What if?

The inspiration behind this essay came from notes in the Cambridge Introduction to Creative Writing: it suggests the use of data collected via field study techniques: for example – observing the behaviour of fellow townsfolk whilst they go about their normal business. Or picking up conversations whilst waiting for or travelling on a bus.

Placed in the hands of a competent writer, subject matter like this can prove to be both enlightening and entertaining. But ‘what if’ the writer were neither competent nor amusing? What if the writer hardly ventured out, preferring instead to write about things not of the real world, but of people or creatures that live entirely within the vast chasm of his or her imagination?

Working on the principle of nothing ventured and so on, I donned my boots, zipped up my trusty all-weather coat and braved the elements. Earthworms caught in the downpour struggled for life in the puddles flooding the path. I nudged a few to the edge but didn’t offer mouth to mouth. Their segmented bodies brought to mind an old favourite trilogy called Dune by Frank Herbert in which giant worms produced a spice much sought after for space navigation. The swirling mud washed into the centre of the puddles caught my imagination and I wondered if a whole universe could exist in a mere cupful.

Putting the ‘what if’ thoughts aside, I trudged through the downpour dodging umbrellas tilted towards my face and wondered whether I should take this opportunity to visit the local Library. In recent weeks I have tried and failed many times to pluck the courage to enquire whether they had copies of magazines such as Mslexia. I know this kind of information can be downloaded from the internet, but just as I fear browsing the high street shops, I cannot face clicking onto a website.

Looking through the window, I could see they were far too busy to be pestered by me so I walked past when a couple of wrens took my attention by blasting my eardrums. Library forgotten I was momentarily transfixed by their territorial dispute. Unable to take sides I watched the tiny birds as each put their case for their particular rights over the other when a child on a scooter appeared from the bottom of a slope I never knew existed and crashed into me.

‘So sorry,’ I offered a hand to the terrified child.

‘So sorry,’ blurted out his breathless mum.

‘My fault – I shouldn’t’ve stopped so abruptly.’

‘Thank goodness you did,’ her eyes wild watching each car speeding by, holding the child close, hushing his cries.

I stooped, picked up the scooter and steadied it ready for use again. ‘No damage, see – as good as new.’ I left the young mum imagining the worse kind of ‘what if’s’ and turned my sturdy boots towards home and back to the safety of my office where tragedy is held within the confines of my mind.

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