Unfinished Sentences
On Monday evenings, I always try to do some yoga. It's calming and good for my flexibity. At least that's what my sister said when she persuaded me to join her at the village hall. At first everything was fine. I started as a complete novice and the instructor was very kind, helping out as my stiff limbs refused to bend as they should. I was so sore the next morning and vowed I'd never go again. But I did and as the weeks went by it got easily. Things were freeing up and I could do the poses and moves withpout too much fuss. Until today that is. I don't know what happened but I was checking my breathing as we moved into warrior three and I heard a click. Everything that had been moving freely seized up and I was stuck. There was no way I was feeling anything like a warrior at that moment. I was terrified that I would be carried out on a stretcher stuck in a half finished yoga pose. But again the instructor came to my assistence, gently moving my limbs and encouraging me to free myself and return to the stance of a human being. Strangely the next morning I didn't feel at all stiff. But I did feel very foolish and I may never set foot in the village hall again.
Wednesday, 15 January 2020
Tuesday, 14 January 2020
Five Minute Free Write
I decided to go freestyle today and leave the prompts alone. This is a sketch of an incident on the bus the other day.
I got on the bus with my son and we sat down only for a woman to begin shouting at us. She was distraught about something but all I caught was that we were looking at her with 'black eyes'. She wandered to the front of the bus and began to yell at the driver who waited patiently and asked if she wanted to get off the bus. It became obvious that she didn't but she carried on shouting and swearing. Naturally, being British, we all sat with our eyes downcast and listened. Nobody seemed to know what to do or even if doing something was the right thing to do. She eventually went upstairs and the bus drove off. We then heard her yelling and loud noises which seemed to be her hitting or kicking the side panels on the bus. The driver radioed some message to the depot but we carried on. Every now and then there was another thump and more swearing from upstairs. Two young professionals got on, asked the driver some questions and went upstairs to speak to the woman. She came down and got off the bus, cursing and punching the bus as she did so. The young people seemed to know how to deal with her and phoned for someone to go and make sure she was OK.
It was obvious that she was in some sort of crisis and I guess that the young people who spoke to her were mental health care professionals of some sort. The driver said she was a regular on the route so they knew what to do. My point is that in an ideal world someone would have been looking after her and she wouldn't have been wandering around on her own in obvious distress. But this isn't an ideal world and unless a crisis is reached little seems to be done to help those who are vulnerable. They are left to their own devices and picked up when they become a danger to themselves or a 'nuisance' to the rest of us.
I hope they found her and helped her. I hope she had a better end to her day than the beginning seemed to be. I hope she had a quiet and calm time later that day. And I am so glad there are people like those two young people to care for the most vulnerable in our society.
I got on the bus with my son and we sat down only for a woman to begin shouting at us. She was distraught about something but all I caught was that we were looking at her with 'black eyes'. She wandered to the front of the bus and began to yell at the driver who waited patiently and asked if she wanted to get off the bus. It became obvious that she didn't but she carried on shouting and swearing. Naturally, being British, we all sat with our eyes downcast and listened. Nobody seemed to know what to do or even if doing something was the right thing to do. She eventually went upstairs and the bus drove off. We then heard her yelling and loud noises which seemed to be her hitting or kicking the side panels on the bus. The driver radioed some message to the depot but we carried on. Every now and then there was another thump and more swearing from upstairs. Two young professionals got on, asked the driver some questions and went upstairs to speak to the woman. She came down and got off the bus, cursing and punching the bus as she did so. The young people seemed to know how to deal with her and phoned for someone to go and make sure she was OK.
It was obvious that she was in some sort of crisis and I guess that the young people who spoke to her were mental health care professionals of some sort. The driver said she was a regular on the route so they knew what to do. My point is that in an ideal world someone would have been looking after her and she wouldn't have been wandering around on her own in obvious distress. But this isn't an ideal world and unless a crisis is reached little seems to be done to help those who are vulnerable. They are left to their own devices and picked up when they become a danger to themselves or a 'nuisance' to the rest of us.
I hope they found her and helped her. I hope she had a better end to her day than the beginning seemed to be. I hope she had a quiet and calm time later that day. And I am so glad there are people like those two young people to care for the most vulnerable in our society.
Friday, 10 January 2020
Last Line Triggers
Today's task is to take the last line of a novel and use it either as a first or last line of a story or as an inspiration. I really enjoyed doing this one, made me think outside the box.
'It had never occurred to him that a dog might be clairvoyant.' from Spooky, a short story by David Dean.
All those years and I never knew the old dog was clairvoyant. He'd behave like any other dog most of the time but just occasionally he'd do summat daft. Like that time he dragged me away from the pub and all the way through the wheat field until we found that little kid, crying and lost. Never crossed my mind that he was using psychic powers or the like. Then there was the day he wouldn't come out from under the bed, shaking like a leaf and no way to persuade him to go for his normal walk. The day the doodlebug hit the church that were, about the time we normally walked past too. But those were just coincidences my missus said. Dogs don't know stuff she said. Now you tell me he didn't know stuff now. It were him what picked the balls out of the sack, he chose those numbers and he got all of em right, two weeks running. First week was a jackpot of six million, next week was four million. We was the luckiest folk in the village then. Shame the old dog didn't live to see the Life of Riley we're living now. Run over by the milk float three days after we cashed the second cheque. Poor old Lucky, he were a good dog.
'It had never occurred to him that a dog might be clairvoyant.' from Spooky, a short story by David Dean.
All those years and I never knew the old dog was clairvoyant. He'd behave like any other dog most of the time but just occasionally he'd do summat daft. Like that time he dragged me away from the pub and all the way through the wheat field until we found that little kid, crying and lost. Never crossed my mind that he was using psychic powers or the like. Then there was the day he wouldn't come out from under the bed, shaking like a leaf and no way to persuade him to go for his normal walk. The day the doodlebug hit the church that were, about the time we normally walked past too. But those were just coincidences my missus said. Dogs don't know stuff she said. Now you tell me he didn't know stuff now. It were him what picked the balls out of the sack, he chose those numbers and he got all of em right, two weeks running. First week was a jackpot of six million, next week was four million. We was the luckiest folk in the village then. Shame the old dog didn't live to see the Life of Riley we're living now. Run over by the milk float three days after we cashed the second cheque. Poor old Lucky, he were a good dog.
Character Pen Portrait
Late posting again but here is the 9th of my Five Minute Writer pieces. I decided to write some short pen portraits of my main characters to get further under their skins and I thought I'd share one with you. This is my protagonist, the driving force of my first story and the one I am planning at the moment. I hope you like her as much as I do.
Character Pen Portrait
Madge is an older, feisty woman. She can be abrupt and even rude but she is caring and fiercely loyal to her friends. When she was young, pre-teen, her mother left the family home to fight in the Great Magical War where she was killed. Madge's father banned her from using magic despite her talents obviously laying in that direction. She studied healing instead, using magic covertly to make her potions the best in Lunecaster. When magic was banned across the city Madge was sad but carried on using magic to enhance her healing, knowing that the penaltiy for doing so would be banishment or death. When her beloved father died her brother Gilbert disowned her as a witch and she lost her family forever. He forced her to leave the family home which saddened her further. Madge is very 'home' focussed, she values the comfort and stability of having her own space. She isn't a great housekeeper, living in a state of clutter with trinkets and treasures covering every surface. A canny business woman, she barters hard at the market to obtain the best supplies at the best price. She is selective in her friendships. Once you are her friend she would move mountains for you. In appearance she is short and plump with a mop of unruly grey hair escaping from her shapeless felt bonnet. She wears vast flowing skirts with many pockets and always has a shawl knotted across her ample bosom.
Character Pen Portrait
Madge is an older, feisty woman. She can be abrupt and even rude but she is caring and fiercely loyal to her friends. When she was young, pre-teen, her mother left the family home to fight in the Great Magical War where she was killed. Madge's father banned her from using magic despite her talents obviously laying in that direction. She studied healing instead, using magic covertly to make her potions the best in Lunecaster. When magic was banned across the city Madge was sad but carried on using magic to enhance her healing, knowing that the penaltiy for doing so would be banishment or death. When her beloved father died her brother Gilbert disowned her as a witch and she lost her family forever. He forced her to leave the family home which saddened her further. Madge is very 'home' focussed, she values the comfort and stability of having her own space. She isn't a great housekeeper, living in a state of clutter with trinkets and treasures covering every surface. A canny business woman, she barters hard at the market to obtain the best supplies at the best price. She is selective in her friendships. Once you are her friend she would move mountains for you. In appearance she is short and plump with a mop of unruly grey hair escaping from her shapeless felt bonnet. She wears vast flowing skirts with many pockets and always has a shawl knotted across her ample bosom.
Wednesday, 8 January 2020
Are you too fond of backstory?
Are you too fond of backstory?
Take a character, imagine their sex and age but keep them nameless. Imagine they wake up in bed having lost their memory. Write what happens next.
Woman, 51.
She threw the blankets off, struggled to unwrap her left leg from the sheet and sat up. Eyes wide, she scanned the room. Square, green walls, tired curtains. Where was she?
The bed creaked as she swung her legs over the side. The air was cold, a draught blew from under the door and something was scratching the door panel. As she placed her feet down they brushed against a faded pair of slippers. She carefully slipped her feet in, they fitted but felt wrong. She pulled her feet out and stood, feeling a tightness across her belly. The floor was cold, wooden and unpolished. Nothing looked familiar and still that scratching at the door.
Resting her hand on the brass knob at the bottom of the bed she shuffled towards the door. The handle was porcelain and cool to her fingers. She took a deep breath and reached out.
Tuesday, 7 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 7th
Who's Calling, Please?
You pick up the phone to make a call but instead of the dial tone, you hear someone asking for help ...
The small voice sounded terrified, repeating 'Help me, please help me,' over and over. I wasn't sure if it was a child or an adult but the terror was unmistakable.
'Who is this?' I whispered, trying not to sound scared myself.
'Helpme, there's a monster in the house. I'm on my own and he's coming up the stairs.'
I swallowed hard, the receiver slipping in my sweaty hands. My mind raced, thoughts jumbled as I tried to find the right thing to say.
'Can you get out of the house? Can you escape?'
My voice was higher pitched and squeaked down the receiver.
'He's at the door, I'm in the wardrobe. The light's gone on ...'
I heard the person 's breathing quicken and the phone thudded to the floor. Scuffling sounds, a creak of hinges and the line went dead. I squealed and dropped my handset.
You pick up the phone to make a call but instead of the dial tone, you hear someone asking for help ...
The small voice sounded terrified, repeating 'Help me, please help me,' over and over. I wasn't sure if it was a child or an adult but the terror was unmistakable.
'Who is this?' I whispered, trying not to sound scared myself.
'Helpme, there's a monster in the house. I'm on my own and he's coming up the stairs.'
I swallowed hard, the receiver slipping in my sweaty hands. My mind raced, thoughts jumbled as I tried to find the right thing to say.
'Can you get out of the house? Can you escape?'
My voice was higher pitched and squeaked down the receiver.
'He's at the door, I'm in the wardrobe. The light's gone on ...'
I heard the person 's breathing quicken and the phone thudded to the floor. Scuffling sounds, a creak of hinges and the line went dead. I squealed and dropped my handset.
Monday, 6 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 6th
Twelfth Night, Christmas decorations down. The festive season over for another year. How do I feel about that? Well, the lounge looks bare yet normal again. We don't put much up but as soon as it all comes down you notice the change. Back to school or work for most normality returns. We get back into our usual routines, try to remember what day the bins go out, get the ironing board out again.
So much for festivities, real life is here and we must embrace it. There are new challenges for me including planning a second novel and finding a home for the first one. There is a podcast to plan and a health and fitness 'regime' to establish. So the new year has bought much to do and much to think about.
I wave goodbye to the festive season, not mourning it exactly but noting its passing. There will be less sparkle and glitter, less sugar and gin but it was a nice diversion while it lasted. Time to think about other things, to look beyond the season and take it all in. The good, the bad and the ugly of 2020.
So much for festivities, real life is here and we must embrace it. There are new challenges for me including planning a second novel and finding a home for the first one. There is a podcast to plan and a health and fitness 'regime' to establish. So the new year has bought much to do and much to think about.
I wave goodbye to the festive season, not mourning it exactly but noting its passing. There will be less sparkle and glitter, less sugar and gin but it was a nice diversion while it lasted. Time to think about other things, to look beyond the season and take it all in. The good, the bad and the ugly of 2020.
Sunday, 5 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 5th
Not So Beautiful Words
As a writer I should be equally in love with all words, right? Well, that's not how it is. As a human I have preferences, likes and dislikes. Some words I use far too often, others I avoid like the proverbial plague. Today's task is to share something about a word I don't like. So here it is, one of my least favourite words - moist.
Yuk. Typing that was traumatic. It's a word that has nasty connotations in my mind. It brings up images of sweaty hands being wiped down soiled jeans, wet tissues left on tables, dampness and dankness. It's a word I shy away from, one that brings a sneer to my face without bidding. Nasty little word.
I'm not sure where some of these images come from. There must have been an episode that triggered my dislike of 'mositness' but it's buried so far down I can't begin to think what is was. It's a sleazy word, inhabiting the slimy side of life, a very male word that makes my skin crawl. There are so many words that could be used in its stead, why does it even exist? Yuk again I say.
As a writer I should be equally in love with all words, right? Well, that's not how it is. As a human I have preferences, likes and dislikes. Some words I use far too often, others I avoid like the proverbial plague. Today's task is to share something about a word I don't like. So here it is, one of my least favourite words - moist.
Yuk. Typing that was traumatic. It's a word that has nasty connotations in my mind. It brings up images of sweaty hands being wiped down soiled jeans, wet tissues left on tables, dampness and dankness. It's a word I shy away from, one that brings a sneer to my face without bidding. Nasty little word.
I'm not sure where some of these images come from. There must have been an episode that triggered my dislike of 'mositness' but it's buried so far down I can't begin to think what is was. It's a sleazy word, inhabiting the slimy side of life, a very male word that makes my skin crawl. There are so many words that could be used in its stead, why does it even exist? Yuk again I say.
Five Minute Writer - January 4th
Forgot to post this yesterday! However, the prompt was to think of 1010 uses for an object. There was a list to choose from and I selected an old ironing board. Here's what I came up with in five minutes.
101 uses for ... an old ironing board
Ripping the torn cover from the rusted frame of the ironing board he tipped it over and stood back, hands on hips, brows knitted.
'I think it'll stay up. We could use some rope to tie it to the trees. Then chuck the canvas over it.'
Timmy stomped over to the bushes, knelt down and pulled the orange rope from its hising place. It was tangle and took ages to unknot. The nylon fibres bit into Jemma's jands and bought tears to her eyes. She wanted to stop but didn't want to look weak in Timmy's eyes. He rarely played with her these days, preferring cricket or canoeing with his school friends.
They tied the ironing board securl between the trees and struggled to drape the old tent canvas across the framework. Finally, they stood in silence, admiring their hard work. A sturdy tented structure, a shelter from the weather, a den for the summer. Timmy nodded, put and arm around Jemma and pulled his kid sister into his side.
'Not bad for a girl,' he grinned.
101 uses for ... an old ironing board
Ripping the torn cover from the rusted frame of the ironing board he tipped it over and stood back, hands on hips, brows knitted.
'I think it'll stay up. We could use some rope to tie it to the trees. Then chuck the canvas over it.'
Timmy stomped over to the bushes, knelt down and pulled the orange rope from its hising place. It was tangle and took ages to unknot. The nylon fibres bit into Jemma's jands and bought tears to her eyes. She wanted to stop but didn't want to look weak in Timmy's eyes. He rarely played with her these days, preferring cricket or canoeing with his school friends.
They tied the ironing board securl between the trees and struggled to drape the old tent canvas across the framework. Finally, they stood in silence, admiring their hard work. A sturdy tented structure, a shelter from the weather, a den for the summer. Timmy nodded, put and arm around Jemma and pulled his kid sister into his side.
'Not bad for a girl,' he grinned.
Friday, 3 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 3rd
Today was about looking at the relationships we can create between concrete and abstract nouns. Most of what I wrote was trivial and not very interesting but I thought I'd share a couple that I liked.
Life is like a bead. Tiny, perfect, colourful yet with a hole running through. Best when threaded with others.
Life is like a book. A beginning and an ending, adventures and characters within, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Do not judge by the cover though.
Life is like a bead. Tiny, perfect, colourful yet with a hole running through. Best when threaded with others.
Life is like a book. A beginning and an ending, adventures and characters within, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Do not judge by the cover though.
Thursday, 2 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 2nd
Today's task was to write a list about something. I chose one from the suggested ideas and here is today's contribution - it's not very interesting!
List of pet hates /irritations
Rudeness - it takes no time at all to be polite and it can really make someone's day.
People not saying please or thank you - I was brought up to say these and I am appallled when people don't say them. Maybe I'm of an older generation but I think it's important to acknowledge when someone has done a service for you.
Unkindness - why must folk be unkind to others? Does it make them feel big or clever? It's a mystery to me. A little kindness goes a long way.
Thoughtlessness - again I don't understand this one. A moment to consider the other person and everyone feels happy and valued.
Litter - so much mess, such lack of consideration for the environment. Again, I was brought up to take my litter home or find a bin. I couldn't drop anything on the floor.
Bigotry - this one has surfaced big time recently. I wish everyone could listen to the other point of view, acknowledge it and move on. We don't have to agree but we can all respect the other viewpoint.
List of pet hates /irritations
Rudeness - it takes no time at all to be polite and it can really make someone's day.
People not saying please or thank you - I was brought up to say these and I am appallled when people don't say them. Maybe I'm of an older generation but I think it's important to acknowledge when someone has done a service for you.
Unkindness - why must folk be unkind to others? Does it make them feel big or clever? It's a mystery to me. A little kindness goes a long way.
Thoughtlessness - again I don't understand this one. A moment to consider the other person and everyone feels happy and valued.
Litter - so much mess, such lack of consideration for the environment. Again, I was brought up to take my litter home or find a bin. I couldn't drop anything on the floor.
Bigotry - this one has surfaced big time recently. I wish everyone could listen to the other point of view, acknowledge it and move on. We don't have to agree but we can all respect the other viewpoint.
Wednesday, 1 January 2020
Five Minute Writer - January 1st
I wanted something to kick start my writing habit and Nicola Young suggested I take a look at The Five Minute Writer by Margaret Geraghty. It's filled with ideas and exercises to do which give you something to write about when you feel blocked or stuck. Maybe just when you're not sure what to write to kick the habit off on any given day. So I'm using these exercises to get into a good, regular writing habit. And to keep myself accountable I'm planning to post what I write here so everyone can see when I fall behind or lose the habit.
The first exercise asks about rituals and ritualistic behaviour. Here is what I came up with in my allotted five minutes.
The Power of Ritual
Filling the kettle is a time to contemplate. Only a few seconds until there is enough water to boil but it is a time to stare out of the window and wonder at the world. Someone is passing, where are they going? Early morning bus to catch maybe, dog to walk usually. The water fills the kettle and I place and plug, a blue light glows to signal electric current passing. The wonders of modern convenient living. No need to draw water from a well or pump, no need to build and light a fire. All modern living happens with the click of a switch. The national grid connects me to every other soul who is making tea at 7am. Steam rises and I pull the kettle from its cradle, pour the water onto leaves and wait, staring through the window again. I seem to spend many minutes watching through windows. Kitchen, lounge, bus, coffee shop. All panes I have watched the world through. I must have seen many thousand souls passing by the windows, wondered at their lives, guessed who they were and where they were heading.
The first exercise asks about rituals and ritualistic behaviour. Here is what I came up with in my allotted five minutes.
The Power of Ritual
Filling the kettle is a time to contemplate. Only a few seconds until there is enough water to boil but it is a time to stare out of the window and wonder at the world. Someone is passing, where are they going? Early morning bus to catch maybe, dog to walk usually. The water fills the kettle and I place and plug, a blue light glows to signal electric current passing. The wonders of modern convenient living. No need to draw water from a well or pump, no need to build and light a fire. All modern living happens with the click of a switch. The national grid connects me to every other soul who is making tea at 7am. Steam rises and I pull the kettle from its cradle, pour the water onto leaves and wait, staring through the window again. I seem to spend many minutes watching through windows. Kitchen, lounge, bus, coffee shop. All panes I have watched the world through. I must have seen many thousand souls passing by the windows, wondered at their lives, guessed who they were and where they were heading.
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