Prose For Thought - That Ooops Moment.

This is something I wrote a while ago and was the germ of a story that never saw the light of day. Now I'm starting to plan a real, proper 'novel' I've been looking at some old ideas and decided that this one could do with some light and air.



Sunlight slanted between the curtains and rested across Ellie’s gently fluttering eyelids. A slight headache and dryness in her mouth reminded her that opening a second bottle of wine was never a good idea. The bedroom was slightly too warm; the air heavy and muggy with the smell of wine, pizza and sex. Ellie made a mental note to air the room later.

She stretched, coaxing some movement into her middle-aged limbs. Mid week drinking was always a mistake; now she’d pay for her moment of fun for the rest of the day. Her right arm brushed lightly across a stubbled chin and she felt warm, sleepy breath on her fingers. Rolling over Ellie snaked her left arm over a taut stomach and a muscular chest. A tiny shiver ran through her body; vague memories of last night rose in her mind and she wanted more of the same.

She felt his breathing quicken and a strong had gripped her upper arm and pulled her closer to him. Nestling into his chest, Ellie breathed in the warm smell of his chest. No matter how many times she’d lay like this with him she still felt the same excitement that she had all those years ago when they’d first met. He had been a shy 22 year old trainee teacher and she was in her last year at University. Saturday night in the Student Union bar and he’d flirted awkwardly with her while his friends egged him on and hers rolled their eyes behind his back.

Ellie stretched up and wrapped her arms around his neck, gently pulling him towards her. Her lips searched for his and soon she lost herself in a sleepy yet passionate kiss. She was shocked by the passion; he normally liked to wait until they’d both brushed their teeth! She remembered teasing him about his border-line obsession with hygiene when they were newly married; now she took it for granted. There was certainly no reluctance this morning - perhaps the wine was still working its magic. She felt his body respond to hers and the intensity of his kiss took Ellie’s breath away. Pulling away from him slightly, Ellie rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Morning sunlight made her squint. As her eyes adjusted to the light she glanced across the bed. Her eyes widened and an involuntary gasp escaped her. Arms casually thrown above his head, a lopsided grin playing across his lips this wasn’t her husband, Mark. It was Leo, her son’s best friend from University.  

What is love?

What is love?

It's a many splendoured thing,

And makes the world go round.

It changes everything,

And it can build a bridge.

It's what we all need,

And is in the air tonight.

It is the answer,

And it is blind.

It is given a bad name,

And you can jump for it.

It can be tender,

And it can be like oxygene.

It can hurt,

And it can be deep and tender.

We can be addicted to it,

And it can be all around.

It can inspire poets,

And it can tear us apart.

It is the foundation of our families,

And the reason we exist.



What I'm Writing - Inspiration

I'm trying to be more disciplined and 'professional' about my writing, looking at options for getting my words out into the big, bad world and seeing how they fair. But I'm struggling for inspiration.

I read blog posts and tweets where other writers chat about the progress of their novel; how they're cracking on with the first, second or final edit of their manuscript; how their characters are getting along; how they're struggling with a plot point. How does this make me feel? Well, I'm pleased for those who are muddling through a problem; delighted for those who are heading for the final hurdle; in awe of those who have already published. And I confess to feeling a little jealous of what they have achieved.

I've been keeping the writing muscles moving by using writing prompts but this isn't the same as having an extended piece of writing to get stuck into. I want to have an idea, some characters to wrestle with, a plot idea to flesh out but there's nothing. Nada. Zip.

Where will inspiration come from? I have no idea.
When will inspiration strike? Who can tell.
Will I ever find that idea? I certainly hope so!

Any ideas where I can look for inspiration? Under this cushion maybe ...  

The Prompt - Grow

Grow

When I was small I was always told by well meaning relatives that I'd really grown since they last saw me. I was rather perplexed by this. How was I supposed to not grow? It was something I had no control over, it happened without my knowledge or help. Luckily I managed to avoid growing pains that plagued some of my friends.

'Grow' was such a positive word. I was growing up - not just physically but also in personality, spirit and character. Being grown up was something wonderful, something to be looked forward to. Even being told I would grow into a too large school blazer was positive, looking forward to a time when I was more mature, more grown up.

As an adult grow seemed to have different connotations . I was exhorted not to let the grass grow under my feet, to decide what sort of life o wanted and get on with it - education, career, family; all must be decided upon and acted upon with haste. After all time was marching on, biological clock ticking and all that. I also had to be mindful that money didn't grow on trees and i'd better make provision for the future. Before long I realised that in certain circumstances absence didn't make the heart grow fonder, it merely pointed out that certain people didn't have a place in my life or my heart any longer.

But now that I'm older grow is a scary word. It brings mortality to mind as I grow old gracefully, or try to. Growing old is generally something to fear, a time of endings, a time of loss. Something I have to grow accustomed to I guess. It's also a time when I have to grow a thick skin, learn to take all that age throws at me and live with it.

But I hope there are also things I never grow out of. Things like getting over emotional at books and films; things like getting over excited about kittens and birthdays; things like a childish love of pink and sparkles. I might have no choice about growing older but I certainly have no intention of always acting like a grown up!