Her Room

How those Guardian competitions do get us going, to be sure. Recently in their Poetry Workshop they asked for dramatic monologues. Here are just some of the rules:

1. Think of a situation where your speaker (A) is talking to another person (B), at a certain place.2. Speaker A wants to tell listener B something about person C, whom B may or may not know. 3. In talking about person C, speaker A should let slip their attitude to C that may expose a 'weakness' in A. 4. You could also involve the reaction of listener B through the comments of speaker A.
Further considerations: a. Try to establish the setting within the opening lines. Only delay this information if it will add to the drama of the situation. b. Make sure you have signalled clearly to the reader what the basic relationship between A and B is. c. Plan carefully the order in which you want A to say the things that need to be said about C.

You can read File's monologue on Pseudscorner. Here's mine (and before anyone sends flowers I should add that it's completely fictional):




Her Room

by Zephirine


I’ve never liked her. If you met her, you’d know what I mean -
Cold air of rightness. Cropped hair, lipstick the wrong shade.
You think I’m not being fair to her? Perhaps, but don’t forget
She’s handed me some pretty awful moments
since she first took my case.

Another glass? - oh, come on.. After all
- waiter, please! -
we’ve something to celebrate!

Her room has carpet with red flecks on squares of grey,
curtains that hang limp in a corpselike shade of beige;
she has a desk, dark wood with brass bits and a name
in front of which she sits, and looks at you, so calm.
When I first met her in that room my knees were weak
I felt my life turn, change, and slide under my feet,
and every homely certainty dissolve and fade.
She said, “I thought you’d want to hear it straight.”

Where’s he gone now? Ah yes, he’s over there -
- waiter, please! -
More champagne for both of us!

I’ve never liked her. Of course, she was doing the right things.
She was the expert. She knew what I’d be going through.
You think I blamed her for the pain? Yes, but she’s used to that.
And when she said today “It’s in remission”,
I could have kissed the bitch.