Back Again

Hi -well have not had time to update my blog as much as I'd like. Have been busy setting up an on-line business and web site. The writing has taken a back burner role as I have to earn a living and as most of us know writing can make you poor.

Still Floating In Maternal Waters

She climbs into bed in a conspiratorial way. She tells her daughter, "you're old enough to know what a bastard your father is....... was...... he doesn't love you, never did, never could", she swears her to secrecy.

Swear it on your life, don't tell or you'll die, and whatever you do don't tell nanny. But she did. She told nanny all about the poison she's fed in the night as big tears roll down her little face, her toes curled under, her feet pointing inwards as she sits in her pyjamas on the stairs.

She believes her daddy doesn't love her. I tell her she won't die if she tells me and that her daddy does love her and her brother very much. We don't see much of them. This is how it is. They have been weapons of mass destruction since they were floating in their maternal waters.

Sometimes I wish I was still there, floating, in darkness. Safe. Innocent. Untouched.

Razzle Dazzle
a poem for children. The aliteration in this poem is deliberately tongue tying.







Now listen,
can you hear them, the rhythm of their wings,
the jingling and tinkling of teensy-weensy things?

all around the red tipped mushrooms,
the children of the light glow spectral sparkle spangles
as they dance for you tonight.

Look there,
can you see them, the colour of their wings,
the razzle-dazzle shimmers of teeny tiny things?

all around the red tipped mushrooms
the children of the light fire speckle spangle sparkles
as they dance for you tonight.

The Beauty Of Flash Fiction and Chocolate

Flash fiction or a piece of chocolate? It's all the same, instant gratification, fast and satisfying. I love flash fiction, reading it and writing it. I have asked myself why I enjoy writing it. The reason has to be that I tend to have a short attention span, am bored easily and after completing a course in journalism find writing to a minimum word count relatively easy. There is a method. First you write your story, aiming to make it a short story. Once I'm happy with the story structure I wittle it down, sentence by sentence or paragraph by paragraph. Whole sentences can sometimes be chopped. Writing flash fiction is an effective training ground for any type of writing where word count is paramount.


First Prize Writelink Flash Fiction Contest 2006

Just Press Play

Sheila Carr examined the neat, hand-written label on the disc. Reverend Hector Carr had enjoyed hours of fun with the digital camcorder, presented to him on his fiftieth birthday. It had taken him hours to perfect the performance of one of his famously charismatic sermons. The recording was for the perusal of the ladies of the W.I.. He had been invited to give a talk at their annual meeting later that afternoon.
Hector entered the room adjusting his dog collar.
“Morning darling, did you manage a look last night?”
“ A look at what?” Sheila placed some flowers in a vase.
“My sermon of course, what did you think?”
Sheila smiled. “Oh, sorry. Yes, it was very good dear, those ladies will love it.”
Sheila removed a stray hair from his jacket lapel, and gave his shoulder an affectionate pat.
“Why don’t you go and get some breakfast, you don’t want to be late.”
Hector left the room and Sheila quickly opened the drawer, removing her own disc, recorded the previous evening.
Her suspicions were aroused when the nineteen year old Jasmine had joined the church choir. There were lingering looks, then whispers and giggling. For a man with an ego like Hectors it must have been hard to resist.
Sheila had noticed the light was on in the small guest cottage in the rectory grounds. Taking the Camcorder she had found the gap in the curtains wide enough to film the entire interior, a naked vicar, a plump young woman and the alarming sound effects recorded with perfect clarity.
She removed the W.I. label from Hectors disc, sticking it lovingly to her own.
“All ready to go dear, she called. “All you have to do is press play.”

First prize Writelink Flash Fiction Contest 2006

A Welsh Dragon

I‘m not speaking to my family, they didn’t show me any loyalty. They found it all highly amusing and agreed that I must be out of my mind.

Well, thanks a bunch, that’s all I have to say to them. How disrespectful is that? I mean, at the age of eighty you’d think folk would grant me a little wisdom to make up my own mind about things. Just because my hips are dodgy it doesn’t mean my brain is.
I wanted something different, to be trendy, you know? They’ll be okay when I pop my clogs, I’ve made sure of that, they’ll all have a nest egg. There are a few pounds I put by over the years for myself, so what, what’s the big deal with having a face-lift at my age?

It’s given my love life a boost I can tell you. I didn’t turn up for weeks to the lunch club until the bruises and the swelling had gone down a bit. It caused quite a stir when I walked in wearing my new outfit. That Margie Clark, you know the one, works at the Co-op on Sundays, well, if looks could kill I’d be dead by now! I caught that old devil Alfie’s eye though, watch this space….
I’ve got some money left over, that nice doctor has agreed to my boob job next week and tomorrow I’m getting a tattoo. A little welsh dragon on my shoulder, what’s wrong with that?

Goals Achieved So Far

Easter weekend and I was musing on the past week, one of those weeks when you have the best of intentions and make lists of what needs to be done and it just doesn't happen because life gets in the way. I managed to write a total of 400 words, which is dismal, one thing I have discovered about working from home -people, that is family and friends do not respect your time limits and it isn't seen as a 'proper job' -know what I mean?

How Do You Read?

Strange question? Shouldn't that be, what do you read? Well no actually, I read as much as I can and always have at least six books on the go at the same time plus writing mags like Mslexia -one of my favourites. I read only when I finally go to bed, mainly because I just don't have time otherwise.
I read for three different reasons, for entertainment, for research and for education. Currently my reading list includes, Herodotus -The Histories, Sovereign, historical fiction, The Book Thief, historical fiction, Tales of Old, Tithe, a teenage fairy story, The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Mythology, The Lore of The Land and approximately seven others! I dip into each of them at various times, sometimes reading one from cover to cover, sometimes not picking them up for a week or two. Propped against two pillows, hubby snoring softly by my side, it is the one time I am alone with my world and can immerse myself totally in another.

What Kind Of Soul Are You?

You Are a Dreaming Soul

Your vivid emotions and imagination takes you away from this world So much so that you tend to live in your head most of the time You have great dreams and ambitions that could be the envy of all... But for you, following through with your dreams is a bit difficult You are charming, endearing, and people tend to love you. Forgiving and tolerant, you see the world through rose colored glasses. Underneath it all, you have a ton of passion that you hide from others. Always hopeful, you tend to expect positive outcomes in your life. Souls you are most compatible with: Newborn Soul, Prophet Soul, and Traveler Soul

This is my type of soul apparently

Books I Have Found

When I was a child I loved reading and would sit in my bedroom on wet boring Sunday afternoons, absorbed by the ability to lose myself in just words. We moved around a lot me and my family, my father was in the RAF and I remember one bedroom in particular. It wasn't really a bedroom, more like a cupboard you could ( just) fit a single bed into. The stair head jutted into the room affording me one shelf where I kept my precious porcelain animals, lovingly collected and requested on birthdays and at Christmas. My bed overlooked a row of tall and narrow Victorian houses and a graveyard which didn't scare me or prevent me going to sleep. It was somehow tranquil and still, moody and melancholy which as a child was conducive to reading. There were several books I discovered while living in this house.

We had a 'front room' that no-one ever used. It always had a musty, dusty, unused scent and one large dark wood bookcase. It had glass doors and one day I removed an old leather bound copy of Grimm's Fairy tales, it fell open at the pages of Blue Beard. The details evade me now, however, the horror of that first encounter with a Grimm's story I will never forget, it was terrifying.

Another book I found on those shelves was written by an American psychiatrist whose name eludes me, it belonged to my father who was in the medical profession and owned several books on anatonomy, human biology etc. The effect of that book on me was profound, even though it was written for adults I understood every word and got every joke because it was truly very funny. The author was a great wit and managed to find humour in even the most tragic of personal circumstances. I wonder how it would stand up today in our PC world (excuse the unintended pun).

One piece of wisdom I will never forget is when he writes about a long standing patient of his, a woman of middle age, who is pretty depressed and bemoans her failure at having never achieved the degree she always wanted. The doctor advises her to go ahead and take her degree which requires a period of study of approximately 10 years. "But doctor" she said, "if I do that, by the time I finish I will be 70 years old!"

And he replies -"and how old will you be in 10 years if you don't do it." There is a lesson.

There is another book that I found quite by accident when I was bending down to try and find a small saucepan in our pot cupboard and had to dig right down to the back, moving all the other pans out of the way, when a small, blue covered paperback fell out onto the floor.

I hid it under my pillow and, well, put it this way, it was hidden in the pot cupboard for a good reason, erotica I believe you would call it, and well thumbed......just in case you were wondering, yes I did have a sneaky peek, red-faced, then tucked it carefuly back into the back of the cupboard.

Poem: 'Vergismeinnicht' ( Forget-Me-Not)

The following is an alternative version of my poem forget me not (vergismeinnicht) a different entry has been entered into a competition with the theme of Spring:

Do not forget us in the Spring, the mountains of shoes
size one to five, that grew all year, as the tiny heads,
like small blue forget- me- not’s,
bowed in the breezes of spring-time,
our hearts beat to the drum of the earth
new and innocent, filled with promise,
of futures unknown, when they came.
Black Booted.

Writers Write Don't They?

Hello world. Writers write don't they? That is a question that I often struggle with so I guess other writers do too. Are you a writer because you write, are you a writer because you write brilliantly or because you are published and paid. Who decides?

Here is my problem, if asked 'what do you do' if I answer 'I am a writer' it sounds pretentious and I must admit to feeling a bit of a fraud....why? because I don't feel qualified to call myself a writer as currently (note that word) I don't have a book on the bookshelves of a book shop. I do, however, have the go ahead for an eguide which is coming along nicely. I am working on a 'cross over' novel and researching a non fiction idea for younger people. This blog is all about my journey as a......... writer.