title of the post to take you to my flickr page where you can see this in a bigger size
JOURNEYS ON THE BUS - 1) Molly's Story: People Watching
Molly was sitting in her usual spot on the top deck of the bus. In the middle, on the left side where she could get the best view of the pavement and shops as the bus rumbled by. She loved people watching. She loved making up stories in her head for the various people she saw, creating a back story for the most interesting characters. She had grown used to seeing some of them – the old lady who fed pigeons in the park, the young girl who skipped down the street hand in hand with her dad, the group of teenagers swinging on the railings by the church. Their absence was noted and a feeling of unease would settle, only to disperse at the return of these familiar faces.
Today was no different to any other day really except that Molly had more time to people watch due to traffic works. It was rush hour and Molly was pleased to be sitting after a busy day in the office. The sun was beginning to set but still cast a warm glow over the city. Everything was tinted with a peach hue that made Molly feel almost warm and fuzzy inside and brought a smile to her face.
Traffic had slowed to a crawl, almost stopped in fact. The bus was nearing the old Penham House; an abandoned double-fronted, three storey monstrosity surrounded by a high wall and old, decaying trees. The area it was situated in had once been affluent however was now home to the many families living under the poverty line that lived in the city. There were signs that people were trying to improve the area despite their lack of means – a freshly painted door here, a brand new garden wall there – but the Penham House remained like a blot on the cityscape. The setting sun added a much needed warmth to the old stonework where the trees allowed the light into the plot but it retained it's air of barely hidden resentment.
Molly had always been fascinated with the house. It was rumoured that it had been boarded up after the wealthy occupiers died in mysterious circumstances but now, there was a sign in bright red proclaiming that it had been sold and the hoardings had been removed from the sash windows to reveal peeling, dark brown painted frames. Molly was eager to see if anything had changed in the 24 hours since she had seen the house as on her journey to work earlier that day, she had caught sight of a white transit van pulling into the driveway. Her mind had conjured up images of renovation and restoration. She was looking forward to seeing the changes.
As the bus bumped it's way forward another couple of feet, it came almost level with the house and Molly was granted the perfect view of the building between the trees. The painted black door was flanked by stone columns at either side that supported a balcony with wrought iron railings. There was a French window that Molly thought would have given a lovely view of the street back when the house was built as it used to face a small park. The park was long gone, turned over to a building developer who had managed to squeeze 12 one-bedroomed flats in a space barely big enough for half that many decent sized properties.
Molly was gazing at the house, letting her imagination wander through wallpaper prints, colour schemes and textile patterns when movement caught her eye. Through the French door, she could see what looked like a figure but, due to the distance and lack of light, it didn't look like more than a shadow. It was gesturing, arms moving in aggressive cutting movements as if arguing with some unseen person. It took a step back and Molly realised that it was a woman. She could make out a ponytail and a feminine silhouette.
The woman shook her head vehemently, folded her arms and turned away from whomever she was arguing with. The bus bumped forward another couple of feet and Molly could no longer see the French window due to the dense leaves. She wondered who the woman was, who she was arguing with and why. As she pondered these things, the bus moved forward and managed to travel a good few feet to the point where Molly could once again see the house. She could no longer see the woman because her line of sight had changed but she could see another figure in the house. The broad shoulders told her it was a man. He reached out an arm, just out of sight and pulled it back quickly, pulling the woman into Molly's view. The woman fought against him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back. His face drew close to hers and Molly could almost hear the venom coming from him although she could not see his lips move. His body language screamed anger. He pushed the woman away, out of sight and left the room. A few moments passed before Molly saw the woman, walking into shot and tentatively peaking around a door frame, before the man was back in view, pushing the woman back, one arm raised above his head before he brought it brutally down on her skull. Drops of red liquid hit the French windows. The woman dropped to the floor partly out of sight, the man following her down until he was crouched over her, arm raised above his head again. Molly could not see the woman from the waist up but she could see the man's arm arc over and over again, bringing whatever was in his hand down, smashing into the unfortunate woman.
Molly started to will the bus to move. She was sure she had gasped in horror when the man initially attacked but when she looked at the other passengers, they seemed not to have noticed. The teenage boy listening to his iPod stared blankly ahead, head nodding slightly to the beat. A teenage girl twirled a length of hair between her fingers as she snapped gum, engrossed in a celebrity magazine. A young mother was trying to control her toddler and stop him from running up and down the aisle.
Molly didn't know what to do. She had her mobile on her, she could call the police. But would they believe her? She started to root around in her bag but, as per usual, it was somewhere under the mountain of junk she carried around. She glanced up at the window to see the man standing there, staring out the window. She could see that he had dark hair, a blue shirt with uneven dark patches and grey trousers, also dark in places due to the blood. Lots of blood. And he was looking right at her.
The bus jerked into life and pulled away.
Please click on the title of this post to be taken to the Newbiggin Creative Writers Website
Today was no different to any other day really except that Molly had more time to people watch due to traffic works. It was rush hour and Molly was pleased to be sitting after a busy day in the office. The sun was beginning to set but still cast a warm glow over the city. Everything was tinted with a peach hue that made Molly feel almost warm and fuzzy inside and brought a smile to her face.
Traffic had slowed to a crawl, almost stopped in fact. The bus was nearing the old Penham House; an abandoned double-fronted, three storey monstrosity surrounded by a high wall and old, decaying trees. The area it was situated in had once been affluent however was now home to the many families living under the poverty line that lived in the city. There were signs that people were trying to improve the area despite their lack of means – a freshly painted door here, a brand new garden wall there – but the Penham House remained like a blot on the cityscape. The setting sun added a much needed warmth to the old stonework where the trees allowed the light into the plot but it retained it's air of barely hidden resentment.
Molly had always been fascinated with the house. It was rumoured that it had been boarded up after the wealthy occupiers died in mysterious circumstances but now, there was a sign in bright red proclaiming that it had been sold and the hoardings had been removed from the sash windows to reveal peeling, dark brown painted frames. Molly was eager to see if anything had changed in the 24 hours since she had seen the house as on her journey to work earlier that day, she had caught sight of a white transit van pulling into the driveway. Her mind had conjured up images of renovation and restoration. She was looking forward to seeing the changes.
As the bus bumped it's way forward another couple of feet, it came almost level with the house and Molly was granted the perfect view of the building between the trees. The painted black door was flanked by stone columns at either side that supported a balcony with wrought iron railings. There was a French window that Molly thought would have given a lovely view of the street back when the house was built as it used to face a small park. The park was long gone, turned over to a building developer who had managed to squeeze 12 one-bedroomed flats in a space barely big enough for half that many decent sized properties.
Molly was gazing at the house, letting her imagination wander through wallpaper prints, colour schemes and textile patterns when movement caught her eye. Through the French door, she could see what looked like a figure but, due to the distance and lack of light, it didn't look like more than a shadow. It was gesturing, arms moving in aggressive cutting movements as if arguing with some unseen person. It took a step back and Molly realised that it was a woman. She could make out a ponytail and a feminine silhouette.
The woman shook her head vehemently, folded her arms and turned away from whomever she was arguing with. The bus bumped forward another couple of feet and Molly could no longer see the French window due to the dense leaves. She wondered who the woman was, who she was arguing with and why. As she pondered these things, the bus moved forward and managed to travel a good few feet to the point where Molly could once again see the house. She could no longer see the woman because her line of sight had changed but she could see another figure in the house. The broad shoulders told her it was a man. He reached out an arm, just out of sight and pulled it back quickly, pulling the woman into Molly's view. The woman fought against him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them behind her back. His face drew close to hers and Molly could almost hear the venom coming from him although she could not see his lips move. His body language screamed anger. He pushed the woman away, out of sight and left the room. A few moments passed before Molly saw the woman, walking into shot and tentatively peaking around a door frame, before the man was back in view, pushing the woman back, one arm raised above his head before he brought it brutally down on her skull. Drops of red liquid hit the French windows. The woman dropped to the floor partly out of sight, the man following her down until he was crouched over her, arm raised above his head again. Molly could not see the woman from the waist up but she could see the man's arm arc over and over again, bringing whatever was in his hand down, smashing into the unfortunate woman.
Molly started to will the bus to move. She was sure she had gasped in horror when the man initially attacked but when she looked at the other passengers, they seemed not to have noticed. The teenage boy listening to his iPod stared blankly ahead, head nodding slightly to the beat. A teenage girl twirled a length of hair between her fingers as she snapped gum, engrossed in a celebrity magazine. A young mother was trying to control her toddler and stop him from running up and down the aisle.
Molly didn't know what to do. She had her mobile on her, she could call the police. But would they believe her? She started to root around in her bag but, as per usual, it was somewhere under the mountain of junk she carried around. She glanced up at the window to see the man standing there, staring out the window. She could see that he had dark hair, a blue shirt with uneven dark patches and grey trousers, also dark in places due to the blood. Lots of blood. And he was looking right at her.
The bus jerked into life and pulled away.
Please click on the title of this post to be taken to the Newbiggin Creative Writers Website
Sunday, 14 February 2010
The 365 Challenge #1
Today was the celebrations for the Chinese New Year. While waiting for the other Flickr peeps, I took a couple of shots with my little compact. I'm pretty happy with this one especially with the strong contrast between the light coming in the window and the shadows cast by the chairs.
All in all, a good start to the 365 Challenge!! Only 364 go go... eeeek!
All in all, a good start to the 365 Challenge!! Only 364 go go... eeeek!
Friday, 12 February 2010
Tell a Story in 3 Shots.
The first challenge for my flickr group was to tell a story in 3 pictures.
My original idea had been to try and convey the saying "No use crying over spilt milk". I was going to do this by having a bottle of milk and empty glass in the first shot, a glass of milk on it's side (with the milk all over the bench) and then my boyfriend's nephew crying in the last shot. There were some problems with doing this though. The most obvious one being that I wasn't allowed to poke the child to make him cry and, as he's a happy child most of the time, it would be hard to get a really good shot of him crying..... Aaaaaand then there was the mess that comes with deliberately spilling a glass of milk on a kitchen worktop. In theory, it would have worked well as the worktops are black marble effect and the white milk would have contrasted nicely but still... I didn't want to clean it up.
So after treating myself to some tulips, I came up with this idea:-
I wanted to convey the life of a bunch of flowers and tried to use editing to help show the withering and lack of vitality towards the end. I think it worked well in the last two shots but the first seems just a little too vibrant. It doesn't seem to match the other two shots which is partly due to it being shot at night by artificial light while the other two were shot today in natural light. However, this is how we learn.
My original idea had been to try and convey the saying "No use crying over spilt milk". I was going to do this by having a bottle of milk and empty glass in the first shot, a glass of milk on it's side (with the milk all over the bench) and then my boyfriend's nephew crying in the last shot. There were some problems with doing this though. The most obvious one being that I wasn't allowed to poke the child to make him cry and, as he's a happy child most of the time, it would be hard to get a really good shot of him crying..... Aaaaaand then there was the mess that comes with deliberately spilling a glass of milk on a kitchen worktop. In theory, it would have worked well as the worktops are black marble effect and the white milk would have contrasted nicely but still... I didn't want to clean it up.
So after treating myself to some tulips, I came up with this idea:-
I wanted to convey the life of a bunch of flowers and tried to use editing to help show the withering and lack of vitality towards the end. I think it worked well in the last two shots but the first seems just a little too vibrant. It doesn't seem to match the other two shots which is partly due to it being shot at night by artificial light while the other two were shot today in natural light. However, this is how we learn.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
365
Okies, the 365 starts on 14th February 2010. I have my little compact camera now to carry around with me and I have been scribbling down ideas that I can do in the house or near to where I live should I be unable to come up with a shot while out and about.
I'm looking forward to it. I don't want it to be just snapshots so will have to think creatively and make a bog standard shot of a household item a little different to include it in the 365. I am hoping to use the 365 as a chance to improve both my technical skills and my editing skills. We'll see.
I probably won't be able to upload a shot a day so will try and upload once a week. I certainly will be taking a shot a day for it though.
If anyone wants to see my other photos, then please head to my flickr page:-
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dm82/
I think that as well as improving my photography, the 365 is a challenge which sounds quite easy to complete but may be harder to actually do. I have been thinking about doing it for a while when I realised I was getting bored with photography. I have lots of photos in my archive waiting to be edited but there wasn't really any challenge in getting them. I used to go and just take snaps without really thinking too much.
When I was given a 50mm lens for Christmas, it sparked my interest in photography again. It's quite a challenge to get it perfectly in focus without auto-focus to rely on. Especially when you're as impatient as me.
Looking for more to get my teeth into, I set up a group on Flickr where people can take part in a challenge a month. This month, the challenge is "Tell a Story in 3 Shots". You can read more about it and the rules at Flickr:-
http://www.flickr.com/groups/nemonthlychallenge/
I would discuss my idea for my "story" here but I never know which Flickerites will be reading.... Dave... lol
******************************************************************
It feels strange to use this blog again because I have another one on a different blog site and on there, I write quite freely about the things that are happening in my day-to-day life, as well as sharing photos and my writing.
I am part of a community on that blog site but here, I'm a stranger. I think I found it harder to integrate myself on this site and therefore left this one and tried the other one. So we'll see how it goes this time around!
I'm looking forward to it. I don't want it to be just snapshots so will have to think creatively and make a bog standard shot of a household item a little different to include it in the 365. I am hoping to use the 365 as a chance to improve both my technical skills and my editing skills. We'll see.
I probably won't be able to upload a shot a day so will try and upload once a week. I certainly will be taking a shot a day for it though.
If anyone wants to see my other photos, then please head to my flickr page:-
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dm82/
I think that as well as improving my photography, the 365 is a challenge which sounds quite easy to complete but may be harder to actually do. I have been thinking about doing it for a while when I realised I was getting bored with photography. I have lots of photos in my archive waiting to be edited but there wasn't really any challenge in getting them. I used to go and just take snaps without really thinking too much.
When I was given a 50mm lens for Christmas, it sparked my interest in photography again. It's quite a challenge to get it perfectly in focus without auto-focus to rely on. Especially when you're as impatient as me.
Looking for more to get my teeth into, I set up a group on Flickr where people can take part in a challenge a month. This month, the challenge is "Tell a Story in 3 Shots". You can read more about it and the rules at Flickr:-
http://www.flickr.com/groups/nemonthlychallenge/
I would discuss my idea for my "story" here but I never know which Flickerites will be reading.... Dave... lol
******************************************************************
It feels strange to use this blog again because I have another one on a different blog site and on there, I write quite freely about the things that are happening in my day-to-day life, as well as sharing photos and my writing.
I am part of a community on that blog site but here, I'm a stranger. I think I found it harder to integrate myself on this site and therefore left this one and tried the other one. So we'll see how it goes this time around!
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
The Ankle Snatcher
Her mother had tucked her in and left the door ajar. Usually the landing light was left on but now she was a “big girl”, she knew her mother would turn the light off before going down the stairs. She hated the light being turned off. She hated the dark. The dark was where The Lady lived.
Sarah was lying on her back with her face turned to the door, dreading the click that signalled the dark. She gripped the pink duvet cover in her hands and pulled it up to her chin so that she could cover her face if The Lady appeared. The Lady was scary. She had never seen The Lady but she knew what she looked like. And she knew what happened to the boys and girls that The Lady snatched.
The Lady was one of the Ankle Snatchers. She knew that. She knew that when you were “big” and you had to turn your own light off, the Ankle Snatcher would reach out and grab your ankle, pull you under the bed and eat you up if you didn’t get to your bed quick enough. But that didn’t mean that in the meantime, the Ankle Snatcher couldn’t come and look at you, size you up and see how big you were getting.
Sarah had never been afraid of monsters under the stairs or in the wardrobe. She knew they didn’t exist. The only ones that existed were the ones under the bed, the Ankle Snatchers, and her Ankle Snatcher was The Lady.
Sarah knew that, despite never having seen her, The Lady was quite small for an adult, smaller than her Gran. She had a long, thin face with a nose that hooked cruelly down to the thin, blood red lips that covered badly stained teeth. The Lady’s eyes were heavily hooded and a pale, watery blue, with large bags under them. The cheekbones stuck out, sharply tapering to a wickedly pointed chin and she had long, dirty grey hair that fell in greasy tangles to her thin, bony shoulders. Unlike Sarah’s Gran, The Lady was all sharp edges and long thin limbs. Except for her hands. The hands were different.
Sarah had seen The Lady’s hands but not on The Lady. She had been at the zoo and they had been in the bird garden when she saw them. The vultures were sitting on branches, bobbing their heads up and down, eyeing up Sarah and her parents. That was when she had seen The Lady’s hands. Sarah had never known how to describe The Lady’s hands before but now she knew that they looked just like the feet of a vulture but with four fingers and a thumb. The zoo assistant had pointed out the long talons on the vultures foot that the birds used for tearing meat and Sarah knew instantly that that was how The Lady grabbed you; she reached out and dug her long talons into your skin so that you couldn’t get away as she pulled you under the bed and into the underworld where she had a big pot ready and waiting.
Sarah’s squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the click of the landing light being turned off. She didn’t want to see The Lady. The Lady would stand there, taking deep wheezing breaths trying to get Sarah’s scent to see if she was ready to eat. She would smile and show those stained, tombstone teeth, eyeing her greedily all the time. And then she would laugh in the same way that Mutley from the cartoons laughed but there would be nothing funny about it. The Lady was evil and she had an evil laugh.
Sarah didn’t want to sleep with the light off. She knew The Lady was coming to check on her. She knew it, could feel it in her bones and she would go and turn the light on if she could reach it but she was scared of putting her feet on the floor, scared of having those long talons wrap themselves around her ankle and pull her under the bed. She was shaking slightly now and she knew she was close to tears. She could almost smell The Lady’s fetid breath and all she wanted was her mummy. Sarah screamed.
Sarah was lying on her back with her face turned to the door, dreading the click that signalled the dark. She gripped the pink duvet cover in her hands and pulled it up to her chin so that she could cover her face if The Lady appeared. The Lady was scary. She had never seen The Lady but she knew what she looked like. And she knew what happened to the boys and girls that The Lady snatched.
The Lady was one of the Ankle Snatchers. She knew that. She knew that when you were “big” and you had to turn your own light off, the Ankle Snatcher would reach out and grab your ankle, pull you under the bed and eat you up if you didn’t get to your bed quick enough. But that didn’t mean that in the meantime, the Ankle Snatcher couldn’t come and look at you, size you up and see how big you were getting.
Sarah had never been afraid of monsters under the stairs or in the wardrobe. She knew they didn’t exist. The only ones that existed were the ones under the bed, the Ankle Snatchers, and her Ankle Snatcher was The Lady.
Sarah knew that, despite never having seen her, The Lady was quite small for an adult, smaller than her Gran. She had a long, thin face with a nose that hooked cruelly down to the thin, blood red lips that covered badly stained teeth. The Lady’s eyes were heavily hooded and a pale, watery blue, with large bags under them. The cheekbones stuck out, sharply tapering to a wickedly pointed chin and she had long, dirty grey hair that fell in greasy tangles to her thin, bony shoulders. Unlike Sarah’s Gran, The Lady was all sharp edges and long thin limbs. Except for her hands. The hands were different.
Sarah had seen The Lady’s hands but not on The Lady. She had been at the zoo and they had been in the bird garden when she saw them. The vultures were sitting on branches, bobbing their heads up and down, eyeing up Sarah and her parents. That was when she had seen The Lady’s hands. Sarah had never known how to describe The Lady’s hands before but now she knew that they looked just like the feet of a vulture but with four fingers and a thumb. The zoo assistant had pointed out the long talons on the vultures foot that the birds used for tearing meat and Sarah knew instantly that that was how The Lady grabbed you; she reached out and dug her long talons into your skin so that you couldn’t get away as she pulled you under the bed and into the underworld where she had a big pot ready and waiting.
Sarah’s squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the click of the landing light being turned off. She didn’t want to see The Lady. The Lady would stand there, taking deep wheezing breaths trying to get Sarah’s scent to see if she was ready to eat. She would smile and show those stained, tombstone teeth, eyeing her greedily all the time. And then she would laugh in the same way that Mutley from the cartoons laughed but there would be nothing funny about it. The Lady was evil and she had an evil laugh.
Sarah didn’t want to sleep with the light off. She knew The Lady was coming to check on her. She knew it, could feel it in her bones and she would go and turn the light on if she could reach it but she was scared of putting her feet on the floor, scared of having those long talons wrap themselves around her ankle and pull her under the bed. She was shaking slightly now and she knew she was close to tears. She could almost smell The Lady’s fetid breath and all she wanted was her mummy. Sarah screamed.
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