I have also removed one of my haiku which is also under consideration.
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Taking a deep breath..
.. because, I just submitted my first manuscript for consideration! I've removed 'Surviving the Night' from my blog for now as a revised version of it is actually in the hands of two publishers, so until I hear back from them I have pulled it.
I have also removed one of my haiku which is also under consideration.
I have also removed one of my haiku which is also under consideration.
Monday, 2 July 2012
Twitterati
"Blood dripped from her body. Her
life ebbing away in a scarlet stream. There was no pain. Instead she
burned and the fire cleansed her soul."
-----
Week 6 - Twitterati
Write a piece of fiction using only 140 characters. This challenge is designed to make you think about your words, your letters and your punctuation. Write something that will allow your reader to fill in the blanks.
Remember, this is not 'up to 140 characters' - it is exactly 140 characters!
Monday, 11 June 2012
Rewriting Fairytales...
If I were to write,
The fairy tale of my life,
I'd not be the Princess,
I would just be his wife.
With a family at home,
There is no time for play,
Not to sit in a tower,
Brushing my hair all day.
I'll cook and I'll wash,
And take care of them all,
I won't even mind
That I miss out on the ball.
I'd rather not be there,
There is a flaw in that scene,
Those dainty glass slippers
Are just too hard to clean!
I need no fairy godmother
Nor a pixie or elf,
I won't wait for a Prince,
I'd rather rescue myself!
So while you were dreaming,
Of some fanciful thing.
I lived in real life,
And I married my king!
-----
Week 3 - Rewriting Fairytales
Choose a fairytale that you like and rewrite it changing any/all of the following elements:
Point of view - For example, rewrite Snow White from the perspective of the Wicked Queen
Genre - For example, how would Cinderella fare in Chick-Lit, or Sleeping Beauty in Psychological Thriller?
Time - For example, can you image how Hansel and Gretel would translate into the 21st century? A couple of ASBO kids eating someone's house..
The point of the exercise is to have fun exploring the different elements. We all know what the fairytale is supposed to be like; let's shake it up a little!
Saturday, 9 June 2012
I come from...
I come from a house full of children,
A mismatched group of girls and boys,
Some related by blood, some by circumstance,
A few stay only for a day while others never leave,
but all of them are family.
I come from a house that suddenly got quiet,
With a father who was too sick for all of us,
One by one they all found new homes,
They went to new homes and new parents,
Or grew too big for the nest.
I come from a house where sadness lurks,
Where we miss the ones who are no longer here,
Brothers, sisters, pets and our father.
Gone before we were ready to say goodbye,
Before we were grown.
I come from a house with new children,
A mismatched group of girls and boys,
Where a grandmother gathers them all to her,
And tells them of when their mothers were little,
And the house is happy again.
A mismatched group of girls and boys,
Some related by blood, some by circumstance,
A few stay only for a day while others never leave,
but all of them are family.
I come from a house that suddenly got quiet,
With a father who was too sick for all of us,
One by one they all found new homes,
They went to new homes and new parents,
Or grew too big for the nest.
I come from a house where sadness lurks,
Where we miss the ones who are no longer here,
Brothers, sisters, pets and our father.
Gone before we were ready to say goodbye,
Before we were grown.
I come from a house with new children,
A mismatched group of girls and boys,
Where a grandmother gathers them all to her,
And tells them of when their mothers were little,
And the house is happy again.
Thursday, 7 June 2012
I Am Born
Chapter 1 : I Am Born.
On May 18th, 1980, Mount St Helens erupted. One year on there was a different sort of eruption as I burst into the world and turned it on its end. I was the proud owner of “a fine pair of lungs”, according to my Father. I certainly put them to use. If my older sisters are to believed, I cried so much that no-one saw my face until I was 18 months old – just my gaping mouth. I completed our family – the biological part anyway. Imagine the shock when she was proclaimed 5 months pregnant almost 5 years after being declared infertile. A bittersweet gift considering my arrival put an end to the adoption of the son my father had always hoped for. I never got to meet my 'brother', he was taken away a month before my birth to 'make room' for me. Silly really – in our house there was always room for one more.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
Falling Apart
Every beat of my heart hurts,
That means it must have broken.
Vomit rises in my throat,
Stomach tangling in knots,
My eyes burn with stinging tears.
When did I become afraid,
Of the man I've always loved?
His rage and hatred chill me,
I don't understand the anger.
I love him, but it burns me.
He loathes my everything.
I just wish I could fix it.
I miss him. His smile and his
embrace. The sound of his laugh.
All that is left is this shell.
Depression consumed his soul,
Left him trapped in the dark.
I can't bear to watch him dying.
I try so hard to be strong,
Faking smiles and hiding tears.
It gets harder every day.
It is inevitable.
I am going to crumble.
Inside I'm already broken.
Piece by piece I fall apart,
Secret pain I cannot share.
Often I am told to leave,
but how can I abandon him?
That means it must have broken.
Vomit rises in my throat,
Stomach tangling in knots,
My eyes burn with stinging tears.
When did I become afraid,
Of the man I've always loved?
His rage and hatred chill me,
I don't understand the anger.
I love him, but it burns me.
He loathes my everything.
I just wish I could fix it.
I miss him. His smile and his
embrace. The sound of his laugh.
All that is left is this shell.
Depression consumed his soul,
Left him trapped in the dark.
I can't bear to watch him dying.
I try so hard to be strong,
Faking smiles and hiding tears.
It gets harder every day.
It is inevitable.
I am going to crumble.
Inside I'm already broken.
Piece by piece I fall apart,
Secret pain I cannot share.
Often I am told to leave,
but how can I abandon him?
Brutality
My heart broke that day,
I heard it crack open,
Ripping and splintering,
Broken shards of pain.
I heard it out loud,
A harsh, inhuman howl
Spilling from bruised lips.
The cracked skin stings
Tears washing it with salt.
Love hurts. Love is brutal.
-----
Way back at the beginning of A215, the lovely Paula K Lewis set up a series of challenges to get us in the mood for the course, I didn't have time to participate, but now as I face a case of writers block, I am giving them a try. Thanks Paula.
I heard it crack open,
Ripping and splintering,
Broken shards of pain.
I heard it out loud,
A harsh, inhuman howl
Spilling from bruised lips.
The cracked skin stings
Tears washing it with salt.
Love hurts. Love is brutal.
-----
Way back at the beginning of A215, the lovely Paula K Lewis set up a series of challenges to get us in the mood for the course, I didn't have time to participate, but now as I face a case of writers block, I am giving them a try. Thanks Paula.
Challenge 1 - Write a poem of 40 lines or less, using 'Brutality' as your theme. You are free to interpret this however you wish.
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Facing The Fire
I do not consider myself to be an exceptional person. I am content with being average. I do not consider myself to be particularly brave, nor do I feel I am leaving any sort of mark on the world. However, when I tell people that I am a firewalker I get some strange reactions. Some say I am crazy, some think I am brave and one or two have even said I am an inspiration. I am often embarrassed by these reactions. I wave away praise and blush at the compliments because I feel so undeserving of it. I don't think that I am any of those things. I just want to do what little I can to make the lives of sick children a little bit easier. Children like my son. My son is my hero. There are times when I am in awe of his strength and character. You might never realise to look at him, but my son has a disability. He has never let that stand in his way. He is captain of the basketball team, a Tae Kwon Do champion, an athlete and a boy scout.
Soon after he started school, my son began to have difficulties with his health. In the beginning it was brushed off as stress from starting school, but as the months passed his health deteriorated and it became apparent that there was a more serious problem. It took many years of fighting with various healthcare professionals before we finally found the support and the diagnosis we needed. Things improved quickly from then on and in the past few years we have finally managed to get things under control. Through it all my son has carried himself with the quiet dignity of someone much older. He made it through the bullying, the endless tests, the unpleasant medication, the stress, the therapy and the emotional trauma much better that I did. The number of times that he has complained, despite the pain and discomfort are very few. I wish that I had half of his strength. He is the reason that I chose to become a firewalker. His disability and the struggle we had to find the right treatment is what inspires me to raise money for the local hospital in the hope that more children can have better access to specialised paediatric care rather than relying on the family doctor, who might have no idea how to handle their illness. I wanted to do something that would require daring, something that would somehow measure up to the bravery of a little boy who could make it through all that life threw at him and do it with a smile on his face. I don't think there is anything that I could do to match his courage, but fire-walking seemed like a good place to start.
The first time I ever walked barefoot across burning embers it was a bitterly cold November night in an otherwise ordinary hospital car-park. It may not have been the most glamorous of locations, but the scene was certainly dramatic! A fire eater was entertaining the small crowd of spectators who had gathered to watch the festivities and bright orange flames danced in the darkness at the far end of the car-park, just barely visible from the windows of the small room in the children's hospital where the other fire-walkers and I were undergoing some intensive psychological training. At least, that's what they called it. In reality, it amounted to a couple of hours with a motivational speaker, playing some silly games designed to make us relax. I had never held motivational speakers in high regard until that day, always believing that they were just pretentious know-it-alls full of their own hype, but at the end of those two hours I was a convert. I fully believed I could do anything at that point. I felt like a super hero, or at least I did until I walked outside.
When the hospital doors opened the first thing that hit me was the surprisingly pleasant smell of burning wood and it was somehow very comforting. The rich, slightly sweet smell echoed of happy childhood memories of times spent by a camp-fire, grilling sausages and toasting marshmallows. I inhaled the rich aroma of the smoke and it calmed me for a moment. That split second of inner peace was soon shattered when our motley crew of brave souls spilled out into the night air and caught sight of the bed of hot embers for the first time. I descended the stairs to the lower level of the car park never taking my eyes off of the dancing flames along the edges of what now seemed to be an endless path of glowing red embers being raked over by the fire master and sending sparks shooting into the air. The heat hit me when we were still fifty feet from the foreboding path and I suddenly heard the voice of our instructor echoing inside my head telling me that the temperature was around 1300 degrees Fahrenheit and that human flesh burned at just 130 degrees. That was the moment I was forced to remind myself why I had put myself in this crazy situation. Glancing back at the hospital building behind me I thought of all the children inside who were fighting all sorts of illnesses. I realised how thankful I was that my son wasn't among them. Instead, he was down there by the fire lane. Knowing that he was out there in the dark watching was what spurred me on. I didn't dare to look for him in the crowd of onlookers. We had been warned beforehand not to talk to our friends or family once we were at the fire lane, so there was no chance of anyone breaking down that confidence the instructor had just spent several hours building up. I knew if I saw him I would want to go to him and give him a hug.
There was a fairly large group of us waiting to take up the challenge even although we lost one or two somewhere between signing the rather scary liability disclaimer and arriving at the start of our blazing path. The waiting might not have been so bad had it been summer, but unfortunately it was the dead of winter and the temperature was hovering menacingly somewhere around zero. The contradictory feeling of the thick wall of heat rising from the fire and the sharp bite of ice cold tarmac on my bare toes made me giggle, and once I started I just could not stop. I was suddenly struck by the thought that I really was mad after all and had simply given into hysteria! Thankfully, in reality it was just a nervous reaction and I wasn't quite at the stage where anyone had to slap some sense into me! The irony of spending several minutes dancing from foot to foot to keep warm was not lost on any of us as we waited our turns and by the time it came to me it was almost a relief to step onto the warm strip of turf at the beginning of the path. The instructor took my hand and gave it a squeeze while another member of his team raked over the path sending up a fresh shower of sparks and transforming the slightly dimmed walkway back into a brightly lit trail. He asked if I was ready and when I whimpered something that must have sounded to him like a yes he told me to prove it and gave me a gentle push and set me on my way.
It was over in a heartbeat. That seemingly never ending fiery road took just seconds to traverse. Before I had even had the chance to get used to the warm, and unusually wet feeling of the treacherous surface underfoot I was already stepping back onto the frozen concrete at the other end. A surge of adrenaline was pulsing through me and just as we had been promised at the beginning of the night, I couldn't wait to do it again. I would have walked up and down that bed of burning wood all night if I had been given the chance. Grabbing my shoes I finally searched the crowd for my cheering section and found them jumping up and down grinning like Cheshire cats. I made my way over and was almost knocked to the ground as my son, best friend, her boyfriend and my fiancé all mobbed me! They were all telling me how amazing it looked and how proud they were of me, but I already felt like it was no big deal. It had been easy and fun and not scary at all. How quickly I managed to forget the knot of terror that had taken up residence in my gut previously!
We were called back together to be debriefed and get our certificates, and as we stood huddled together by the dying firelight the first flakes of snow began to fall, dusting the last smouldering remains with powdery white. It seemed appropriate somehow to have walked through the fire into the ice and snow. The snow that fell that night didn't leave for nearly 4 months, but it did nothing to distinguish the warm feeling inside when I thought about the experience.
Soon after he started school, my son began to have difficulties with his health. In the beginning it was brushed off as stress from starting school, but as the months passed his health deteriorated and it became apparent that there was a more serious problem. It took many years of fighting with various healthcare professionals before we finally found the support and the diagnosis we needed. Things improved quickly from then on and in the past few years we have finally managed to get things under control. Through it all my son has carried himself with the quiet dignity of someone much older. He made it through the bullying, the endless tests, the unpleasant medication, the stress, the therapy and the emotional trauma much better that I did. The number of times that he has complained, despite the pain and discomfort are very few. I wish that I had half of his strength. He is the reason that I chose to become a firewalker. His disability and the struggle we had to find the right treatment is what inspires me to raise money for the local hospital in the hope that more children can have better access to specialised paediatric care rather than relying on the family doctor, who might have no idea how to handle their illness. I wanted to do something that would require daring, something that would somehow measure up to the bravery of a little boy who could make it through all that life threw at him and do it with a smile on his face. I don't think there is anything that I could do to match his courage, but fire-walking seemed like a good place to start.
The first time I ever walked barefoot across burning embers it was a bitterly cold November night in an otherwise ordinary hospital car-park. It may not have been the most glamorous of locations, but the scene was certainly dramatic! A fire eater was entertaining the small crowd of spectators who had gathered to watch the festivities and bright orange flames danced in the darkness at the far end of the car-park, just barely visible from the windows of the small room in the children's hospital where the other fire-walkers and I were undergoing some intensive psychological training. At least, that's what they called it. In reality, it amounted to a couple of hours with a motivational speaker, playing some silly games designed to make us relax. I had never held motivational speakers in high regard until that day, always believing that they were just pretentious know-it-alls full of their own hype, but at the end of those two hours I was a convert. I fully believed I could do anything at that point. I felt like a super hero, or at least I did until I walked outside.
When the hospital doors opened the first thing that hit me was the surprisingly pleasant smell of burning wood and it was somehow very comforting. The rich, slightly sweet smell echoed of happy childhood memories of times spent by a camp-fire, grilling sausages and toasting marshmallows. I inhaled the rich aroma of the smoke and it calmed me for a moment. That split second of inner peace was soon shattered when our motley crew of brave souls spilled out into the night air and caught sight of the bed of hot embers for the first time. I descended the stairs to the lower level of the car park never taking my eyes off of the dancing flames along the edges of what now seemed to be an endless path of glowing red embers being raked over by the fire master and sending sparks shooting into the air. The heat hit me when we were still fifty feet from the foreboding path and I suddenly heard the voice of our instructor echoing inside my head telling me that the temperature was around 1300 degrees Fahrenheit and that human flesh burned at just 130 degrees. That was the moment I was forced to remind myself why I had put myself in this crazy situation. Glancing back at the hospital building behind me I thought of all the children inside who were fighting all sorts of illnesses. I realised how thankful I was that my son wasn't among them. Instead, he was down there by the fire lane. Knowing that he was out there in the dark watching was what spurred me on. I didn't dare to look for him in the crowd of onlookers. We had been warned beforehand not to talk to our friends or family once we were at the fire lane, so there was no chance of anyone breaking down that confidence the instructor had just spent several hours building up. I knew if I saw him I would want to go to him and give him a hug.
There was a fairly large group of us waiting to take up the challenge even although we lost one or two somewhere between signing the rather scary liability disclaimer and arriving at the start of our blazing path. The waiting might not have been so bad had it been summer, but unfortunately it was the dead of winter and the temperature was hovering menacingly somewhere around zero. The contradictory feeling of the thick wall of heat rising from the fire and the sharp bite of ice cold tarmac on my bare toes made me giggle, and once I started I just could not stop. I was suddenly struck by the thought that I really was mad after all and had simply given into hysteria! Thankfully, in reality it was just a nervous reaction and I wasn't quite at the stage where anyone had to slap some sense into me! The irony of spending several minutes dancing from foot to foot to keep warm was not lost on any of us as we waited our turns and by the time it came to me it was almost a relief to step onto the warm strip of turf at the beginning of the path. The instructor took my hand and gave it a squeeze while another member of his team raked over the path sending up a fresh shower of sparks and transforming the slightly dimmed walkway back into a brightly lit trail. He asked if I was ready and when I whimpered something that must have sounded to him like a yes he told me to prove it and gave me a gentle push and set me on my way.
It was over in a heartbeat. That seemingly never ending fiery road took just seconds to traverse. Before I had even had the chance to get used to the warm, and unusually wet feeling of the treacherous surface underfoot I was already stepping back onto the frozen concrete at the other end. A surge of adrenaline was pulsing through me and just as we had been promised at the beginning of the night, I couldn't wait to do it again. I would have walked up and down that bed of burning wood all night if I had been given the chance. Grabbing my shoes I finally searched the crowd for my cheering section and found them jumping up and down grinning like Cheshire cats. I made my way over and was almost knocked to the ground as my son, best friend, her boyfriend and my fiancé all mobbed me! They were all telling me how amazing it looked and how proud they were of me, but I already felt like it was no big deal. It had been easy and fun and not scary at all. How quickly I managed to forget the knot of terror that had taken up residence in my gut previously!
We were called back together to be debriefed and get our certificates, and as we stood huddled together by the dying firelight the first flakes of snow began to fall, dusting the last smouldering remains with powdery white. It seemed appropriate somehow to have walked through the fire into the ice and snow. The snow that fell that night didn't leave for nearly 4 months, but it did nothing to distinguish the warm feeling inside when I thought about the experience.
Friday, 6 April 2012
A Picture Remembered
----
Just a short passage, written as part of an activity in life writing.
Friday, 2 March 2012
Some Days
Some Days
There are some days when,
the light seems too bright to see,
and then there are days when,
I am content to bask in its glow.
There are some days when,
my dreams seem untouchable,
and then there are days when
I am certain that they will come true.
There are some days when,
I am so afraid of falling,
and then there are days when,
a blind leap of faith comes with ease.
There are some days when,
I cannot see the way forward,
but then I realise,
that I am the one holding myself back.
-----------------------------------------
This is my final TMA poem slighty edited because I had to squash it into 8 lines to fit the line limit - this was its originally intended form.
There are some days when,
the light seems too bright to see,
and then there are days when,
I am content to bask in its glow.
There are some days when,
my dreams seem untouchable,
and then there are days when
I am certain that they will come true.
There are some days when,
I am so afraid of falling,
and then there are days when,
a blind leap of faith comes with ease.
There are some days when,
I cannot see the way forward,
but then I realise,
that I am the one holding myself back.
-----------------------------------------
This is my final TMA poem slighty edited because I had to squash it into 8 lines to fit the line limit - this was its originally intended form.
Beautiful Insomnia
Beautiful Insomnia
Midnight. The empty street lies still and alone,
lit only by a shining silver puddle in the sky,
resting regal in the heavens on her cloud throne.
The world is silent now, no-one watching it but I,
none dare to disturb the ghostly quiet of the night,
held in a lifeless calm, not dead, just sleeping.
The trees with their skeleton hands offer applause
to the nocturnal birds that dance with the soft wind.
A lone feline ventures into the open, then withdraws,
fading into black velvet shadows like a Cheshire grin.
Darkness wraps up the familiar sights in his embrace,
and distorts them beyond my recognition.
Only at night can I see the world through new eyes,
and I wonder if this is why sleep remains out of my reach,
so that I do not miss the studded diamonds in the sky,
or the haunting melody of the owls as they screech.
I feel no frustration at my restless mind tonight,
I am content to seek out the beauty of the dark.
-----------------------------------------------------
The second of my three TMA Poems, this time just an excercise in rhyme and imagery.
Midnight. The empty street lies still and alone,
lit only by a shining silver puddle in the sky,
resting regal in the heavens on her cloud throne.
The world is silent now, no-one watching it but I,
none dare to disturb the ghostly quiet of the night,
held in a lifeless calm, not dead, just sleeping.
The trees with their skeleton hands offer applause
to the nocturnal birds that dance with the soft wind.
A lone feline ventures into the open, then withdraws,
fading into black velvet shadows like a Cheshire grin.
Darkness wraps up the familiar sights in his embrace,
and distorts them beyond my recognition.
Only at night can I see the world through new eyes,
and I wonder if this is why sleep remains out of my reach,
so that I do not miss the studded diamonds in the sky,
or the haunting melody of the owls as they screech.
I feel no frustration at my restless mind tonight,
I am content to seek out the beauty of the dark.
-----------------------------------------------------
The second of my three TMA Poems, this time just an excercise in rhyme and imagery.
The Broken Road
The Broken Path
The jagged teeth of glass glitter and glint,
ready to rip and tear fragile flesh. The
breaking sounds like cruel laughter to my ears,
flooding my mouth with the foul taste of fear.
It fills my chest and steals my breath from me.
The ground cracks and crunches with every step,
shifting, breaking and erupting new teeth,
and the fear slams shut the path I follow.
I look up and see my inspiration,
his eyes filled with pride and a warm smile that,
reminds me why I walk on broken glass.
He cuts through the roadblock, and pierces my
heart. Fear no longer seems important now,
because I remember who this is for.
--------------------------------------------------
This was the first of three poems I submitted for my creative writing TMA. It is a modern interpretation of a sonnet (in that it has no rhyme scheme) and it is about the glass walk I did back in November 2011 for Yorkhill Children's Foundation.
Saturday, 14 January 2012
In The Heart of The Forest (extract)
The night was still and moonless, and the thick forest was overgrown and forbidding. The twisted branches shivered and danced despite the absence of any noticeable wind, giving the impression that the forest was alive. Ariel was becoming increasingly unsettled by her surroundings as she made her way carefully through the maze of trees. She was careful of the exposed roots poking through the forest floor waiting like skeletal hands to snatch at her ankles. She tried not to be afraid. She knew that the sounds that were audible all around her belonged to owls, bats and other nocturnal creatures, but they seemed to have been distorted by the darkness and Ariel found herself imagining all manner of strange creatures watching her from behind the trees. Her mind was playing tricks on her and she had to mentally shake herself. After all, she was a little to old to be frightened of monsters lurking in the shadows.
The chill in the air cut her flesh and struck her bones like a sharp blade. She pulled her coat a little tighter around her trying desperately to warm herself. Despite the thick cover of the trees, there was still a carpet of glittering snow on the ground. It crunched under her feet, sparkling like a thousand shattered diamonds. Under normal circumstances, Ariel might have found her surroundings quite pretty. In daylight, snow had a way of making the world seem so beautiful. The white blanket disguising all manner of flaws. But, in the darkness it just seemed bleak and cruel. Wandering into the forest had not been one of Ariel's smartest plans. She was not exactly appropriately dressed for tramping through the snow in the dead of night without so much as a flash light. Even although she knew the forest like the back of her own hand in daylight, when darkness fell the trees seemed to shift continuously and the once familiar paths became alien to her. Perhaps she should have just gone into the house when she had returned from the party and faced her mother even although Ariel knew that she would have been drunk and that the latest in a long line of sleazy boyfriends was no doubt sprawled on the couch in the tiny living room. At the time she had not felt strong enough to face the inevitable fight and so she had turned and walked into her beloved forest, but now she wondered if dealing with that particular train wreck could have been any worse than freezing herself half to death lost in the forest.
Ariel rarely ventured this deep into the trees during the day never mind at night. However, on entering the forest tonight she had found herself inexplicably drawn to it's heart. The siren song of the trees pulling her further into the night. There was no question of turning back despite the fear that was causing her heart to hammer in her chest. All at once the thick wall of trees gave way to a clearing that Ariel had never seen before. Without the canopy of trees overhead it was slightly lighter here, but still so dark that Ariel was only able to see a few feet in front of herself. Something ahead glinted and caught her eye.
A fallen tree lay across the centre of the open space like a downed giant slain in battle. The branches were broken and torn. Ariel reached out a hand to touch the rough bark which had begun to rot and crumbled away at her touch. There was something sad about seeing the majestic titan laying broken and decaying where once it had stood strong and proud. She traced her finger along the knots and bumps on the trunk until she found what had been glinting from across the clearing. Embedded in the tree was a smooth silver pendant. It was shaped like a curved claw and was strung on a leather cord. As she closed her hand around it she felt it surprisingly warm to touch. A noise from the edge of the clearing startled her and she spun around to find a glowing pair of cat like eyes watching her from the undergrowth. Her heart began to race and she could not stop herself from trembling as she maintained eye contact with the amber eyes in the shadows. She tried to recall if their were big cats running wild in Scotland, a wildcat perhaps? Or something bigger? Her mind was too full of gruesome visions of being ripped apart by a wild animal to recall any useful snippets of information.
---
I realized I never posted my first TMA from A215, so here it is. An extract of a longer work in progress
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
In The Bakery
When I go to work in the early mornings, I like to watch him work. Once I set out my displays in the shining glass counters and turn on the ovens. I always retreat to the kitchen to prepare. From there I can watch him as he works in the long open room that runs off of my kitchen. The shiny silver stainless steel work table is where he will spend most of his time this morning. He sings along with the radio as he works the soft, pliable dough, sending clouds of white flour into the air. It falls like snow, dusting every surface and clinging to the dark hairs of his forearms. I take him a cup of coffee and he wipes his flour covered hands on his white t-shirt and nods towards the racks at the entrance to indicate I should bring him a biscuit. The flour gets every where. It's okay for him with his white uniform. I have to be careful when I come back here that my smart black trousers don't get dusted with the white powder. No matter how careful I am they always do, especially on the days when I sweep out the bakery for him once he is gone. Once he has lined up his little balls of dough on huge trays and left them to work their magic, rising and filling with air, ready to be baked come nightfall.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Supermarket Perspective
She had a spring in her step and a bounce in her step as she entered the brightly lit supermarket. She breathed in deeply enjoying the different smells that mingled together in the air. She could detect hints of the flowers close to the door and the rich smells drifting through the building from the bakery all the way at the back of the store. The bright lights and colourful promotional displays seemed to mirror her upbeat mood. She had worked long and hard for this and she couldn't wait to go home and celebrate with her husband. She strolled through the aisles with a shopping basket slung over her arm, swinging jauntily from the crook of her elbow. She wanted to choose something special for dinner tonight. She strolled up and down selecting items and placing them in her basket. She was picking out the more expensive treats, ones they normally couldn't afford. But tonight was a celebration and with the extra money that she would soon be bringing home would cover her little spending spree. With that in mind, she added a bottle of champagne and a box of Belgian chocolate truffles to the rest of her shopping. Then she made her way to the entertainments section, thinking 'what the hell' she'd buy a couple of computer games for the boys too. They deserved a treat. It was so much more relaxing being able to shop without mentally calculating the bill in her head, making sure she had enough money in her pocket to cover it. The promotion and the accompanying pay rise would ensure she would be able to breathe a little easier from now on.
-------
She shuffled into the supermarket with her eyes downcast. The bright lights and colourful displays assaulted her eyes, which were raw and tender from crying so hard. The lingering smells of the floral display and the in store bakery caught in her throat bringing yet another wave of nausea washing over her grief stricken body. She could not believe that after this long it was all over. Everything she had sacrificed, everything she had given him, gone without so much as a backward glance. She leaned heavily on the shopping trolley for support, keeping her head down and refusing to meet the eye of any of her fellow shoppers. Normally she liked to spend hours browsing all of the different departments in the supermarket. Not today. Today she was here out of necessity, just so that the children would have something to eat. She was gripped by an overwhelming panic that she would meet someone she knew and she would have to explain why she was here in this state. Her eyes were puffy and swollen. Red rimmed from hours of crying. Her unwashed, unbrushed hair hung in a tangled curtain, obscuring her face. She moved quickly from aisle to aisle, blindly throwing items into the trolley. Who knew what she would cobble together for dinner this evening. There didn't seem to be anything resembling a complete meal among her random choices. She didn't care. It was all she could do to function. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had stopped crying long enough for this haphazard shopping trip. She was still numb from the hurtful words they had exchanged, ending a fifteen year love affair between her and her husband.
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She shuffled into the supermarket with her eyes downcast. The bright lights and colourful displays assaulted her eyes, which were raw and tender from crying so hard. The lingering smells of the floral display and the in store bakery caught in her throat bringing yet another wave of nausea washing over her grief stricken body. She could not believe that after this long it was all over. Everything she had sacrificed, everything she had given him, gone without so much as a backward glance. She leaned heavily on the shopping trolley for support, keeping her head down and refusing to meet the eye of any of her fellow shoppers. Normally she liked to spend hours browsing all of the different departments in the supermarket. Not today. Today she was here out of necessity, just so that the children would have something to eat. She was gripped by an overwhelming panic that she would meet someone she knew and she would have to explain why she was here in this state. Her eyes were puffy and swollen. Red rimmed from hours of crying. Her unwashed, unbrushed hair hung in a tangled curtain, obscuring her face. She moved quickly from aisle to aisle, blindly throwing items into the trolley. Who knew what she would cobble together for dinner this evening. There didn't seem to be anything resembling a complete meal among her random choices. She didn't care. It was all she could do to function. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had stopped crying long enough for this haphazard shopping trip. She was still numb from the hurtful words they had exchanged, ending a fifteen year love affair between her and her husband.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Protector
Ever faithful friend,
Standing alert over our bed,
Furry protector.
_____
A Haiku inspired by my ever faithful dog. He is incredibly loyal, especially protective of my son and would lay down his life for him. Last night at around 3am, there was a huge fight in the street involving dogs and people and possibly foxes! He went to check my son was ok, and then sat on the end of the bed between my husband and I with his chest puffed up and his ears alert, watching over us.
Standing alert over our bed,
Furry protector.
_____
A Haiku inspired by my ever faithful dog. He is incredibly loyal, especially protective of my son and would lay down his life for him. Last night at around 3am, there was a huge fight in the street involving dogs and people and possibly foxes! He went to check my son was ok, and then sat on the end of the bed between my husband and I with his chest puffed up and his ears alert, watching over us.
When I Dream
I guess when you fall asleep thinking of something it has a tendency to bleed over into your dreams. Last night was one of those dreams. It seemed so real, so vivid. In my dream I was curvy- not fat - that should have been the first clue that I was asleep. In my dream he was at me and I could see the rage flash in his steel grey eyes - but I could also see the little glint of mischief there too and I was not afraid. Playing along with his game I turned to run and his hand caught in my thick dark hair. His free hand took my wrist and I was thrown unceremoniously to the floor. I struggle beneath him as he pinned my hands above by head. I had no real intention of trying to escape, we both knew that would be pointless, but my show of defiance made him laugh. Smiling he leaned down to kiss my mouth. That smile could strike ice cold fear in my heart at times, it was a cruel smile, but today it stirred the butterflies in my stomach. He paused, changed his mind about the kiss and bit down on my bottom lip. He hissed in my ear sending an electric shock pulsing down my spine.
"I love it when you try to fight back little one - as if you could ever win!"
"I love it when you try to fight back little one - as if you could ever win!"
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Prologue - The Book
I can’t say for sure what it was that first drew me to him, but the first time we met in that dark and somewhat dusty second hand book store down a dark side street in a rundown part of town. I remember his eyes meeting mine and feeling like I was being pulled towards him by some unseen force. His eyes were a deep, rich brown flecked with burgundy which made them burn like little pools of liquid flame. I sensed great power behind those eyes and I could not help but feel as though they could see right into the very core of my being. I would go so far as to say that as he gazed upon me unashamedly he was staring straight into my soul. The air around him seemed to crackle with some kind of arcane energy that felt both dangerous and appealing simultaneously.
I wasn’t sure if I should turn away or approach him. However, the choice was taken out of my hands as the stranger approached me. As he came closer, I saw that he was only a few years older than me, or at least he appeared to be, but when I looked once more into those mesmerizing eyes I saw the ghosts of many past lives. He dressed casually in smart jeans and a dark coloured shirt and had long dark hair caught in a ponytail at the base of his neck. If not for those startling eyes I might never have looked twice, apart from the fact that my whole body seemed to have felt his presence before I had even laid eyes on him.
I remember feeling like I should speak, but my mouth was dry and I couldn’t form the words. I simply stood there, rooted to the spot, desperate to run but afraid to even turn my face away. He spoke in a rich voice; his words seemed to curl around me like a soft comforting blanket.
“You feel it don’t you? You know.”
He was right in a way, even back then I knew something, I just wasn’t sure what. I was a sensible girl. I didn’t believe in magic or monsters. I lived in what I considered the ‘real’ world where like was black and white. At the age of sixteen, I was too old to believe in fairy stories. But looking in the stranger’s eyes I felt everything I knew fall away and looking back I can pinpoint that it was the exact moment my life changed forever. I tried to respond but I stammered over my words, I didn’t really know what to say and my mouth didn’t seem capable of speech at that point anyway. He smirked at me and sighed. Reaching behind my head he pulled a book from the shelf and offered it to me.
“Not yet. But you will. This is what you are looking for”
I took the book from him and turned it over in my hands. It looked very old. The black leather it was bound in was cracked and worn. It had no title, but the cover did have several strange markings embossed onto it in gold. Just holding the book seemed to make my skin tingle.
I wasn’t sure if I should turn away or approach him. However, the choice was taken out of my hands as the stranger approached me. As he came closer, I saw that he was only a few years older than me, or at least he appeared to be, but when I looked once more into those mesmerizing eyes I saw the ghosts of many past lives. He dressed casually in smart jeans and a dark coloured shirt and had long dark hair caught in a ponytail at the base of his neck. If not for those startling eyes I might never have looked twice, apart from the fact that my whole body seemed to have felt his presence before I had even laid eyes on him.
I remember feeling like I should speak, but my mouth was dry and I couldn’t form the words. I simply stood there, rooted to the spot, desperate to run but afraid to even turn my face away. He spoke in a rich voice; his words seemed to curl around me like a soft comforting blanket.
“You feel it don’t you? You know.”
He was right in a way, even back then I knew something, I just wasn’t sure what. I was a sensible girl. I didn’t believe in magic or monsters. I lived in what I considered the ‘real’ world where like was black and white. At the age of sixteen, I was too old to believe in fairy stories. But looking in the stranger’s eyes I felt everything I knew fall away and looking back I can pinpoint that it was the exact moment my life changed forever. I tried to respond but I stammered over my words, I didn’t really know what to say and my mouth didn’t seem capable of speech at that point anyway. He smirked at me and sighed. Reaching behind my head he pulled a book from the shelf and offered it to me.
“Not yet. But you will. This is what you are looking for”
I took the book from him and turned it over in my hands. It looked very old. The black leather it was bound in was cracked and worn. It had no title, but the cover did have several strange markings embossed onto it in gold. Just holding the book seemed to make my skin tingle.
Haiku
*** Removed for consideration ***
_____
The dark closing in,
Curling around me like fog,
Safety or danger?
_____
Cracking and clinking,
Cool, clear liquid served over ice,
Sharp bite of lime refreshes.
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