I’m currently taking the fiction writing course on Future Learn (you can also still join if you want!) and for the first exercise we had to mix up fact and fiction in a paragraph of 50 – 100 words. In one paragraph you had to have one fact and three fictitious element, while the other had to have three facts and one fictitious element.

The end result…

When I was twelve, I rode an ostrich for the first time. We had races every Friday, me and the other kids on the farm who were old and tall enough to climb onto the birds’ backs. Betting soon became part of the weekly races, with anything from marbles to the liqueur chocolates that had, in fact, been given to someone’s mother for her birthday. To us, however, the races and the betting were a sliver of the adult life we saw around us, albeit perhaps a more innocent version of it.

 

I was fifteen when my grandmother died. The cancer had at last consumed and conquered her mortal body so that her soul had to flee to the beyond where we could not yet follow. While the world around us welcomed the new millennium, our family was left with a gaping hole that, during the next few days, would be temporarily filled with flowers and well-wishers and the choosing of a coffin. We scattered her ashes in the botanical garden she adored, hoping that some of her kindness and love may yet still remain there in the ether, to be visited whenever we could.

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