Honouring Connor – The Writer’s Way
Connor was born prematurely. He had been plucked unceremoniously from a horse chestnut tree one gusty pre autumnal night and now he lay nestled among the tired hand-like leaves that had fallen early, with him. The hands weren’t yet crisp or golden; it was far too early in the season. So here he was lying forlornly wet – still partially cocooned in his green prickly womb. It had split open in the blustery hustle during the night and now in the early morning light, a glistening brown streak was the first glimpse of Connor, the conker.
Connor was without doubt a perfectly formed pebble of a conker. The non symmetrical shape, true to more robustly natured conkers, had not failed this smaller specimen. But he was small; his circumference merely the size of a thumb nail. Yet he was oblong and perfectly formed and balanced. Whenever he was set off kilter gravity rocked him back so that the rough underbelly was, indeed, under his belly. The shiny, smooth, crisp coat that resembled walnut veneer was all you could see. This was his armour and his amour.
The moment he was spotted his captor fell in love with his youthful beauty and adoration assumed. Sadly, Connor was not going to become a horse chestnut tree but then not many conkers ever do. He was not going to become a champion in Children’s games, but then not many conkers ever do. He was however a cherished nut; sourced and given in love – therefore an endearing remembrance. What could be better than that, for a premature horse chestnut?
There are two parts to this exercise. First Sara asks us to describe an ordinary object that is small enough to hold. She asks us to concentrate on it for a few minutes, then put it to one side and write about it, like you really love it. Then Sara asks us to have another look at the object, adding to or rewriting what has been previously written.