timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: September 2011
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Thursday, 8 September 2011. Please Forgive Me / Don't Forget Me. I found out I was going to have a short story published for the first time in January, 2008. I remember vividly the email dropping into my inbox, and reading it for the first time, hazy, taken aback, not quite believing the words the kind soul at Aesthetica Magazine had written. From then on in it was a relatively easy affair. A month later, on February 1. My dear Grandmother arrived at. I’ve been ...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: June 2011
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Monday, 6 June 2011. Twenty six years old and fumbling – delicately at first, but with gathering passion – at black lace lingerie, beneath which lies an evasive secret so often denied him. He is not himself, and his body feels awkward and unfamiliar as it clashes with hers upon the sheets, which are drawn down to the end of the bed as if to say: this is not a secret act. She will never know how little this means. Links to this post. She has always wanted to bring Jame...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: The Escapist
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011/03/escapist.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Thursday, 17 March 2011. Do you see, he thinks, guiltily, how the colours blend? The asphalt glistens dimly and he retches once more, causing a single line of wiry yellow phlegm to unfurl from his bottom lip and freefall magically, like jaundiced silk, down to the ground. He closes his eyes, collapses into the wall and whispers: ‘This has to stop.’. And who can blame them? At the end of the street, outside the Palace Theatre, he pauses again. His face feels flushe...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: The Abandoned Children’s Home
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011/11/abandoned-childrens-home.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Monday, 21 November 2011. The Abandoned Children’s Home. 8220;It used to be a children’s home,” James, trailing last, whispered. “But the woman who ran it went a bit mental. The police reckon she killed eleven of them.”. 8220;In one night? 8221; Rosie squeaked. 8220;In one night,” James confirmed, proudly. “Well, actually, it was over about ten years. But it’s still pretty bad.”. 8220;Are you sure this is safe? 8221; Rosie stuttered. Mike grabbed Rosie – who was...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: The Stand
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011/06/stand.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Monday, 6 June 2011. Twenty six years old and fumbling – delicately at first, but with gathering passion – at black lace lingerie, beneath which lies an evasive secret so often denied him. He is not himself, and his body feels awkward and unfamiliar as it clashes with hers upon the sheets, which are drawn down to the end of the bed as if to say: this is not a secret act. She will never know how little this means. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Writers, Artists an...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: Rain on Film
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2008/06/obituarist_08.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Sunday, 8 June 2008. I open my eyes and the memory dies. Everything stays dark. All I know is that it is. I am 27 years old, hurtling toward 30 at the speed of an express train, and it is raining heavily. This will not be a morning spent walking to school, an afternoon waiting to return home, an evening spent listening to music, watching TV shows and. God, do you remember how you’d always be - ). Shh, now, don’t say her name). A girl with dark hair and thin red streak...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: The Obituarist
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2008/06/obituarist.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Sunday, 8 June 2008. Time was, he’d have torn himself apart, pondering desperately the identity of the ill-fated human being he would soon be writing about until he had battered, bruised and beaten himself into submission. Then he would call them back and start work. Just like his desire for the company of others, that nagging feeling seldom knocks anymore. Tonight he is once again alone with the dead. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Manchester, United Kingdom.
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: Please Forgive Me / Don't Forget Me
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011/09/please-forgive-me-dont-forget-me.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Thursday, 8 September 2011. Please Forgive Me / Don't Forget Me. I found out I was going to have a short story published for the first time in January, 2008. I remember vividly the email dropping into my inbox, and reading it for the first time, hazy, taken aback, not quite believing the words the kind soul at Aesthetica Magazine had written. From then on in it was a relatively easy affair. A month later, on February 1. My dear Grandmother arrived at. I’ve been ...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: The Saturday Boy
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2008/10/saturday-boy-today-is-contradiction.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Wednesday, 15 October 2008. He removes his jacket and curses himself for wearing it at all. The air hangs heavy and warm in Salford this evening and, despite the heavenly threat of summer rain, most of the folks ambling back and forth around him are in tee-shirts. Descending the stairs he passes a group of six holidaymakers, four of whom are in hysterics over something Henry will never know about. This pleases him and as he strolls alongside the water, away from t...
timwoodall.blogspot.com
Maladjusted: Sunshine
http://timwoodall.blogspot.com/2011/08/sunshine.html
Written and Directed by Tim Woodall. Wednesday, 17 August 2011. James Greene was dying and had been for quite some time. He realised this fully, and with all the clarity of faded intoxication, as the balloon began its slow vertical rise off the field towards a clear stretch of blue high above the London skyline. This sudden awareness was (surprisingly, he noted) perfectly welcome, and he reached for his cigarettes in acknowledgment. Clothes and colours seemed to blend. It was this same ardent thirst for ...
