The Curious Kitty

What do you mean it's Friday?

2011-04-15T15:39:00.000+01:00

It would seem that this passed month or so (ok, few months or so) have been led in a desperate catch up phase. I feel like I am constantly running behind on something or other. It's daft really. You see, it's ME who put a time limit on all the stuff that needed to get done!

So, time to draw a line I think and move on. I am still wanting to do Joy Pockets cos I think its a fab idea. I still want my house ready for the baby to arrive but this last week or so has really started putting things into perspective again. I have been learning to RELAX. And, boy, was it harder than I remembered. A quick and nasty bout of food poisoning gave me the wonders of Braxton-Hicks contraction type things and whoever said they are just practice should be shot. Twice now we've had a full blown 'Is this it?' moment only to have it eventually go away. The upshot being I have to take things easy. Which, for the record, ISN'T easy.

I have so far... read more books in the last week than I have since 2011 began; knitted baby things; played more computer games than can possibly be healthy; and finally sat there like a lemon telling my hubby where I want things to live. It is bloody frustrating. I want things done. I want to do things. I want to do things when I feel like it and not have to wait until someone else is available. Bizarrely, the result of all this is a total and utter loss of knowing what day I am on. When you have read your second book of the day, it all starts to blur a bit. Did I start this book this morning or yesterday? It really doesnt help that I have a few very similar themed books (yes, I love romance novels, I admit it!) so by day five I really wasnt sure what I was reading anymore or what day I was on. And do I feel more relaxed? Not really.

You see, I have long since come to realised that to feel relaxed and happy I need to be doing something productive. Spending hours reading a book is great once in a while but I need to be doing something or that little temper of mine starts grumbling. So, what next for me? Crafting may be the only avenue left for sanity but that is still sat down. I want to be up and at 'em (whoever/whatever 'em may be). Sigh. The thing is... by the time I has my get-up-and-go ready, I have forgotten what it is I was going to do. Love it!

So anyway... to my bemusement I discovered today is indeed Friday so I shall now post my Joy Pockets. The usual credit goes to Mon.

Ahem...

JOY POCKETS

A freshly painted nursery

Good friends willing to help at short notice

My parents

Strawberries and cream with meringue pieces

A new CD from a favourite singer

De-cluttering my sacred space

Finished projects

March in review

2011-04-03T21:49:00.001+01:00

I thought I would do a review of March since I spent most of the month away from the keyboard. My home looks like a group of toddlers broke loose and partied, my cats are treating me like something a dog brought in, and I think I may need to look back to January's review post to remember what my lovely hubby looks like. To say it has been a hectic month is a bit of an understatement.

So... Thanks once again to Mon at Holistic Mama for this inspiring idea. One day I will have my own ideas again - after I wrestled back some 'free' time.

A thought...
What was I doing? This month has been one of dazed confusion. Between the sheer amount of appointment, visits and work things that MUST BE DONE I have been running at full tilt. Add to that the joy of pregnancy brain and I often found myself sitting or standing somewhere wondering what I was doing in that vague way you get when you are pretty sure you were just doing something but can't quite remember what... or why.

A sound...
The doorbell at work. This month I heard it for the last time as its servitor. Am I glad? Yes. Am I still hearing it in my sleep? Hell, yes. Sigh.

A taste...

Chocolate Peanuts... The cravings have arrived!

An image...

My local hospital... Seen this place waaaay to much this month thanks to

Pregnancy Appointments.

A scent...
Fresh green grass. Spring has definitely arrived. This makes for a happy Kitty.

A word... (anything word related)
Blog.. as in I really must write on my blog! I showed willing if not the ability to actually do it.

A touch...
100% Cotton fabric. I spent a whole day quilting in order to relax a bit. The feel of cotton under your fingers while your work just growing is amazing.

A gift for me...
Taking two whole days to myself to recharge my batteries. My lovely hubby pampered me and I felt wonderful afterwards. I love that guy!

A post you may have missed...
Um.... Other than a couple of Joy Pockets posts there werent any. Im a terrible blogger.

This month has seen the end of my work contract and the start of my Maternity Leave. That my job was being ended wasnt a huge shock, I had seen it coming for months. Thankfully, being pregnant at just the right time has given me some breathing room. I will miss the work and some of the people but I will keep volunteering with the Pagan Federation so I wont be going mouldy in the corner any time soon.

I am taking this change as an opportunity to rediscover a balance in my life that was starting to slip. I haven't been writing or crafting very much and I have felt that lack very keenly. Now I have some time to myself before one of the greatest adventures a Kitty can have gets underway. Here goes Project Parenthood!

Joy Pockets and a quickie update

2011-03-12T10:11:00.000Z

So... Three weeks have vanished again but I finally got a couple of days to relax in. It makes me smile when people say that pregnancy goes so slowly when I am finding the exact opposite. This whole counting in weeks thing makes it zoom past. Now Im looking Maternity Leave in the eye and thinking 'How I am gonna get all the work done in two weeks? I have 8 working days left! Eep.'

We are doing Red Nose Day at work and it will be great fun. My whole team is dressing up as fairy princesses for the day including the men! This means my 55year old male boss with white hair and moustache will be dressing up as a fairy princess. We only joked about him doing it but he agreed! I shall miss the team. It hasnt always been fun or easy where I work but it is a damn good team. I have been made to promise a gazillion times to keep in touch. We are a small team and we all get on great so we are more friends than colleagues.

I still cant quite believe I have worked there for two and a half years. I really did fall into the job and the change it has made is amazing. I now have a much clearer idea of what I want to do in my career (and what I don't) and where I want to go after baby is born.

I am now running off to a volunteer meeting. Just cos the paid work stops doesn't mean I stop working, lol.

Here are my Joy Pockets. As always, thanks to Mon for this fab idea.

Days to relax, play games and generally have fun in.

Finding out that my favourite dress still fits.

Getting to the point of furniture arranging in the Nursery.

Laughing with friends over silly things

Free Champagne Suppers (yes I know its totally materialistic but it was nice to be invited)

Have a good week everyone! Wishing you all your own joy pockets.

Joy Pockets

2011-02-18T18:35:00.000Z

Well, where did the week go? I've not been well this week so I really need my Joy Pockets this week. Im also kind of in shock that I will be 24 weeks pregnant tomorrow. Just how did that happen?

Thanks once again to Mon for this great, great idea.

Sleeping in on a Sunday

Cuddling a beautiful baby

Finally clearing the Study enough to start turning it into a Nursery

Discovering I can sit on a floor for over an hour without pain

Cuddling up to my hubby when I feel ill

Joy Pockets

2011-02-12T09:42:00.001Z

Thanks once again to Mon at Holistic Mama for this idea.

My week has been... busy. I suddenly need a social diary! It's a bit of a shock really. I have always been good at remember appointments and so forth but not any more.

Anyway, here are my Joy Pockets for this week:

Spending time is an amazing Rock Pub (and yes I stuck to lemonade)
Finding wonderful chocolate Gemstones at Hotel Chocolat
Being pampered by my parents
Learning to Quilt
Curling up under my new Quillow (thanks, Mum!)
Cuddling my other half after a long day
Giving a presentation to a room full of strangers for the first time

This week has been busy but really good. Next week, I will be going out with my DH and out with my work friends. :) I will also be dealing with my employers regarding maternity paperwork and when I will be going off on Maternity Leave.

Just a quickie

2011-02-09T21:46:00.000Z

Just a little update...

The scan went well last week. We found out we are having a baby boy! He is getting pretty active too, let me tell you. I learned a whole new level of patience at the hospital. I was desperate for a wee (you try keeping a full bladder for over 45minutes and still keeping a smile on your face) and the baby was going through an active phase. I really do think he was learning to tap dance on my bladder. Kick, kick, kickety-kick, kick. I have to say I was genuinely surprised about the baby being a boy, I was pretty certain it would be a girl! Im not disappointed or anything but it took me a little while to adjust my brain to thinking about the baby using male pronouns.

I am rapidly exited my 2nd trimester and it has been a bit of a challenge keeping positive some days. I have some nasty ligament pain that isnt going away and when people smile and tell you its perfectly normal you really do want to become most negative and even a bit, well, violent. But then the baby moves and suddenly, even though you feel as big a whale, it all seems ok. Then baby kicks you in the groin and you wonder if they are trying to prevent siblings ever happening. Am I enjoying pregnancy? Im not sure. I am learning a whole lot from it and learning isnt always comfortable. Am I suffering through my pregnancy? No. I choose not to. I choose to stay positive (most of the time) and to see what my body has to tell me. Im very thankful to my Pagan path for having long since taught me the value of listening to my inner workings and going with what my body is telling me but also for teaching me I have a choice in how I respond to my pregnancy. I choose to walk this part of my path with honour and with a positive frame of mind. If I can listen to my body and my baby now, then I know I can listen to my baby when he is born.

P.S. Pagan presentation got postponed to tomorrow. Wish me luck! It's gonna be a blast.

6th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival

2011-02-03T11:15:00.000Z

I'm a little late to the party this year but inspiration struck last night and I had to share this.

Go to the community page on Facebook or pop over to Moonroot to see other great entries. :)

New Dawns

A single chirp in the darkness

Heralds the coming dawn

The cheerful sound carried far

In the clear and frosty morn

Somewhere beneath the flicker

of artificial light

A mother sighs, a young lamb cries

And struggles with all its might

The shepherd wait intently

His breath an icy cloud

While mother rests and babe protests

The simple sight profound

He feels the touch of ages

in that soulful bleat

His ancestor crowd behind him

A new life they will meet

The chirp becomes a chorus

As the sap begins to rise

The Imbolc sun brings to him

Spring's unfurling reprise.

January in Review

2011-02-02T22:43:00.001Z

Thanks again to Mon at Holistic Mama, you truly inspire me.

January has been a bit of a rollercoaster for me. Job changes are afoot and everything was up in the air. It has also been a time of discovery and joy. I've also begun the process of turning my home from a couple's house into a family home.

A thought...
Do I really need this? This thought has rung through my head often. I'm decluttering my life and my head in preparation for things to come.

A sound...
The deep contented purring of our cats as we give them lots of fuss and chicken.

A taste...
Pickled beetroot. I just gotta have it!

An image...

Hubby makes friends with my best friend's new baby. I just love his little smile.

A scent...
Lily of the Valley - my mum gave me the last of my Gran's favourite perfume when I was feeling a bit low. It smells lovely on me and really helped me feel better.

A word... (anything word related)
Reading a fun romance novel to relax.

A touch...
Holding my hubby's hand on my belly as the baby kicked.

A gift for me...
Giving myself permission to take a day off being busy.

A post you may have missed...
Paganism and Fraggle Rock How Fraggle Rock helped me to work out the challenges of teaching others about Paganism.

Joy Pockets 29/1/11

2011-01-29T10:32:00.000Z

This week has been a really good week. There have been some up and downs but on the whole it has been good. Today's Joy Pockets are just adding to my joy at the week and reminding me just how good things can be.

Making mountains into molehills in preparation for our baby

Getting planning underway for a great charity event

Good friends to laugh with

Visiting my best friend's new baby

Being taken to lunch by my hubby on his insistence

Being able to sleep in when I needed to

Feeling my baby move to my favourite music

Thanks again to Mon at Holistic Mama for this brilliant idea.

Paganism and Fraggle Rock

2011-01-28T11:51:00.000Z

That got your attention, I bet! :)

I'm giving a presentation on Paganism next week and I have been desperately trying to work out what to say. So I started of with the simple idea of 'What's a Pagan?'. Simple huh? But then a distant echo of my childhood sounded and I remembered watching Fraggle Rock and Junior Gorg asking 'Daaad? What's a Fraaaaggle?'. So then I had my title sounding in my head as 'What's a Paaaaagan?'.

So. What exactly is a Pagan? Im supposed to give a 25 minute presentation on Paganism and when I asked what kind of thing they were looking for I was told to say 'what Pagans believe in'. Herein lies the first challenge. Pagans are a very diverse set of people. They have similar core roots BUT there are some pretty big differences in how they practice. So how do I cover enough to get a flavour of Paganism without diluting what Paganism is for so many people? The other thing I was asked to talk about what how it might effect dealing with Pagans as employees and as Service Users. There lies the second challenge. If Paganism is so diverse, how can I in less than half an hour convey some guidelines for working with Pagans? This is why I am less than a week away from giving this presentation and still floundering around a fair bit.

But! I have a plan! Or at the very least an outline. Im going to emphasise that Paganism is about a person's own personal spiritual path which is guided by a framework of beliefs. And then give a 2 minute brief intro to the main branches of Pagan. That will be the first 10 minutes taken up :) Add in a bit about the Wheel of the Year and then basically say that they should talk to the Pagan and not make assumptions and suddenly my talk is done! Then brace myself for the Q&A session. I may throw in some of the common myths about Paganism and debunk them BEFORE I get asked the questions about nudity and sacrificing people - and yes I have had those questions in the past.

Doing this talk has really highlighted to me how difficult it can be to get a handle on Paganism. Its no wonder that people who don't practice it get confused. With so many contrasting ideas about Paganism is, its no really surprise that people get the wrong end of the stick (or in some cases, wrong end of the tree!). Yes, the Media don't help with some of their portrayals of Pagans but Paganism itself is so diverse it can throw other religions that we dont always agree on our fundamental beliefs. For example, a Christian (Im using this as an example because it is in the society I grew up with) follows the teachings of Christ. It doesn't matter how they practice their beliefs but they all follow the teachings of Christ. Two Pagans can follow completely different teachings but they are both Pagans. When someone says they are a Christian, you have pretty good idea of what they believe in. When someone says they are Pagan this might not be the case not just because you might not know what Paganism is but because they might practice a different branch to the Paganism you might have learned about.

This, I believe, to be one of the greatest barriers to understanding there is - the expectation that the name of your religion will automatically imply your beliefs. To help people understand Paganism, I first have to change that expectation. And Im sure you can understand that changing a person's expectations based on a lifetime of learning can be a very difficult task. Am I able to sum up all Pagans into a single sentence? No. And this is where Pagans run into trouble. We need a dialogue to be able to communicate our beliefs and building a dialogue is very tricky with people who want a quick explanation before heading for the free lunch.

To return to Fraggle Rock for a moment. Anyone remember Gobo's Uncle Travelling Matt? He would go out into the human world to explore. In many ways the misunderstandings Uncle Matt had about humans is very similar to the misunderstandings that people hold about Pagans. Our way of practicing can be seen as so alien because we work from a different base. As humans watching we could recognise what the humans Uncle Matt talked about were doing but the conclusions Matt came to were, to us, ridiculous because we knew what it really meant. The same holds true for Paganism. Pagans often look at the conclusion drawn about our beliefs with bemusement at how a simple act from our point of view can be interpreted so strangely by others. This in itself creates barriers. So I sort of see myself as a version of Uncle Travelling Matt. I walk among other faiths and try to explain my own while exploring ways to find similarities between them. Time to heft my pack again!

And for the record, my favourite Fraggle was Red.

Joy Pockets

2011-01-21T13:21:00.002Z

Thanks to the brilliant Mon at Holistic Mama for this idea.

Having a hubby willing to pamper me when I need it

Good music on the stereo

A clear sunny day away from the office

Unexpected gifts
Staring up at the bright Moon with my breath steaming the air

A phone call to my sister

A big bar of chocolate :)

I will be attempting to write my Joy Pockets every Friday (or thereabouts).

Back to Normalcy?

2011-01-16T15:46:00.000Z

Or maybe not. I've come to the understanding over the past few weeks that 'normal' is not going to be the same ever again really. This isn't a bad thing, just... different. You see, for that past nine years the period after the madness of Yule/Christmas/New Year has been the time of getting back to my normal routine. That routine might be volunteering, working, house work or any number of things but there was still this feeling of 'back to reality'.

This year normal programming has yet to resume and a big part of that is the pregnancy. Normal has taken a slight side route for this year. By the time I will be working my way back to reality after Christmas 2011, normal will be a whole new ball game! This got me thinking.

What do I consider 'normal' in my life? Looking back over the past few years, I realise that there have already been great changes (as you can tell from my last entry) and 'normal' was just a lack of something different and exciting to do or plan for. And that's the crunch, I think. A lot of people I know see this period between the Festive Period and Spring as a bit of a nothing time. There is nothing to DO. Just sit and wait for Winter to pass. But here is the thing... I nearly always have something to do or plan for just after Christmas... and after every other event for that matter. I usually hit a crafting phase just after New Year's and, hey, what do you know... I have already learned a new crafting skill this year! So that means normal programming HAS resumed... I just failed to notice it.

So what do I mean when normal will never be quite the same again? I think I mean that the pattern of life will be changing. Soon I will be kissing goodbye to the sight of my own feet as the bump on my front takes over. Then normal will be looking after a baby and staring bleary eyed at the TV at the end of the day. Oh wait, the latter is already normal. Will I still want to craft in the New Year of 2012? Probably but on smaller, easy to put down projects. Will I still be wondering where the heck I put that ball of wool? Most definitely. Will I still be waiting for normal to show up? I'm not sure.

You see, I'm rapidly learning that normal is actually pretty flexible. Normal is where I am right now, just for today. For today, sitting and feeling the small swooshy sensations of the baby is normal. For tomorrow, working at the office will be normal. Overall though, normal is fluid. I think its time to go with the flow.

From the windowsill into the world

2011-01-04T04:47:00.001Z

I've decided to change the name of my blog. There are quite a few reasons that I've come up with for the change but it all really boils down to one thing. I've changed. My life has changed.

I started this blog waaaay back in the mists of time (ok, 3 years) when my life was very different. Sure, the core of who I am was there but over the past three years I have made a lot of changes and Im about to make a whole load more. When I started this blog I was very much stuck indoors watching the world go by and occasionally commenting on what I saw. I had several blogs going for different things and I wanted a place I could be open about my spirituality and get in touch with who I really am. I was searching for a way to be out there in the world while being sat at home.

This blog has helped me in so many ways I can't even begin to fathom. It led to me integrating all the different aspects in my life. My spirituality, my writing, my thoughts and dreams were eventually brought all in to one place both in the blogosphere and in my own head. I became more centred as a person. It also gave me something to focus on and an outlet for all that stuff running around in my head.

Then... I became more active. My disability improved. I could get down from the Windowsill bit by bit and became more involved in the world 'out there'. I had energy to join things, to see and do things which after several years of unreliable energy was an amazing thing. I leaped into the world with both feet and managed to land if not gracefully then securely with wide eyes and a curious mind.

The upshot of all this exploration is that I was no longer a Sleepy Kitty just trying to explore while restricted by low energy. I became a more centred Kitty. A Spiritual Kitty. My spirituality informs so much of my life that I couldnt even begin to separate the different aspects of my life and I really wouldnt want to.

Interestingly, my first ever post on this blog was entitled Who Am I? And this is what I wrote:

"I am a seeker of knowledge. A playful spirit with a curious nature. I want to know 'why'. I want to share what I learn with others so that they can experience new things too. I think that no experience is wasted if you have learnt something from it. I feel that laughter has a place everywhere and that we need more laughter in our lives."

So, who am I now? Well, reading this, I am the same person. I still want to know 'why'. I want to understand what I see and experience. Im still most definately a playful spirit with a curious nature and I still believe that no experience is wasted if you learn from it. The important difference is that HOW I get my 'why' has changed. My curious nature was kept 'under wraps' as it were. My writing was a secret. Now I have gained the understanding, and the freedom that comes with it, that I am a curious person with many interests and that the world should see this. If I give anything less then I am cheating myself.

My point through all this rambling is fairly simple. I am proactive now. I am willing to take a stand. I am willing to see if curiosity will kill the cat or whether it will just make a slightly wiser Kitty. This year will bring a lot more change into my life and I think it is fair to say this Kitty is looking forward to it with bright eyes and twitchy tail already.

A Year of Change

2010-12-31T00:09:00.000Z

The end of the calendar year is almost upon us. At this time of year we often think about the changes that the past year and brought and what the coming year will bring. This is especially true for me this year. I am about to embrace one of the biggest changes I will ever experience in my life. After several long years, and a fading hope, I am pregnant.

This coming year will be one of preparation and change. Together with my husband I will do my best to rise to the challenges I am faced with. As I walk my path through the year, I will strive to remain true to my principles and to be a good parent. I will share my faith with my child and help them to grow. As the Gods guide me, I will guide my child. These are my thoughts, my resolutions if you will, for the coming year.

May the coming year bring you everything you wish.

Happy New Year to all.

Pagan pregnancy: The First Trimester

2010-12-20T19:23:00.000Z

The first trimester throws up all sorts of changes and decisions for the first time mum and being Pagan only adds to this.

I think my first big decision after choosing my attitude to my pregnancy came at 8 weeks. Samhain revolves around Crone magic which is when the energy of the world is going deep within. It is also associated with the dead ancestors. I was invited to attend a group ritual and I really wanted to go but as the ritual got closer I began to get worried about the effect of the energies on the baby. I wanted to spend time with my friends in the ritual group but I had to think about it really hard. After quite some time spent trying to find information on Crone energies and pregnancy I was still unsure of the effects. So, I chose to go with my gut instinct and stay home. I can socialise with my friends away from ritual but my instincts told me not to go, so I didn't This decision has actually impacted on the rest of my pregnancy in that it gave me the impetus to go with my instincts over my intellect. This had been invaluable so far.

The second big decision was actually about my own attitude to telling people I am Pagan. As you know from my post on meeting the midwife, I jumped in with both feet and told her I am Pagan. What I didn't tell you was the internal wrestling I did to get to that point. Now, I'm usually pretty happy to be open about my faith but in this instance I was very nervous. Thankfully, I have understand friends who let me talk to/at them for hours until I came to my decision and was comfortable. I think that my worries came from having been discriminated against when I was a classroom assistant.

When I first began working at the school, I had been quiet about being a Pagan. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell people it was more that it didn't matter to me. Eventually, I began to be happy to declare myself as Pagan and I didn't see why I shouldn't be open with the school. This turned out to be a bad idea. I found myself being sidelined away from the children and given tasks that took me out of the classroom. This was not what I wanted. Eventually, I left the school much to my disappointment. This episode left me wary of telling people I didn't know really well and trust not to react badly.

However, with the baby I had to make a new choice. How can I teach my child about being Pagan and being proud to be who are if I'm not willing to stand up and be counted as it were. So after some serious soul searching, I realised that I was putting up a barrier to protect myself. If I didn't want to teach my child (or children) to do the same I had to change. I will be honest and say telling the midwife caused me several panicked moments but I feel stronger for having done so. Had my midwife been different and more confrontational it might have been a different story but I still feel that I would have been stronger. In fact, knowing my stubborn streak I would probably have been a lot more forward about it whether it was detrimental to me or not.

So, my first trimester has taught me that I really do trust my instincts and that I can be more open about being Pagan. I wonder what the second trimester will bring for me.

Pagan pregnancy: First things first.

2010-12-19T10:40:00.000Z

I've been thinking a lot recently about how being a Pagan is already affecting my decisions about my pregnancy. I was going to put it all into one post and then I realised that such a post would be nine miles long and in fact the whole pregnancy could pass while I was writing it. Added to this, my energies are somewhat diverted from my normal writing habits and the baby could be three years old before I finish the post. So instead I have decided to break in up a little bit. This may mean several longish posts but not the monster that was forming in my mind.

Being Pagan and Pregnant isn't all that different from the norm really. To me its about making my decisions the way I have always made them but pregnancy presents some entirely new scenarios to think about. For instance before we get onto parenting styles and feeding choices, which are some pretty big decisions in themselves, there are decisions about the birth. But even before that I have decisions to make about the kind of pregnancy I want to have. This may sound strange but the first and most basic decision I made was about what would my attitude to being pregnant and all its challenges actually be?

Let me explain. The way I see it, everything you do is a choice. You can choose to be positive or negative about something. You can choose to be passive or to be active about something. This also applies to pregnancy in my book. The morning sickness (what a misnomer!); the aches and pains; the hormones; the constipation; and all the other delights can be seen negatively - I am suffering through this pregnancy - or positively - these are signs that baby is doing its stuff. I will be honest here and say that while I aim for the latter, I have slid occasionally into the former. You can also be passive about these challenges.

Let's take morning sickness as an example, I have been told I am lucky because I only got nausea and wasn't actually sick. I took a deep breath and smiled, rather than launch into a rant about how feeling sick every time you move isn't lucky at all. However, I also knew that my nausea days were minimal thanks to a little bit of active thought and preparation. As soon as the nausea started in, I made sure I had a small bite to eat before getting up which really helped. Nothing rolls quite so well as an empty stomach. Then thanks my interest in herbalism which came from my Paganism, I knew that peppermint and ginger help settle stomachs. I bought some ginger biscuits for keeping at home and some peppermints for when I was out and about. I'm not saying my nausea was magically cured but as soon as that feeling came I nibbled away. I listened to my body and gave it a helping hand. The result being minimal nausea and a lot happier me!

What I'm saying is, being Pagan in my attitude to being pregnant is about choosing my attitude and being in tune with my changing body. If my body needs rest, I try and rest. If my body is asking for potatoes by the bucket load, I give it potatoes... and eat plenty of fruit to counteract the results. I choose to walk my path through life and this particular part of the journey is just the same. I choose to remain positive and to be active in working with my body and its needs rather than fighting against it. I choose to have a happy Pagan pregnancy.

First Scan

2010-12-05T16:05:00.000Z

Last Thursday, despite the heavy snow, we made it to the first scan.

I was nervous and just a little panicky about it all. Past history played into some huge fears mostly revolving around the health of Peanut and if there was actually a baby in there at all. On the other hand... what if there was more than one baby? Let's just say I'm grateful for a very understanding hubby. He cuddled me when I was neurotic and brought me chocolate to keep me sweet too.

So, we got to the hospital - and let me just say, the Antenatal Clinic is the most BORING place I have ever been - and got sorted out. I was wearing about four layers of clothes to cope with the freezing cold wind and snow outside and inside the hospital was boiling. I must have looked like I was doing a striptease or something! First my heavy coat, then my fleecy jacket (13 years old and STILL my warmest jacket), then my thick cardigan and finally a light jumper. I had the striptease music in my head and kept giggling like a loon. I shared the joke with hubby and we had to sit for a few minutes not looking at each other as we kept bursting out laughing - which is not good when you have a full bladder and are dying for a wee!

Then we are shown into the darkened cave, er room, where electrical machines hum and I 'hop' onto the bed. I was a tad concerned over my large tum being as issue but the sonographer was lovely. She said it wasnt a problem. Next thing, she is moving the monitor so that I can see the screen! There was Peanut, wiggling and dancing and waving as if to say 'Hi there. What took you so long? See what I can do!'. I was entranced. The sonographer couldnt get the crown to rump measurement thanks to Peanut's dancing! It made me giggle which made it even harder!!

I was just so relieved to see there was a baby and that it is healthy. I was crying and giggling at the same time. We got pictures (for free! the sonographer said the token machine for pictures was broken but I dont think it was!) and I got to have the best pee of my life!

The midwife was lovely. I feel so lucky to have got 2 really good midwives so far. I'm so lucky to have a really good midwife team at my local hospital. They are really open to alternative thinking. They have 2 water pool for birthing and offer aromatherapy classes too! Maybe a hospital birth won't be so bad after all.

And here he/she is... Our Peanut.

Meeting the Midwife

2010-11-23T12:16:00.002Z

I've decided after some thinking (and a bit of chocolate support) that I will keep my blog posts for everything here. It's simply a matter of time. I don't think I will be able to keep posting regularly enough on more than one blog to do either of them justice. Of course, I may just cheat and copy and paste what I write here into a pagan pregnancy blog but I still think this blog that I have been working at for several years should stay my main one.

So...

Last Thursday we met the Midwife! (Cue dramatic music). Let's just say that I was a little nervous. One, I'm disabled so I have weight issues and I kinda expected the same lecture I seem to get whenever I meet a new medical professional. They see 30-something and overweight. It isn't until I get 'shirty' with them they shut up about it.

And two, Im Pagan. Now in today's world that shouldn't be a problem but having been discriminated against in the past I tend to be a little wary about such things.

And I couldn't have been more wrong!

My midwife is a larger lady herself and strictly forbade any thoughts of losing weight (sensible woman). She also said I wasn't to worry about losing any after having baby either. It would happen when I was ready and not before! You really could have knocked me over with a feather.

We went through all the usual questions: Do I smoke? Do I drink? etc etc. At which point I'm actually feeling pretty boring cos I don't do a lot that is 'bad' for me. Then we went through family background and I'm still feeling pretty boring. Then it came. What is your religion? I jumped in with both feet and said Pagan. And waited. The Midwife blinked a bit and actually seemed to brighten up. She asked how it might affect being pregnant and giving birth and I said that it would influence the decisions we made and that it meant we were wanting as natural a birth as possible. Then Mrs Marvellous Midwife said that made sense cos Paganism was all about nature!!! I'm just glad I was sitting down! It was amazing to meet a health professional who actually understood Paganism. The rest of the appointment went swimmingly, funnily enough.

I really like my Midwife. She wasnt pushy or judgemental at all. Having met some midwives through my sisters I was expecting a cross between Supernanny and Attila the Hun. It was great to have been proved so wrong.

It made me think. I tried not to be guarded about telling the midwife I am Pagan and I think that also helped. I've noticed sometimes my Pagan friends can be pretty defensive (as I can) about being Pagan. We throw up a barrier to stop us feeling attacked and end up actually making it worse as the other person has to understand Paganism and get through our scepticism.

Im just pleased I was proved wrong. Now how often does anyone expect to hear themselves say that? :)

I gotta tell!!!

2010-11-17T15:52:00.002Z

Ok. Im in a bit of a quandry (it will be explained eventually, promise). My writing has been non-existant but I have a very good reason why. You see, I been creating in an entirely different way and it's really eaten my brain. I'm pregnant!!! (and yes I think this calls for excessive exclamation points, giggle)

After five years of trying (which is always fun) I had actually given up the whole thing as a non-starter and decided to go back to Uni to try to resurrect a career that doesn't bore me out of my tree. I like admin work. It pays the bills. I'm good at it. Thing is, I'm good at it without actually needing to make an effort so I end up bored. So, I decided I didn't want to be bored for the rest of my working life and decided as the baby situation wasn't happening, I may as well find something I liked and get myself back to Uni. I bet the Gods were laughing hysterically at all of this.

So hubby and I worked out how we would afford me to be back at Uni and I started making plans. Then I went to the Mercian Gathering. A brilliant Pagan Camp which features burning the Wicker Man as part of the weekend. Now, after the Wicker Man has burned for a while it usually falls over (gravity sometimes gets a helping hand) and then the men (and sometimes couples) jump over it to get His blessing. Hubby wanted to have a try. Some sort of manhood test I think. And I think it worked!

You see, I learned later that hubby hadn't done the mental maths. The Wicker Man is a representation of the Horned God. Jumping over the fire gives you the blessing of the Wicker Man. The Horned God is a FERTILITY God. Ergo, you get a fertility blessing. Let's just say, the next time we had 'fun' I end up pregnant. I reminded hubby of his received blessing recently and his face was a picture! You know the look, lightning struck. I had to laugh. He really hadn't thought it all the way through.

All I can say is, thank the Gods he only jumped it once. He wanted to go back for a second jump. I wouldn't let him (I was kinda panicky the first time he jumped. I was imagining all sorts of disasters.)

Now, I am really happy I am pregnant but it has seriously eaten into my energy levels. Hence the lack of writing but a friend suggested to me that there are quite a lot of Pagan Parent sites out there but not a lot (she thinks) of Pagan Pregnancy sites. She suggested I write down how being Pagan affects my decisions about my pregnancy and giving birth. I like the idea but I'm not sure where to put it. If I put it here will it fit? If I create a new blog then will I still write on here? Oh the decisions. And we haven't even looked at what colour to paint the nursery yet!

So there you have it. My great news and my quandry. What to do?

Um... Sorry for the unscheduled break...

2010-11-15T10:45:00.002Z

Hi everyone.

Firstly... Sorry for not posting. I'm sure my faithful followers have been awaiting a post with bated breath. Alas, the real world (the one that demands I work at a job in order to receive money, inconvenient that) has been rather overwhelming of late.

I will be posting more regularly soon. Promise! As soon is it takes less than two attempts to spell a sentence correctly :)

Oh and for those currently in the midst of NaNoWriMo. Hope it's going well for you. I simply havent been able to write since my last post so I am taking the time to ponder the universe and hopefully produce something soon.

Hmm... better get back to work now.

Writing woes

2010-10-07T12:50:00.002+01:00

I have a little problem.

I'm doing NaNoWriMo (check out ma monkey to the right) and I have hit a slight snag.

I was planning on expanding on a post from this blog that I wrote AGES ago and that I really liked. So I started planning. I started thinking about the culture and background of my world and characters. I started figuring out what made my main character (MC) tick. I even have a rough outline of a plot sorted.

And then it happened.

The ink well ran totally dry. My character left for parts unknown and took her world with her. No little lines of writing, no stray thoughts on the hows and why fors of it all, nothing. It was a 'so long and thanks for all the fish' moment.

In it's place stood a different character. With a totally different setting. And a romantic plot. And a few issues all her own. Like how do quit a job that destiny insists you do? And why the hell is she doing this job in the first place. No history, no background, only a vague idea of plot and a get-the-hell-writing-me attitude. She just won't leave!

So, I am giving in gracefully (well, mostly). I am sitting patiently trying to work out what the hell I am supposed to do with her. And all she does is smirk knowingly. Dammit. I wanted to plan this year not be flying by the seat of my pants as usual.

It really is a case of best made plans isn't.

(And yes, how many clichés can I fit into a blog post? lol)

Friendship - Jogging all the way

2010-09-23T20:05:00.002+01:00

Friendship is a funny thing. You will go to enormous lengths for a true friend. As I have seen written so many times in print (paraphrased so many different ways) a good friend will come bail you out of jail, a true friend will help you bury the bodies.

Now, why am I waxing lyrical (sort of) about friendship? Well, I was gazing out of the bus window on the way to work this morning when I saw a brilliant demonstration of friendship.

There were three guys out jogging together. You had the doggedly determined jogger at the front. He kept the same pace and movement the entire time the bus followed him (which was a while thanks to city traffic). You had the Professional Jogger who came equipped with heart monitor device, water bottle and what can only be described as disgusting cheerfulness given that all three were quite a way into their ordeal from the looks of it. And finally tagging along at the back was the third guy.

He was heavier looking than his two friends and was looking like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet than jogging at that moment. He kept going, nodding each time the Professional Jogger checked he was ok and just kept going. Dogged Jogger had pretty good running style which showed he had done it before but the third guy was new to it all. But he kept on going. I really felt for him.

So... how does this link to friendship? They were friends, it was totally and utterly clear. Despite their differing abilities and discomfort levels, they all kept going - together. Dogged Jogger kept the same pace but would jog on the spot for a moment. Professional Jogger kept going between the other two to make sure they were all right. Newbie Jogger kept going because they were his friends. I have no idea which one suggested jogging together but they all agreed and there they were. It made me smile to see them just keep going together.

I hope they make it a regular route though. I want Newbie Jogger to take them all on and win :)

Fisherman

2010-09-19T10:25:00.001+01:00

This post was inspired by Writers Island visual prompt 'Fisherman'. It's not my usual style but I'm mostly sure it works. This is very much a first draft.

The line dangles in the water, inviting fish to nibble. He pulls out a book and settles back into the seat made comfortable over the years by this very action. He doesn’t care what colour the boat is, it’s been many shades over the years. His wife nags him to repaint it every couple of years or so to keep it looking nice. He’s not sure who it’s supposed to look nice for but he loves her so he paints.

Out here, there are no chores. Out here, there are no demands from the boss. Out here, he is free; the boat, his island of peace. Floating under the warming sun, he can be whoever he wants. He is not father, he is not son, nor husband, he simply is. For a few short hours once in a while he is only him.

A fish takes a bite and he springs into action. Catching up the rod, he reels as fast as he can. The fish sails out the water, leaping and falling on its way to the boat. A fine specimen of its species, its scales glisten in the afternoon light. With practiced hands he scoops up the fish, just like his father taught him. He unhooks the fish and smiles quietly. His father would be proud. The fish flops feebly, its gills working hard. Vanquished, it accepts its fate.

The man nods to himself and, with great care, slips the fish back into the water. It hangs there, almost as if surprised to find itself back home. Then it darts off back into the depths of the lake, safe until the next time. The man sits back down and returns to his book, forgetting to recast the line.

The sun slips towards the horizon and rousing him from his book. He feels the burn on his cheeks and realises that time has got away from him. Taking up the oars, he rows back to shore. He stows his rod back in its case and picks up his empty catch bag. He’ll pick up some nice lamb on the way home as usual. He hates the taste of fish.

The Last Redwood

2010-09-12T13:16:00.001+01:00

This post is inspired by the Writer's Island prompt 'Last Redwood'.

Janine Redwood stole through the forest. Her goal lay just ahead according to her mother. She kept her pace up, she couldn’t afford to be caught on protected land again. Her credit balance was teetering on the edge as it was. Her comfy hiking boots made no sound as she passed under the trees. If you closed out the sounds of the hover cars overhead you could almost imagine yourself back in the 20^th Century when these forests were still large.

She spotted deer tracks and wished she could stop and find the elusive creatures most people had only seen on Screen. The family traditions had meant that Janine was one of the few who had seen them. She passed the couple of firs mum had told her to watch out for and there it was. Towering above her head, she peered up at the foliage. Spiky needles reached out to brush the clouds. Here was the last Giant Redwood, preserved and alone.

Conservation had finally hit the big time when mum was a kid. The remaining tracts of forest were proclaimed to be protected and the animals were carefully monitored. Of course, wood could still be farmed but the quality was fading fast with the regimented specimens kept for that purpose. A hovercar circled above, reminding Janine that she shouldn’t be there. She looked around, seeking out the cones she needed. Her mother’s instructions rang in her head. Five centimetres long, brown cones preferred, green cones were also good.

Pulling out the padded cool box from her pack, she carefully placed her prizes inside layering more padding around the cones. She blew her blonde hair back from her face as she worked and made sure everything was secure. Digging out her water bottle she drank and took a few moments to enjoy the green around her. Here she felt at home. The urban jungle made her itch. She breathed deeply and lifting her face to the dappled sun. One day she would walk through her own wood like this.

Regret tugged at her heart as she stood and made her way back to her pick up point. Andy would be there as always, waiting just out of the zone. As she left the edge of the forest, she hustled to the boundary. Slipping under the electrified fence through the old sewers, she changed into jeans and blouse which clung to her slim form. Andy’s ‘car came into view and she pulled out her aging commlink.

“Mum? I got them. See you back home.” Andy came into land beside her. “Put the kettle on.” Clutching her pack to her, she got in and grinned at her twin. His blue eyes sparkled as he matched his twin.

“Success?” he said. She nodded. “Let’s get your new friends home.”

Flying over the forest, she looked down at the Redwood. It seemed so small from up here. Still, the ones at home would grow tall and soon everyone would get the right perspective. Great grandmother’s trees were tall enough to picnic under now. In her hands, she held the start of another forest. One day, the children all over the world would have their own picnic under her trees.

What I Did on my Holidays

2010-09-06T18:19:00.003+01:00

This last weekend I attended the Mercian Gathering. This fantastic Pagan event is put on by the Hearth of Arianrhod and is run entirely by volunteers. It is an amazing and uplifting event to attend.

Day One: Fire and Song

Arriving just after lunch, we quickly (well quickly-ish) got the tent up. I say we, it was mostly hubby doing the work while I stood and held things helpfully. We took a stroll round the traders to get the lay of the land and I mentally spend my next 3 months wages – I want that one, and that one, and that one, and... oooo pretty! I was hugely tempted by this pretty little Songstone (a Celtic Ocarina) but I decided I should be ‘good’ and finish looking round first. Hubby helped to build the Ritual Fire and I watched while giving energy to the Fire. After a good old fashioned cup of tea and some of the great food made by volunteers in the camp cafe, I nipped back and bought the Songstone. Now all I have to do is learn to play it!

The Opening Ritual was amazing. Several hundred pagans danced through the unlit Labyrinth and onto the Ritual Circle. I was immersed in the energy and fellowship of so many pagans coming together for a united purpose – to pay respect to the Old Gods and have a good time. People stood respectfully, there was no jostling or rudeness as you so often see in the outside world. People offered smaller people (also known as children) space at the front and the feeling of togetherness was thrilling.

The Fire was lit during the Ritual and it was beautiful. It took hold fast and the flames reached high to lick the sky. I was mesmerised by it. After the Ritual, people danced for the joy of it.

In a blink of my tired eyes, Dragonfly Moon were performing and all thoughts of fatigue vanished. The music captured the audience, myself included, and we were all soon clapping along and joining in on the chorus. Talented musicians they led us through a journey and I still can’t get their chant out of my head! Then Damh the Bard took the ‘stage’.

He played many of my favourite songs and we were all buzzing with energy and light by the end. Kate Fletcher and Corwen ap Broch joined him to play some songs from Tales of the Crow Man and the audience demanded an encore or two. Leaving the marquee, I was humming all the way back to our tent. I was already wondering how to play some of the melodies on my Songstone.

*****

Day Two: Inspiration and Wonder

After a bitterly cold night, I seriously considered doing a ‘toe count’ when I got up just to make sure, the Sun was peeping through the clouds. Today was the Big Day. I had several workshops I wanted to attend and then there was the Firing of the Labyrinth and Burning the Wicker Man. I was a tad overexcited.

First up was Kris Hughes speaking about his Druidry and the Gods of the Brethonnic people. He was brilliantly funny but, for me, the truly inspiring thing was that he spoke of Gods I had fallen in love with as a child. When first stepping knowingly onto a Pagan path, I had searched but not found a group that worked with the Welsh Gods but to no avail. And here was Kris following those Gods! I had a sense of knowing and peace as well as a feeling of ‘Oh! So that is what I do is called!’. I had a very stereotypical view of Druids and I was very, very wrong. My Druid Spirit Guide was sniggering into his hand. Kris Hughes, I bloody love you!

I then attended a debate on Pagan Ethics led by Emma Restall Orr and Pete Jennings. This workshop and its effects on my thinking could make up its own blog post (and probably will). The sheer variety of thoughts and opinions was fascinating. I later bumped into Pete Jennings (get me and my name dropping) and we ended up talking more, I some how lost a couple of hours as a result. The best thing about the debate is that Paganism not only allows for such a debate to happen but positively demands it!

Hubby and I just had time to grab some food and choose some offerings for the Wicker Man before attending the next workshop on Fairytales and their violent beginnings. The offerings are made by a lovely Circle who donate the money made to Cats in Crisis. The offerings were impressive and have a great feel to them. The sheer work that goes into them is stunning. Each offering is made in a ritual manner and you can feel it when you pick them (or when they pick you, depending). By the time we got there, they had already raised £300 for Cats in Crisis.

The sheer amount of information and inspiration already received left me feeling a bit flattened and I had a refreshing cup of mint tea and then stretched out on my brilliant new camping chair (it’s high backed AND it reclines!). I wanted to be prepared for the Firing of the Labyrinth and subsequent Burning of the Wicker Man.

The Hearth of Arianrhod lit the Labyrinth and the energy was already raised. Walking through the smoke from the fires, my eyes streamed but I felt cleansed and happy. I couldn’t stop smiling! As a huge group we all walked down to the Wicker Man.

We formed a semi circle (for safety reasons) around Him and archers shot fire arrows into him. The fire quickly took hold and he began to burn. People chanted and cheers filled the air. Some walked and ran around Him in a circle, celebrating his sacrifice for us. Eventually, his remains burned lower and were pushed to the ground. People jumped the fire, alone and as couples, to get His blessings. Hubby jumped while I waited anxiously for him. The energy thrummed through the air and the anticipation of each jump rang through the Circle.

Finally, it was time for the evening’s entertainment to start. Magic Folk performed but by that time I was so tired we called it a night. Heading back to the tent with music behind us and drumming at the Ritual Circle, I felt tired but very happy. Lying on the air bed, listening to the sounds I quickly fell asleep and I slept more deeply than I have in a long time.

*****

Day Three: Drums and Friends

Walking out of the tent, there was only one thing on my mind – a cup of tea! The weather was rainy and cool so the perfect answer was a good cup of tea. I walked around drinking my tea and collecting business cards (for my Pagan Fed hat) and picked up a few pretties. I briefly lost hubby (all my fault, when meeting someone you should actually arrive fairly promptly but there were pretties involved). Then he headed off to a workshop and left me alone with my debit card and many more pretties. I ended up talking to the lovely folks from the Druid Network.

Now, I have to be honest here, I had a very stereotypical view of Druids. You know the one, older men in white robes at Stonehenge muttering strange things and waving sickles. I know, I should be know better. I was content to let other people, including the Media, tell me what to think and the worst of it was, I didn’t even question it that much! Now, I have realised it, I am quite stunned at myself.

Well, my eyes have been well and truly opened. I began to have sneaking suspicions I had it wrong when I read Emma Restall Orr’s book ‘Living with Honour’. Then Kris Hughes (I bloody LOVE that guy) reminded of my childhood friends. The fab folks at the Druid Network stand did the rest. May I thank them and the Gods for the Spiritual kick up the arse. I needed it! Needless to say, I shall be researching and learning more.

Anyway, back to the Mercian Gathering. The final workshop for me was Scott Jasper’s drumming workshop. It was simply amazing. I do own a Djembe. In fact, I’ve had it for a number of year and never really used it. Sure, I’ve tapped at it a couple of times but mostly it had been left to gather dust, it’s song unheard. So this drumming workshop seemed the perfect thing to get me playing it.

Sitting surrounded by at least 50 people, most with a drum, the effect was phenomenal. Scott showed us the basics (much to my relief) and we were off. First we learned simple rhythms then he put them all together to make harmonies. At one point, we were all taking part in a five part harmony! It was exhilarating. Scott is an amazingly talent and funny guy. His teaching style had us picking up the rhythms and songs very quickly. I must have been grinning like a total idiot but it felt totally amazing.

At the end of his workshop, my stomach reminded me it needed fuel and I chose to eat rather than attend the Closing Ritual. Instead, I went to the Ritual Fire which had been kept burning all weekend (as far as I am aware, anyways). I said goodbye to the Fire and thanked it for it’s warmth and protection. We then went for a final cuppa and to say goodbye to all the people we had spoken to and the friends we had made. It felt sad, especially with the cloudy sky, but happy. It had been a magical weekend.

The Mercian Gathering is such a wonderful event and the people are attend are friendly and welcoming. Last year, I was struck by the friendliness and the energy of the event and left refilled on a Spiritual level. This year, I felt part of something great and was refreshed by it but I was also challenged by the experience. I can’t wait to see what this coming year brings and the effect next year’s Mercian Gathering will have.

My Scribofolio!

2010-09-02T09:06:00.002+01:00

Remember I mention finding a great site for getting critiques and so on? Did I mention it's called Scribophile? Anyway, the awesome folks over there have come up with a really good way for us writers to get a portfolio on the web.

I've had a quick play and I think it's pretty amazing. It's a bit like a blog but you only put up the writing you really, really like. And there is no feeling guilty for not posting for nearly two weeks (sorry!!). You select the bits of writing you like the best or you think will sell the best and then prospective agents, publishers and your best friends can have a read.

I like blogging (and regular service will be established after the weekend. I have several posts waiting to go up here but, myeh). But while blogs are great for showing our way of thinking and our way of working in general they don't always show us at our best. A portfolio does.

Scribophile's portfolio service - handily named Scribblefolio - let's you post a couple of pieces for free (always liked that word) or you can upgrade to 'Fancy Pants' for to post more and get cool things like more themes. The site is easy to use - I could fill most of it in before having my morning cup of tea - and looks really professional. I recommend it all my writing friends.

Come and have a look at mine and see what you think. I think it looks pretty damn awesome :) I feel all official now. Hello, my name is Kitty and I'm a writer - Lookit!

Home

2010-08-21T17:17:00.003+01:00

To quote Granny Weatherwax, 'I aent ded'. This week has been a busy one both in front of the keyboard and away from it. Firstly, I found a website which is just amazing for writers. You can post your work and get prompt critiques for it. I love it. It's called Scribophile. There is a free option or you can upgrade for even more awesomeness. I am seriously tempted to go for the upgrade!

Anyway..... Today is Writers Island day so without further ado, here is the story prompted by today's, er, prompt - Time Travel. It's called Home. Enjoy!

The gate squeaked open and Jess stepped under the rose arbour onto the path. Breathing in the sweet smell of lilacs it was like stepping back in time. The grass might be long and neglected but Jess could just make out the mounds that had housed a swing a long time ago. Somewhere behind her Matt spoke to the estate agent. She just had to have this house.

Skirting the house, she went round to the back yard. And there it was, the ancient old shed. Rubbing dirt from the window, she peered inside. The empty space was filled with dim light and Jess smiled at the paint stains that no amount of turps would ever get out. This had been a studio once and would be again.

“Jess? You want to see inside?” called Matt. She could hear the smile in his voice. He didn’t really understand her need for this house.

“Yes! Coming!” She almost ran back to the front of the house.

The agent was just unlocking the door when she got there. Jess clasped her hands together to stop herself from pushing him aside. The hall was just the way it should be. The tall cream ceiling was a little yellow from age but its simple beauty still stood out as did the stained glass window that captured the early summer sun and sent rainbows across the walls.

The kitchen was a new prefab thing with beige countertops. Matt squeezed her hands and leaned in close, “The kitchen has to go. We’ll fix it.”

Jess grinned at him and felt a rush of love fill her. Her stomach fluttered and she brushed at it. “Yup. ‘Beige is the artist’s worst nightmare’”, she quoted. Her father’s words brought her comfort. “We’ll spray paint them if necessary.”

Matt kissed her cheek. “You mean, I’ll spray paint them.” He wrapped a hand round her waist. “You will direct.”

Walking through the downstairs, Jess could almost hear the children laughing and the doll’s tea parties in the dining room. Climbing the stairs, Jess paused. In front was the master bedroom, she wasn’t ready to go in there just yet. Instead, ignoring the agent, she turned right and entered the second bedroom.

The paisley wallpaper was atrocious. Clearly this had been a guest room or at least Jess hoped so. The brown paisley on beige made her want to fetch out the wall paper stripper, it had to go. Under the wallpaper would be a treasure trove. There would most likely be pale pink walls with little rosebuds on, her favourite flowers. On top of that would be marks charting a growing girl and beneath it would be childish writing. Hopes and dreams scribbled out to be held for all eternity by a new layer of wallpaper.

She had been happy in this room. Fifteen years had passed since she had last stood in this room. Tear pressed at her throat. So much had happened. First her father and then her mother had passed away. She had been alone, painting out her pain and longing. Still, it wasn’t all bad. Matt had found her and then she had found him. He had worked in a tiny gallery and had accepted her painting. It had sold faster than either of them had expected.

Now, she was a success. Driving past the village for old times sake had been a silly impulse but then she had seen the house. The cheque from her exhibition had barely cleared. The ‘For Sale’ sign had been like a gift from the gods. The fluttering in her stomach increased and she soothed her baby with a hand. This would be the baby’s room.

Matt walked into the bedroom. “This will be the nursery then?”

“Yes. Yes it will.” She pointed out the window, “Just look at the view.”

Matt obediently looked. “They will be able to see Mum working just like her dad did.”

“So, it’s ours?”

“Honey, it always was. Why don’t I do the paperwork bit and you can get started on the colours.” Matt knew his wife well.

“Darling, I already have.” Jess kissed her husband. “I’m thinking neon pink and green.” The baby kicked and they burst out laughing. “Only kidding!”

The laughter filled the house, echoing out into the hall. It was truly good to be home.

Nothing to report

2010-08-15T19:56:00.002+01:00

Just a quickie to say not a lot going on here in Blighty for me. My current novel is taking over my brain but has, finally, given me the plot to work with. My characters are multiplying and my notepad overflows with notes on one thing or another (how does one become a werewolf?).

In other news: My sit-up-and-beg (desktop) is dead. Windows is dead. This means I may have lost all my old writing (cries pitifully). Should I manage to recover it I will definitely be backing up ALL my stuff. It was on my To Do list but you know how those go.

Right. Back to the writing thing then it's the working week all over again. If anyone spots my weekend could they send it back, I appear to has mislaid it - again!

Have a good week peeps!

Time

2010-08-12T16:25:00.001+01:00

This is a real flash from my writing past. I wrote this three years ago. I stumbled across it while looking in my old laptop files. It shows how my writing has changed (and I hope improved too!).

He sat hunched over the bus seat. His normally tanned skin was clammy and white. His wide forehead was creased with effort. He muttered to himself, words which barely made it past his lips. Passengers gave him strange looks and sidled down the aisle passed him. Their attitude seeming as if whatever madness had claimed the man might be contagious. He glanced up. The clouds in his deep blue eyes cleared as he began to take in where he was.

He ran his hand over his face and relief touched his features. He checked his watch and flinched. Then reached into his expensive looking jacket pocket and pulled out a second watch. He nodded to himself and then hesitated. He bit his lip and looked around again. Nervous glances came from all around him. Every person on the bus seemed to have somewhere else to look but were drawn irresistibly back to the man with the two watches.

He looked out the window at the houses going by. Trees and bushes, washing lines and garages. The normal lives of normal people. He smiled to himself. He could only hope they were normal. Nothing was guaranteed anymore. The bus juddered to a stop and he watched an older lady get on the bus. He sat up a little straighter and tried to catch her eye. She nodded at him and sat in the seat behind him which had been so carefully avoided by other passengers up ‘til now. He turned slightly in his seat so he could face her.

“Excuse me please, do you happen to have the time?”

“Young man, I should think you have enough time in your hands already”

He swallowed the panic that formed in his throat that threatened to explode out of him in a scream. “Ah, well. You see, I have two watches but I don’t know which one is right.”

The woman seemed to consider this for a moment against the idea he might not be ‘all there’. Finally, she smiled. “That is a quandary. Hang on a sec.” She routed round in her bag and produced a mobile phone. “It’s 8.15am according to this. Does that match with either of yours?”

The man looked down at his watches and nodded. “That’s great. That’s fantastic.” A grin broke out on his face as the elation filled him up so much he could not have contained it. “Thank you very much.”

The man turned back round in his seat before he could say or do anything to embarrass himself or the woman. He grinned at his reflection in the bus window and fought to keep from hugging himself. He was back. It really looked like he was back. Hope flickered into life. What he really needed, he told himself, was to find the Tower Clock and double check. Then he could get on with his life. All would go back to normal. He would check his email and see what he had missed and then get on with his life as if nothing had happened. That is what he would do.

The bus pulled into the station and he rose with renewed purpose. Walking through the busy streets of the city, he could help but check each of the clocks he went passed but they still weren’t enough. He needed to get to the Tower Clock. His steps quickened the closer he got to his destination until he was almost running. His breath came in gasps and he began to feel the trickle of fear running down his spine. Finally the streets opened like a flower and there was the Tower. It had been erected nearly a century ago as a way of having a correct time for the town to run off. There had been a standardisation programme or some such and the town had decided that the best way to do it would be to have a clock they could all take their time from. Then it would be the Mayor’s job to go to Greenwich four times a year to check it was correct still. The man remembered being taught about it in class when he was a child and not thinking it was at all relevant in the modern era and how it had nothing to do with him. It was just some dumb old clock on some dumb old tower. How wrong he had been.

Standing beneath the East face of the tower, he looked up. Unstrapping the watch from his wrist he held up his two watches so that he could see them and the tower clock at the same time. His hand seemed to spasm open and he dropped the watch that had been on his wrist. He hugged the other to his chest as tears of joy and relief dampened his lashes.

He was home and everything would be fine. He reached out and patted the Tower and smiled. Then turned smartly around and walked off. A curious passer-by picked up the good quality watch left behind by the strange man. Looking at the watch face, the young girl frowned. It was clearly a dud. The guy had obviously been sold a fake or something. It had thirteen hands.

How I write

2010-08-09T21:32:00.003+01:00

I've been thinking, I like doing the writing prompts websites but I sometimes feel like I am teasing my readers. You see, I am pretty good at writing opening scenes. There are an awful lot of them on here now. The thing is... I have lots of ideas and I just don't have time to work through them all. Perhaps one day they will become a fully grown tales but for the most part they will remain just as they are.

I like to set the scene and play with the expectations of my reader(s). But to be honest, a lot of it is just opening myself the ether and letting the words flow. I have a vague idea where I am heading but for the most part I just let it write itself. Now here comes the real confession... Most of what you see here is a first draft. It is what comes out of my keyboard with very little changed. I can get away with it with these short scenes. But, as I am sure many of you are away, you can't really get away with it in a long piece - never mind a full novel.

So, how come I have managed to finish two novels. It's simple. One sucked so bad I cringe to think about it. The other one is in 2nd draft stage and it made up of lots of scenes. Every time I sat down to write, I had an idea for the next scene and let the mojo flow. This means that sometimes the scene was great and made total sense but other times well, let's just say thank goodness for the Delete button. Eventually scenes became chapters which finally made itself into a novel. Is the novel any good? I'm not sure but I do know that somewhere between novel number one and novel number two I have learned a lot.

Novel number one taught me I could write a novel (and thanks to NaNoWriMo for that) and along the way I learned how to link my scenes and give some depth to my work. I also learned how amusing inconsistencies in continuity can be (I had the amazing disappearing, reappearing cat). Novel number two has taught me that I have developed my writing well but I still struggle with natural sounding dialogue.

I have had the compliment of being asked how I got my writing style. I was a bit confused. I know where I learned how to used the language, I know where I learned how musical language can be, I even know where I learned to appreciate the play of words on a page but I don't really know how I got my style. I learned it by writing. By finding out what I liked to read and what I don't. I write something I would like to read and I think that is the key for me. If I enjoy writing what I write then hopefully the reader will enjoy reading.

So, to loop back to the beginning of this rather long post, I enjoy delving into the worlds that dance in my mind but I rarely stay to play. However, they are all saved for future use. If a scene catches my mind, it may end up being a full story but until then they will remain just ideas and thoughts on the wind. Maybe they will inspire someone else to finish the tale?

Spellbound

2010-08-08T11:46:00.001+01:00

This post is inspired by the Writer's Island prompt Spellbound. Hope you like it.

Light cascaded through the open skylight. The air stilled and the sound of birdsong drifted away. Mara sat in the comfortable old chair dragged up from the library, her eyes closed as her mind cleared away the last dregs of modern life. Up here in the attic room, she could forget the bills, the car horns and ticking clocks of her everyday life. Up here, she could float away on a thought.

Breathing deeply, she let her mind drift. In her hand she held a circular stone. Carved into its surface was a spiral. Her fingers traced the spiral and her thoughts turned inwards. Her consciousness dove deep, taking her into the trance.

She stepped onto the grass and smelled the fresh flowers of spring all around. Somewhere nearby a stream babbled to the sky. Animals rustled in the undergrowth. A blackbird called for a mate and was answered. Everywhere there was life. Walking in bare feet, Mara found the stream. Her toes begged to be dipped in the cooling waters. Sitting down, not caring about the long robe she wore, she hung her feet in the water.

The water was cool but not cold. Fish swam in the clear waters, hiding beneath the water lilies and fronds. A curious fish in brilliant hues danced with her feet. Quick as a flash, it swam up close, wriggling and rubbing at her toes. Mara laughed and heard an answering laugh in the distance. A man walked out of the trees. He was tall and his face was leathery. Mara smiled, she had known this man for years.

He smiled as he sat beside her and together they watched the curious fish. After a while, the man took her hand and led Mara to a circle. Within the circle stood an altar, its surface worn with time. Mara nodded at the man who stepped back and waited. Gathering her courage, she stepped into the circle.

Power hummed in the air around her. She could feel the people who had come here before. She could taste the offerings and smell the incense. On the altar lay her tools. She gathered her own blended incense and lit it. Taking her wand, she cast the Circle. Calling to her Goddess, she asked for a blessing. The circle glowed with light and a woman appeared. With bright green eyes and hair the colour of burnished bronze, the woman smiled at Mara.

Mara dropped to her knees. The Goddess frowned a little and took Mara’s hand to pull her to her feet.

“Daughter, you have no need to kneel before me. I am with you now and always,” said the Goddess, her voice soothing in its music.

Mara blushed and smiled shyly. “Thank you Great Mother for answering my call. I did not expect it.”

“And that is why I came.”

Mara considered this. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, take my blessing and go back to your world. You have much work to do.” The Goddess touched a hand to Mara’s forehead. Mara felt love and light burst through her. Strength poured into her from the love of the Goddess.

She closed her eyes and felt that love with every fibre of her being. When she opened them again, the Goddess was gone. Happiness overwhelmed her and she danced until she was giddy. She closed the circle she had cast and her tools vanished from the altar, leaving everything as it had been. And yet, she felt her own power mixed in with those of the past forming a bridge to the future.

The man waited for her, patient as always. Together they walked back to the stream. Staring down into the clear waters, Mara smiled. She looked almost the same, except for her eyes. Joy sparkled in them. She span on the bank of the stream and laughed. The man smiled and gestured. Mara knew it was time to leave.

“Thank you Amerind, your guidance is always appreciated.”

“I am your guide, it’s only fitting.” Amerind grinned at her.

“Still, I wouldn’t have got this far without you,” she took his hand and squeezed it.

Amerind looked down at their joined hands. “I am your guide,” he repeated. “Now and always. But the path you walk is your own and by your own choice.”

Mara nodded. “And now I choose to go back and get to work.”

Amerind chuckled. “Then choose.”

Mara turned and walked away. Feeling the grass beneath her feet, she found the spiral pathway and took it.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the little attic room. Her faded blue jeans rubbed against her skin as she stood. Somewhere, a child laughed and another called for help. It was time to answer that call.

Do I dare?

2010-08-06T09:47:00.002+01:00

A couple of writer's blogs I follow have put their work up on Authonomy (you know who you are!). I love to read. I love to find new books to read. I love to explore new themes and styles of writing. Authonomy is amazing. All those books, so little time.

So, I registered for an account so I can keep track of the books I like and go back to them as more is added. And this got me started thinking. I have a novella in editing. I've been told by a couple of friends that it is pretty good. I think it needs more work, a lot more work but, hey, a writer is their own best critic. And now I have an Authonomy account, it's got me thinking.

Do I dare post something on there? Do I dare expose my writing to the masses. Yes, I know that some people read this blog (hello my little band of followers, my ego loves you all!) but somehow this doesn't quite feel the same as Authonomy. And yes, some of that is because I just a teensy weensy bit afraid of the 'don't give up the day job' criticisms that my work may receive. What do I do if it turns out my work really is terrible? (Cue wibbling in the corner)

However, the idea of some completely independent comments does attract me. The phrase 'your writing is perfect' is good for the ego but not great for the development of writing. The problem is I don't think my writing is perfect (on bad days I think my writing is horrendous and I should give before embarassing myself further) and with little constructive feedback from those around me how can I get better?

Urgh. My own neurosis is starting to get on my nerves. How odd is that? Anyway, I have had good comments on this blog for the little scenes I write. My friends all love my latest project Red Moon Riding (the opening bit for it can be found here if you are interested) so I can see that possibly going up on Authonomy too, if I commit.

Oh the indecision! Shall I? Sharn't I? Help me my lovely followers. Tell me to do it, tell me to shut up and quit worrying, tell me to shut up in general. Give me your opinions! (And no this isnt a bid for compliments, I have a hubby for that!).

Seriously, tell me what you think.

A little knowledge.....

2010-08-04T18:29:00.002+01:00

It has been a busy old week.

After posting my hurried lil post here on Saturday, I made a corn effigy and went to a lovely ritual to celebrate the Pagan Festival of Lammas (ok so I call it Lughnasadh but hey the Wiccans were in charge of the ritual). I love the group I work with. They are relaxed and funny. When things go wrong (and they often will with a dozen or so individuals co-operating) laughter and merriment soon follows. There are serious bits but usually there are fits of giggles (try running/dancing round a circle when you are giggling fit to burst, the best cardiovascular work out ever!). To me, every thing we do should have some humour involved whether that is high magic(with optional 'K') or working for a living.

Sunday saw me being loud and proudly Pagan at the first ever Nottingham Pagan Pride Parade and Gathering (try saying THAT after a few drinks of mead). I helped staff the Pagan Federation stall and ended up talking to so many interesting people. I absolutely LOVED it. It may be down to me being a Gemini but I love talking to people and finding out about them (and yes my mother calls me 'Nebby'). There were people who had been practicing for years, people who had just found Paganism and people who had no idea what Paganism was.

So to what does the title of this post refer? Well, as the saying goes, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Luckily, I didnt have to dispel(l) too many myths but I did have to handle a couple of challenging individuals. Not least a person with a learning disability who told me that there was definately only one God and that Jesus had said so. His friend was a Wiccan. It made for an interesting conversation.

Finally, I had to smile today. Sitting on the bus I overheard a conversation between two young women. One told her friend in all seriousness that if she were to die with in her friend's company, her friend was to quickly put a coin in her mouth so she could pay the ferryman. Her friend pointed out that was only if she was going to the Underworld. She responded that she had done this test and it said she was going to go to hell and she didnt want to die and not get there as she didn't want to end up as a ghost. The fact that the test was a Devout Christian type test and that she was talking about Greek Myth didnt appear to occur to either of them. Oh and FYI Charmed isn't a good place to base your knowledge of witchcraft. I was holding back giggles and the urge to tell them how it really works! Goddess bless those two women. They need to stay of wikipedia.

This may sound very cynical but I didnt bother to correct the women as I had the feeling it wouldn't do any good. Perhaps a kinder person would have but in my experience people only hear what they want to anyway. I contented myself with smiling to myself and wishing for the Goddess to show them wisdom. We all begin somewhere, I suppose.

So, an interesting week Pagan-wise. I have explored a lot about my own beliefs through explaining and discussing Paganism with others. I have 'perfected' a spiel about my beliefs and the work I do with the Pagan Federation. I have also had a LOT of fun.

In my view, faith and fun go hand in hand.

The Journey

2010-07-31T15:54:00.002+01:00

This is written for the prompt site Writers Island. It's just a first draft so be gentle. Have dashed this off while waiting for my husband before heading out tonight. So, this is the post inspired by the prompt 'The Journey'. Enjoy.

Placing one step in front of the other was all Berry could think about. She had started counting her steps some time before but she had lost count and now couldn’t get back on track. The other travellers on the road stole glances at her now and again. She joined the party for protection at Jedtown but the others had avoided her gaze from the first.

Her slight frame gave the image of a fragile woman but she was strong. Once, years ago, she had walked distances far greater than this one. This would be her last journey. She was going home. The call in her mind was relentless. At first she had ignored it. Then the headaches had started. When her vision had blurred, she knew couldn’t delay any longer. And so she walked, delaying the inevitable just a little longer.

The sun was dropping toward the horizon when they came to Faelan. Here she would leave the party. Few spoke to wish her well and those that did soon hurried off. She thought about stopping overnight but her head pounded at the idea. The call had become more insistent over the last few hours as if proximity to the cause where amplifying its power.

She wove her way through the streets and out the other side of the small city. Behind it, the forest stretched for hundreds of miles. The city folk didn’t know how far it stretched and didn’t care. As long as the imports came out of it, the forest could do what is liked. She travelled on through the forest, the headache lessening the instant she stepped under the canopy. Her footsteps became lighter and she sped up as a suddenly longing of her own came upon her.

Like lightening she streaked through the trees, her footsteps making no impression on the forest floor. She laughed and danced her way along the path few eyes could even see. Home. She had been gone a long time. So long she had almost forgotten the solace of the trees. The trees grew taller and taller until she could only just make out the canopy above her head. Catching a vine, she climbed up the boughs of a colossal tree. She leaped from the vine to a platform.

The man waiting there smiled softly. His silver eyes, so like her own, were tired and grim.

“You should have come back sooner.”

Berry bit back the sigh. “I wanted just a little more time.”

“Your highness, your mother is dying and your people need you. You have responsibilities.”

Ah yes, responsibilities. The very things that had driven her out into human society away from her Fae home. “I am home now.” She felt the silver cage of her life close around her. “Shall we begin?”

When inspiration hits

2010-07-29T20:58:00.002+01:00

I love writing. I love researching. I love nearly everything about it. However, inspiration can be a bit of a pain. Let me explain.

You see, inspiration comes along at the oddest moments. I can be talking to someone or working and I'll get a random flash of inspiration. This is great, this is amazing. Now. Here comes the BUT

Until I can get the image or idea down onto paper or into the computer I am completely distracted. I can't focus on anything else. Which is really bad when I am at work. It's even worse at night. My hubby has got used to his wife tossing and turning in bed before leaping from the bed in search of pen and paper. These days he even makes sure I have a pad and pen beside the bed to scribble on. The idea spins round and round in my head until I grab that pen. This makes it damn hard to sleep.

I have M.E. and getting the sleep I need is hard enough but with an idea spinning wildly through my mind sleep becomes almost impossible. After writing it all down it takes me AGES to chill out enough to sleep. This leaves poor hubby dealing with a grumpy sleep deprived wife in the morning - and I'm not a great morning person at the best of times.

So.... I love you muse but can we book an appointment? :)

However, this all said, when inspiration hits I love the buzz. I love the feeling of connecting to my creativity and watching the words flow onto page or screen.

How does inspiration treat you?

Red Moon Riding

2010-07-27T19:13:00.001+01:00

This post came to me during a conversation with my good friend and writing buddy Evalina. Enjoy.

Rebecca pushed back the red hood of her favourite cape. Grandmother was making bread in the small ramshackle cottage on the edge of the wood. It was Monday, Grandmother always baked on Monday. Mother had given Rebecca some jam and pickles to take over in exchange for the bread. A stray lock of hair fell out of her hood and she pushed it back behind her slightly pointed ear as she sniffed the air. The moon would rise tonight full and bright. And the Wild Ones would roam.

She grinned. She lived for night. Her blood red cape was her favourite for a good reason. If the Wild Ones dared encroach on her territory tonight they would be in for a shock. Mindful of woodcutters nearby, she pulled her hood back into place. Little girls visiting their Grandmothers skipped, so she would skip. The woodcutters smiled as the girl skipped passed. They called her Little Red Riding Hood. Boy, they had no idea.

Writing Non-Fiction

2010-07-25T13:57:00.002+01:00

I have discovered a curious thing.

For the last month or so, I have been working on some non-fiction articles for publication. I realised the other day that when I write non-fiction my first draft is ALWAYS dry as dust. It is absolutely boring and terrible and well, fact laden

Then I figured out that what I do is I write down what I want to say and THEN try to figure out how to say it. Does that make any sense?

Let me give you an example:

I was writing a review of a conference a while ago and my first draft basically went along the lines of, we had a conference on this day at this time and we did this. It was a success. Go Team!

It was boring to write it, never mind read it! Then my second draft came. I started from a totally different view point and ended up with a much more readable and enjoyable piece of writing. I handed it over to my long suffering husband to read and he actually laughed! (Hubby is great but he is more likely to notice the one spelling mistake in a piece than to comment on the content - I now get him to proof read my work.)

It even happens in the Day Job. I'm an administrator (please forgive me) and I write letters to people on a regular basis. They start out with Dear Sir, I am writing to inform you...... and then get rewritten into something useful.

I have always heard that the first draft of anything is terrible and with my non-fiction this is very true. The second draft is always better. And then you get the third, fourth, fifth, sixty-th. Hopefully all of which are improvements.

That said, while I can write non-fiction I do think that my heart belongs to fiction. It flows out of the fingers onto the keyboard so much more easily. An idea will form and I will be off. With non-fiction the idea forms and then sits looking at me with suspicion, demanding a cup of tea and a biscuit before work can begin.

Speaking of which, there is a non-fiction idea now. Better get the kettle on.

I did it again....

2010-07-24T20:46:00.002+01:00

Well, I think that I have succeeded in surrendering my sanity this time.

I have been thinking over the past couple of months about taking part in the NaNoWriMo project again. Its utter madness. 50,000 words in 30days. I did it once. I have vague memories of being unsocial, irritable and living on caffeine for the month. I came out of it with an enormous feeling of accomplishment and a terrible novel.

HOWEVER, I did learn a lot about writing a novel. Things like.... planning is good but too much planning is bad. I also learned that I can indeed write for four hours straight but that by the end of it I am flying on the caffeine high from the sheer number of cups of tea it took me to do it.

My lovely hubby has that worried look in his eye. He also remembers the obsessive gleam that was in my eyes and that he got snarled at a couple of times (What do you mean I should stop, I can still keep my eyes open?!?!?).

So....... I have signed up for this year. I have an idea and the beginnings of a plot. For those that read me regularly, its based on a post from last month called Changing Pace. Sookie's story is going to be told.

Here is to NaNoWriMo and to Lady Sukara de Lionine, may they both have fun ramaging through my brain when November arrives!

Treasure on Tour

2010-07-10T09:33:00.003+01:00

This post is inspired by the the prompt 'Treasure' from Writer's Island. I have always found museums a sad place to visit. I think this may show through here. ;)

Behind the glass you sit

Enclosed, corralled, patient

Your name and number beside you

In your neat little row

Behind the rope you wait

For the judgement of those around you

A little card gives up your past

To the people standing by

Beneath the surface you dream

Of your glories past and gone

Of Kings and Pageants proudly born

Through the crowds cheering loud

Beside your King you listen

To the rumblings in the dark

To the shuffling feet that walk along

To cities new and old

Beneath the cover you hope

For a new day to begin

For crowds to come and gaze

Until the end of your time

Behind the glass you sit

Enclosed, corralled, patient

Your name and number beside you

In your neat little row

My Life

2010-06-27T15:22:00.000+01:00

Would I swap the life I lead

For another, I don’t know

The small mistakes we make

The small seeds that we sow

The things that drive me crazy

And the people that I love

Could I really give that up

For a life I know nothing of?

I think I’ll stick with mine

Even with the darkest days

For it is the life I’d made

In each and every way.

A little imagination

2010-06-27T09:02:00.000+01:00

This post is inspired by Writers Island prompt Imagine

The old house stood as a proud reminder of days gone by. Through the grimy windows, Matt could just make out the faded paper on the walls. The burgundy paint flaked off on his hands as he stepped away revealing the wooden trim beneath. The place was a good price, it had that going for it.

He smiled at his wife as she chattered with the Estate Agent. She was already falling in love with the place he could tell. She lit up from the inside when she found a new project. But still. The house would need a lot of work. But if Addie was right, this house would be more than worth it.

Addie glanced back at Matt, she could see he didnt like it. Her eyes swept over the faded glory of the windows. The paint needed freshening but when done it would look fabulous. She even knew where to find that shade of burgundy.

The Estate Agent unlocked the door and put his back into opening the stiff old door. Paint flakes showered the prim little man. Addie and Matt exchanged a look and Addie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Paint flakes dusted the man's balding spot like snow, or dandruff.

The floorboards creaked but held. Addie followed the Agent into the dining room and gasped. Light filtered through from the back garden. She could see the parties and intrigue that had gone on in the room. She could see the beautiful gowns and sparkling candlelight. She felt light headed with it.

Matt watched his wife's eyes lose focus and knew she was off. He quickly distracted the Estate Agent with questions about the light fitments and windows. Peppering the poor agent with questions, he learned that the price was negotiable to a certain extent and that the windows weren't listed.

Addie headed up the stairs, following her instincts. Down the hall, she found the Master bedroom. The paper on the wall was peeling off but still held the promise of the William Morris style that had gone pale from time. Addie could see a woman dressed in her finest, finishing her hair and putting on her jewellery. She watched as the box was put away in a wall safe. Addie touched the place on the wall where the safe had been.

Taking a pen from her pocket, she made a small mark over the safe. In here was Great Grandma's pearls, she just knew it. They had gone missing when Great Gran had died. No one knew where the safe was. From a young age, Addie had tried to tell them. The adults never listened but she had always known they were at the house. She smiled.

Despite the years of being told it was just her imagination, she had known what she saw was real. Now people came to her to find out what she knew. She had become successful and was popular with a wide range of people. But not her mother. Mother couldn't, wouldn't believe. But this might just change her mind.

Back downstairs, she nodded to Matt. He grimaced a little and nodded back.

"We'll think about it. It's going to take a lot of work to put it right," said Matt.

The estate agent wound up his speech. "This room has a lot of potential. Imagine the dinner parties you could hold here. This back window could be made into French windows giving you extra space and access to the garden."

"Yes. But that would be extra expense for us," said Addie.

They haggled for a while; Addie and Matt double-teaming the agent. Finally, the price was right.

"We'll take it," said Addie. "I imagine we will find all sorts of surprises here."

The house was finally back in the family. Addie couldnt wait to get started. Tea in the Garden with Mother would be the first thing. She couldnt wait to show her the jewels that were hidden upstairs. She grinned. Just imagine her face! she thought.

A New Birth

2010-06-20T00:06:00.003+01:00

Repacking the bag for the tenth time, Sarah put it by the front door. Then checked her handbag for keys, mobile and purse. Yep all there. Still. Her body clenched hard. She swallowed. She walked the small hallway again. Breathing to calm herself, she rubbed her hand over her stomach. It would all be fine. In a few hours, it would all be over. Then the hard work would start.

Her ears picked up at the sound of Mark's car pulling up outside. She checked her handbag again, just to make sure. Mark opened the door.

"Ready sweetheart?" asked Mark.

"Yes," her body clenched again. Sarah did the breathing exercises she had learned for just this situation. "Yes. Let's go."

Her first book signing. She was terrified. At least a dozen people would show up, she had personally bribed her work colleagues and close friends. It would all be fine. Her baby was stepping out into the world. She was so proud, she just hoped she wouldn't throw up in front of everyone.

A Change of Pace

2010-06-19T10:26:00.002+01:00

Sookie made her way to the open harbour to the city. Clutching a handkerchief scented with lavender in her hand, she walked passed the fishermen as they prepared to go out for the day. The dock smelled foul. She wrinkled her small nose and tears stung her green eyes. Blinking them clear, she lifted the handkerchief to her nose for some relief.

Lifting the heavy skirt she had been dressed in by a sleepy maid, she stepped from the wooden dock onto the rocks the edged the harbour. Sure of her path, she moved with grace over the rough surface.

From the dock, a fisherman watched the strange noble lady make her way over the rocks to a place where the sea lapped at the rocks. Every month for the last few years she had come. The first time he had seen her, he had been concerned but he had soon come to realise she was as safe as a person could be that close to the sea. He loved the sea but knew it's dangers. A breeze stirred across the harbour. He lifted his brown face and smelled the changing tide. It was time to be off.

Sookie watched the pace of the fishermen change. She knew one watched her, she always knew when she was being watched. The boats launched and she smiled. Lifting her face to the breeze, she inhaled deeply. The rich scents told of moonlight and laughter. She smiled. Today was the day. She smoothed the skirt of the restricting dress and sighed, content.

She knew without looking, her eyes were changing becoming more yellow with every passing hour. Today she would walk amongst the Royal Court and exchange pleasantries. But tonight, tonight she would run. The forests would welcome her and she would run. Her hands would be paws and she would run. Free of the Court, the people and duties. For a few short hours over the next three nights, she would run.

Elsie and Morphoso

2010-05-23T13:46:00.002+01:00

This post is inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt Dragon.

Elsie had waited for so long to get her dragon. Her older brother, Merro had matched to a beautiful bronze coloured dragon. She could hear them practicing together outside, Artoro’s massive wings setting of little dust storms. Merro and Artoro had been there this morning during the Matching. Elsie covered her burning cheeks. Even as a hatchling Artoro had been magnificent. All her family had matched to fighter dragons who could fly great distances and breath fire. As the youngest of 5 siblings, it had been taken for granted a fighter would hatch for Elsie.

Her class mates were off with their dragons, getting to know them and building up a bond with them. She had been the brightest, bestest student in the class. Great things had been expected of her. She looked down at Morphoso, at his dappled green skin, his budgy belly and his long thin tongue lolling out of his snoring mouth. He lay sprawled on his back with his stubby tail twitching. Morphoso would never be a fighter dragon. Morphoso had hatched the same time as Dinelle’s dragon. Morphoso had taken one look at its hatchmate and run straight for Elsie. Hiding behind her legs until all the other dragons had gone.

Resting her head on the desk, she felt the tears press against her eyes. They were matched. There was nothing that could change it. All the books in the classroom had said the same thing. Once matched, a dragon never matched to another human. She was stuck with him. A strange purring sounded beside her ear. Peering through her hair, she saw that Morphoso was stroking her hair and singing. She felt his love radiating out of him. Just for her. Not for her skill, her intelligence or her family. For her. His love filled up the empty spaces. Here was someone she wouldn’t have to be the best just to get a smile.

She reached out a hand to him and he waddled across to it. His singing increased. The shape of his belly fitted perfectly into her palm. She smiled and rubbed it. His eyes went blank with pleasure and she laughed. Her, Ellsandra Dragonking, laughing.

Merro looked at his littlest sister laughing. Her serious face alight with happiness. And felt relieved. Father was furious at the Matching debacle, as he called it but Merro had a feeling Morphoso had a message for them all. Artoro trumpeted his agreement. The Dragonkin nation had become too hard. Elsie had a hard road ahead but he and Artoro would be there.

“You coming out or not?” said Merro.

Elsie looked up, startled. “Do I have to?”

“No. But we ought to be seen by the others. Father is already purple.”

Morphoso snorted and curled his tail around Elsie’s hand. His head rested on her wrist. He looked so silly and content. Elsie grinned at her brother. “Alright. At least we know Morphoso wont destroy the Storage Barn like Dinelle’s.” Morphoso hiccupped. And turned purple. Merro looked at the little dragon and grinned. Oh yes, this would be interesting.

Her Imaginary Friend

2010-05-23T12:51:00.003+01:00

This piece is inspired by the Writer's Island prompt Imaginary Friend.

Jenny watched her daughter setting out the extra place for Molly. Everything had to match up to Sara’s place setting. Max thought that it was harmless. Max said that their little girl would grow out of it when she got older. Max had no idea.

Jenny flicked through the old family albums from her grandmother’s day. She was desperately trying to find a certain picture.

“Mummy, what are you doing? Molly says you should come over and eat dinner.”

Jenny smiled at her daughter. “Just looking through some of my granny’s pictures. Do you and Molly want to look too?”

Molly cocked her head to one side as if listening to someone. “Molly says she is hungry. We should eat now.”

Jenny set aside the albums. She had asked her mother for them when Molly had first shown up. Her instincts were usually right. Molly was just too familiar. “Ok girls. How does Molly like her sandwiches?” Jenny thought she already knew.

“With 3 slices of cucumber, some lettuce and ham.”

“Coming right up.” She made up the sandwich, cutting it on the diagonal for both Sara and Molly. Identical sandwiches for Sara and her unseen friend.

Jenny went back to the albums while her daughter chatted away to Molly. Finally she found the picture. Great Aunt Molly sitting at the table eating ham and cucumber sandwiches with her dolls. Jenny looked over at the table, the tableau matching the picture almost identically. She suppressed the shiver. Picking up the two other pictures she had found, she sat down next to her daughter opposite Molly’s seat.

“Sara honey, take a look at these.” Jenny glanced at Molly’s seat. She laid out the pictures of Mum and one of her. They matched - the place settings, the dolls, the sandwiches. All laid out exactly the same.

Sara looked at them and shrugged. “Who are they Mummy?”

“Well, that’s me as a little girl and there’s granny too.”

“Did you have a friend like Molly too?”

“Yes honey. In fact my friend was called Molly too.”

“Really?” Sara’s eyes were wide with wonder. “Just like my friend Molly?”

“Very much so. Sara, what is Molly wearing right now?”

Sara looked over a Molly’s seat, “A funny old dress and black shiny shoes. And she has a pretty headband too.”

Jenny put down the picture of Great Aunt Molly. “Like this?”

Sara gasped. “Just like that! Where did you get that picture of Molly?”

Jenny smiled gently. “This is my Great Aunt Molly. My granny’s little sister.”

“Huh. Weird.” Sara finished her sandwich. “We’re done now.”

Jenny glanced over at Molly’s seat. “Ok. Sweetheart. Why don’t you go play in the garden.” Sara slipped from her chair.

Jenny crooked a finger at Molly. Molly stopped following Sara and scowled. “Aunt Molly, we need to talk.” Mum had been right about Sara, it looked like she was going to be a Medium just like Jenny.

On Editing..

2010-05-19T17:42:00.002+01:00

Or, why the hell did I write that???

I am starting to edit my Chasing Midnight story. To begin with, I decided to sit down and read it as I would any other book. I can then take my own reactions and work out how to improve the story from that (it's a theory).

Well, so far I am enjoying it. The scenes dont quite flow into each other yet but its pretty solid. I can already see what is missing and what will fall victim to the red pen but for the most part it's a good read.

This leaves me with a sense that I just might have a shot at this publishing malarky. Scary huh?

The moment of truth

2010-05-16T20:28:00.003+01:00

This post is inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt Recipe.

Cara held her breath. This was it. This was the moment. This would be her crowning glory or her worst failure. Through the door she could hear the others preparing for the occasion. Her sternest judge would be here later. Years of practice all coming together in this one perfect moment. Despite herself, she closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer up.

She reached over and opened the door. Steam hissed out, scenting the air. She opened her eyes and grinned. The golden top waited. Testing it with her fingers, she found it slightly bouncy. A classic Victoria sponge cooked to perfection. Releasing it from the tin, she knew it was going to be her best ever.

Leaving it to cool, she cleaned up the kitchen. Carefully, she closed the cook book. The old pages crackled. She could practically hear her Grandmother telling her to put the book away back in its place.

Icing up the cake, she carefully formed the letters and put on the candles. The light went out as she carried the cake into the room. Her family were clustered around the wizened figure at the head of the table.

"Happy Birthday Gran!" said Cara.

"Oh! That looks lovely. I hope it's as good as my recipe," said Gran

Cara thought of her great-grandmother's recipe book. She had found it clearing out Gran's attic last month. Gran said that she always used her mother's recipe. "I think so, Gran. I really do."

The Key

2010-05-15T16:20:00.003+01:00

This post is inspired by the Writer's Island prompt The Key. Seems to have brought out the romantic in me :) This slightly longer than my usual post.

The vaunted pale ceiling stretched up into shadows. The romantic bedroom was about as far away from her office life as possible. Charlotte rolled out of bed and pulled on the plush towelling robe. Something heavy in the pocket thumped dully against her slim leg. Reaching in she pulled out a rusty old key. The teeth were worn with age and a note was attached to the loop.

“Follow my clues and you will see the one you love come back to thee. Find the place where food is cooked then in the basket you should look.”

Charlotte laughed. Bobby could be such a clown. Hiring the villa for the fortnight had been his idea and each morning had brought a new adventure. Belting the robe firmly in place, she put on the matching slippers and headed for the kitchen.

Looking round the kitchen, there were several dozen baskets. The housekeeper was off today which was probably why Bobby had chosen today for a treasure hunt. She started opening baskets with her usual methodical efficiency. Bobby had banned lists this week as well. Turning, she spotted a cream piece of paper poking out where it didn’t belong. Charlotte smiled and pushed her curls back of her face.

Reaching in the basket, she saw it contained her favourite brioche. She grinned. Snagging a small bun, she read the clue.

“Now that you have fed your hunger, tarry not a moment longer. To the place of light and laughter and the place of the house’s daughter.”

Nibbling at the bun, she considered where she should go next. There were several places in the house that were light and fun. She had admired the dining room when they had arrived, the wide stain glass windows were fantastic. Then she remembered that the housekeeper had mentioned that a daughter of the house had loved the tower. Which as at the very top of the house. She sighed. At least she would work off the bun.

Climbing the spiral stair, she was glad she had thought to get a bottle of water from the fridge. The air was dry and a little dusty. Opening the tower door, she stepped into the dappled light from the skylight. Scanning the room, she saw a piece of paper lying on a tapestry. Running across the room, she snatched up the note.

“From highest light to darkest room, to wear the shadows loom. Find a clue of finest vintage, hurry lest your love grow to dotage.”

Charlotte giggled. Bobby had just celebrated his 30^th birthday. At 29 years herself, she had told him he was getting old. She would be 30 herself in less than a month. The wine cellar was at the bottom of the house. Clattering down the stairs, she ran back through the kitchen to the cellar door. It creaked open, dark cold waited on the other side. Grabbing the torch from it’s hook, she took a breath and entered.

Row after row of bottles gleamed in the light of the torch. She could have used the light switch but somehow the torch seemed more appropriate today. She ran her torch over the rows as passed them. In the farthest corner, something glinted. She dashed over, hushing a laugh. A piece of paper was attached to a small mirror. She held it up and caught sight of a smudge of dust over blue eyes that glittered with laughter.

Rubbing at the smudge, she checked the clue.

“To the home of prose and rhyme, you must try and get in time. Take this mirror with you too or all is lost for the next clue.” Walking out of the cellar, Charlotte stuffed the torch in her pocket as she considered the clue. The ornate handle of the mirror gleamed in the morning light. Prose and rhyme.... The library!

The torch swung pendulum like in her pocket, tugging the robe loose a little. Her favourite silk nightie peeped out at the hem. A book of poems lay open on the reading desk, a piece of paper resting on the page. Snatching it up, she frowned. The writing made no sense at all! All the letters were the wrong way round! Holding the mirror, she saw the writing reflected. Looking closer, she realised she could read it.

“From books where dreams reside, you must hurry to the outside. In the house of Summer Sun, you will find your loved one.”

She hesitated. Going outside in just her nightie was just not done but Bobby was clearly planning something big. She should go upstairs and get dressed but it might take too long. Chewing on her full bottom lip, she debated. The housekeeper wasnt here. There was no one around but her and Bobby. Throwing caution to the wind, she headed out the back door and into the gardens.

The Summer House was tucked away at the bottom of the gardens. The gardener could be anywhere. She began to run and a laugh burst from her lungs. Her sensible slippers gained a few grass stains as she dashed the length of the gardens, just in case. She arrived at the Summer House out of breath and giggling helplessly.

She tested the door and found it locked. Pulling the key back out from her pocket, she fitted it to the lock. And turned. The door swung inwards to reveal Bobby bent over a picnic basket. On a embroidered blanket was laid out a variety of her favourite foods including more brioche and some deep red strawberries. Beside the basket was a bottle of champagne and a book of poetry.

“Bobby! This is amazing!”

Bobby looked up at his orderly girlfriend and grinned. Her usually neatly coiled hair stood out wildly from her head. Her robe had come undone reveal more than a little of her luscious form encased in the silk which was her hidden weakness. The sensible slippers she always wore inside and inside only were stained and ruined. She looked happier than ever. Love spread out from his chest. He was definitely doing the right thing.

“Thought you might like it. Just one more clue to solve now.” He handed her an envelope.

Curious, she tore open the envelope. Inside was a paper wallet containing two air tickets to the Tropics. The familiar cream paper nestled against it.

“You have found your heart’s desire; let us now take it higher. For years to come we will be, Charlotte will you marry me?”

Charlotte went still. Her jaw dropped and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Looking from the paper to Bobby, she saw he held a small velvet box open. Inside, a single ruby sat surrounded by diamonds. It caught the light and flashed fire around the room.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She laughed and pounced on Bobby. Crawling into his lap, she wrapped her arms around him. He slipped the ring on her fingers, a grin broad on his lips. “Robert Gillesby, I am going to make you the best wife ever.” She grinned. “Oh! I have so much to plan.”

Bobby handed his fiancée a brioche. “Let’s have breakfast first, eh?”

Charlotte took the bun. “And then we can make a list, right?”

“Honey, you can make a whole bunch.”

“You are going to be the best husband.” Charlotte smiled. “Oh, your mother is going to flip her lid!” She laughed. And kissed her new fiancé, hard. And then forgot all about lists as he kissed her back.

There and Back Again... AKA More cheese Gromit?

2010-05-14T17:05:00.002+01:00

Well, I'm home.

I am sitting in my favourite chair, listening to my usual radio station and drinking from one of my mugs. There is stuff all over the place - from packing and stuff waiting to be unpacked - and the cats are nowhere to be seen. BUT I am home.

I have had a great week. I saw the in-laws and spent time getting to know my nephew properly. He is amazing (naturally) and really bright and funny. No bias here :P I hung out with my sis in law who is fun but worries far too much (I banned her from saying 'Im sorry' to me). And I got stuck in her sofa several times before winning free. Recliners are great... but I dont have the leg strength to get out easily.

We also went to a gorgeous little village called Hawes which is the home of the Wensleydale Creamery. We saw how it was made and could even peer in at the workers making the stuff. I wonder if they feel like fishes in bowls sometimes. We also went and found a chippy that does gluten free fish and chips. Woooo Hoooooo!

Now, this may sound like very little BUT I havent had a piece of battered fish in nearly a decade and I LOVE fish and chips. It was heavenly. I was actually overwhelmed by choice. Usually when I go in a cafe or restaurant the first thing I do it check over the menu and eliminate what I definitely can't eat. Then I check what is probably not me friendly and then choose from what is left. So when the waitress turned around and said that the whole menu was available gluten free I couldn't actually take it in. All the options that I usually blank were suddenly right there for me to choose from! I was like a kid in a sweetie shop (more on such things later). So, thanks go to The Chippie, you rock!!!

Around Hawes is such fantastic scenery. From my sis in laws, we passed the Three Peaks and many sheep. In Hawes, there is an amazing old fashioned sweet shop. It took me AGES to decide what to buy. There were sweets I hadnt seen since I was a kid. And there was the nougat. I have always loved nougat. This was the ultimate chocolate nougat. I had a choice between a roulade type one that had milk chocolate and whole hazelnuts in the middle, white chocolate and nuts around the middle and dipped in yet more chocolate. OR, I could get one with milk chocolate running all through it with nuts in and chocolate truffles pressed into the outside. I think my brain went on a mini sugar rush just thinking about it!

So all in all, it was a great trip and we shall be wending our way back up there for Christmas. Better remember to take extra cash in case we go back :) I hope we do.

I'm off to enjoy one of the three varieties of Wensleydale we bought. Oh yeah. I'm happy :D

Creativity twitch

2010-05-12T17:40:00.002+01:00

I am having a twitch. I've been looking at knitting patterns and now I have the urge to knit one of them. It's a fairly easy pattern but will a new stitch to learn. Problem is.... my wool and needles are in another county. ARGH!

So... I am sitting here drooling over patterns and frustrating myself. Is this masochism do you reckon?

Courage

2010-05-10T10:26:00.003+01:00

This post is inspired by Sunday Scribblings prompt Courage.

"Courage Mandy. You can do this." She held her weapon out in front of her and pointedly ignored the end that shook. Eric wouldn't be home for another three days so she was on her own. The dog had fled at first sight.

She peered around the side of the door and flinched. The intruder crawled towards her and she flung herself back against the protective wall. The dog slunk back to her side and collapsed to the floor at her feet. Big brown eyes stared up at her and then the dog hid his face under a paw.

Taking her courage in both hands, she advanced into the room. The intruder froze in place. Reaching out, Mandy brandished the device. Lunging forward she closed the plastic compartment over the intruder. The intruder went wild. Legs working frantically. Mandy screamed but held on. Working the catch, she closed the compartment and hurried over to the window.

Fumbling for the catch, she opened the window and shook the weapon out the window. The intruder sailed off into the unknown. Mandy shuddered. She hated spiders. Thank god that was only a little one. Putting her weapon away, she looked at the dog. "Come on, Custard. Let's call Eric."

Stowaway

2010-05-09T15:52:00.003+01:00

This piece is inspired by the Writer's Island blog. A new creative prompt site. Come and join us.

I'd like to stowaway to the places in my dreams. Last night I dreamt of a long, long beach. It stretched further than I could see. The water lapped quietly at the sand and tickled my toes with its warm embrace. There was a tall palm tree that shaded me from the sun and a large brown coconut gave food and drink. I was all alone.

Then I opened my eyes and the 'real' world rushed in on me. Pietr says that one day we will go and see a beech. I don't know. The only worlds with beeches left on them are for the rich. The closest I get to alone is in the shower and that's only for 10 minutes until the next customer wants in.

Maybe Pietr is right. One day I will see a proper beech not the ones in the holos at the Entertainment Centre where I work. One day someone else will serve me as I sit on a beech.

"Kiara! Breaks over." The boss is tapping his foot at me. His android features programmed into a frown. The fast food joint is my home from dawn to dusk but in my dreams I'll stowaway. I wonder where I'll go tonight.

1st Draft!

2010-05-07T11:08:00.002+01:00

Well, I done it!

I have finished the 1st draft of my novella, Chasing Midnight. Its only a lil story but the sense of accomplishment it has given me is enormous.

I have lots of ideas and I have written lots of little scenes (or vignets as a friend calls them - by the way vignet is such a cool word) and some short stories but this is the first real 1st draft totally completed from a simple idea thought of just by lil me. Yes, I have done NaNoWriMo which was a total blast and I did complete a story but this one feels very different on completion. I wrote this with publishing in mind, with actual submission guidelines in mind. And it has shown me that I can write outside my comfort zone and still do a pretty good job.

Ok so, its not a deep reflective piece but it's a genre that I enjoy reading (my brain candy, as I call it) but I have never felt the urge to write. It's for Harlequin. There I said it. It's got romance, sex and life or death problems. It's also got depth and society changing implications.

Here's the crux. I have a mini-series forming in my head. I also have a totally different mini-series in my head, thanks to old Rose Flambeau. Worryingly, I also have an idea for a fantasy book developing. The question is, which to do first.....

So, here is my plan. Write a short, short story for Rose (1 - 3k words) then flesh out the fantasy world (or at the same time, knowing my brain). This will give me time to refresh on the Chasing Midnight/Miralee Kane mini-series. Then EDIT Chasing Midnight (OMG I am actually gonna do it!). Following that, rewrite the Miralee Kane story to work better as part of the mini-series. This will mean simplifying a plot gone nuts and adding a bit more to the heroine/hero relationship. I think this will be a fab story in the end.

In other news: I submitted a review article to my local Pagan Mag and the editor seems to like it. Watch this space for more news!

When is a trainer not a trainer?

2010-05-05T21:38:00.002+01:00

When she's an Administrator apparently.

I have a new minion. I wasnt expecting a minion, in fact I had been told they would not be my minion at all. I would have no responsibility for them.

So, what happens? The new Assistant Administrator is there to learn how to be an Admin in practice. Fine. Within 3 hours of him starting Im being asked to give him work! I then spent the rest of yesterday and today finding things for him to do. Problem is, he hasnt been authorised for access on the computers yet. So... that leaves filing.... and shredding... and anything else I can think of. Poor sod. He's done sod all Admin work but has carried files between rooms, shredded old papers and generally done manual work. I did let him use my access to type some stuff up - and he types faster than me! Damn it. :)

On the plus side, he will be great Admin once he gets the hang of it. Problem is, Im not sure he's suited to it long term. I some how have to show him how fun the job can be and teach him how to do.

Good luck to me?

Nay-sayers, A Rant

2010-05-04T19:45:00.002+01:00

People get on my nerves. I can put up with kids being silly and daft. I can put up with a child crying all the way from boredom at being trapped in their buggy with only a beige wall to stare at (seriously, what are we doing to our kids by forcing them to stare a beige walls for up to half an hour each time? I would be screaming by the end of it too!)

The people that really really get on my nerves are the nay-sayers. The people that are wholly negative. Bus journeys can be a trial at the best of times (again, who in the name of all that is holy designs those crappy seats?) but when I am subjected to 20 - 30 minutes of negative crap being poured into my ear, they become impossible.

Take today.

I got on the bus full of energy and ready to come home and write. It might not have been Shakespeare but it would have made me happy. However, I manage to end up with nay-sayers behind me on both sides, both directly behind me and across from me. I could have strangled them by the time they deigned to exit the bus.

One set spent the entire journey being spiteful about most of their friends. We passed a guy juggling six balls in the air. There was a collective OOooooooohhhhhh from most of the bus. However, the nay-sayers could not bring themselves to appreciate the skill of the guy (and his was damn good - and damn cute too). Instead, one set said they thought it would be funny if he dropped them all and they got broken and the other set tutted about throwing balls so close to a main road, it might hold up traffic!

I mean, seriously. What the hell is wrong with these people? Are their lives so miserable that they can't accept even a small bit of positive into their shadowed lives?

I'm just so glad that those kind of comments are an experience out of the norm for me. Having crawled back from depression, I can heartily say that I prefer being the way I am now. Maybe a better human being would offer them support and help. However, I just want them to shut up and keep their putrid comments to themselves.

There. Rant over.

Event Planning as an Addiction?

2010-05-01T16:26:00.002+01:00

This post is inspired by the Sunday Scribbling blog promt - Event.

In March, an event I had been part of planning happened. After nearly a full year of work, thought and effort the event had finally arrived. The day went really well and we received a lot of positive feedback. It was the second ever event I had been part of the planning team. It was fun, it was nerve wracking and it was an amazing ride.

The week before the event when the stresses and problems cropping up seemed never to end, I said I would never again willingly subject myself to doing it again. Famous last words, eh?

The day after the event, I found myself agreeing to attend another event in an official type capacity. I agreed to stallhold for the next event. Ideas for products and so on were discussed. I can see already the planning I will need to do to sort out the stall. Nevermind the actual making of the products.

The week after the event, I for some insane reason agreed to co-plan another different type of event. What was I thinking???? I could barely move following the event and there I was agreeing to go through all that again!

There is only one explanation..... Event planning is addictive. And wonderfully so. I have recently come to the realisation that in order for me to be happy I need to be productive. Therefore event planning is the ultimate for me. I can see the evidence of my productivity all around me and let me tell you, the positive feedback is an awesome feeling.

So there you have it - Event Planning, once you start you dont stop. :)

Foragers

2010-04-25T11:08:00.004+01:00

This post was inspired by Sunday Scribblings prompt #212 Dinner. It put me in mind of the times my mum went on Residential Summer School.

"What are we having?" called Sarah
Mark stood in front of the freezer. He picked up the few remaining packages. "Um. Looks like mashed potato, possibly cottage pie or," he squinted through the frosted plastic "Some sort of curry type thing."
"What do the labels say?"
"They've rubbed off. Wanna risk it?"
His sister walked through the kitchen door. She poked at the mystery packages. "Nope. What about on the other shelves?"
Together they opened the shelves. Frozen meat sat in polystyrene packets. Peas and sweetcorn vied with cabbage for attention.

"You mean we have to cook?" Sarah sounded appalled. Brother and sister turned to look at the shiny oven. It had been cleaned by mum before she left and was still sparkling.
"Um. I've got some of the cash mum gave me. What about you?" Mark looked panicked. The last time he had cooked they had needed a new oven.
"Yeah. Take away then?" They headed for their bedrooms. "Better get something for dad as well if we can."
Mark shrugged, "He can have our leftovers?"
"At least mum'll be home tomorrow."
"Yeah. Thank God."
"Let's get mum a present if we've anything left over."
Mark thought about it. "How about a card that says 'We missed you, don't ever leave us again'?"

Introducing Rose Flambeau

2010-04-21T17:14:00.002+01:00

A.K.A. I have created a Monster.

Let me introduce you to a fabulous young author by the name of Rose Flambeau. Bubbly and enthusiastic, Rose Flambeau writes 'bodice-rippers' and chews pink bubble gum. She wears a pink stretchy top with a small white cardigan over the top. Her pink shoes are towering heels with open toes revealing her coral coloured toenails. She wears a tulip shaped, knee length white skirt and writes on a pink laptop. Her straight blonde hair is cut in a 50s style bob. She likes meeting new people and is always willing to help.

Ladies and Gentleman, Rose Flambeau (cue music!)

Ahem. I've created a monster. The idea of a name has gone on to create a fantastically fun character who is rampaging through my head giggling furiously.

I think she is great! I can't wait to write her memoirs.

What's in a Name?

2010-04-19T20:36:00.002+01:00

I'm getting to the point where I have found the courage to submit an article to a magazine.

Now comes a tricky question. What name shall I claim as I stride out into the world of critism and compliment that is the published word?

I had thought the toughest part of submitting an article would be sending the final email. But. A name confounds me. I dont really want to use my own name. I like to keep my writing separate. It's something I do for me, without expectation and without the demands of others (so far). Few people know that I write. Only my closest friends, really. And fewer still know what I write.

I want to use a Pen-name because I can still write what I want but keep my privacy. In that dream world where I am a famous author, I still want to be able to close the world out and be just me.

So. Then I get the questions, what name should I choose and how should I find one?

I have played around with a couple, which arent entirely right for me. Or even close. I play the game where I take the name and imagine where I would find that name. For example, in a mad moment I came up with Rose Flambeau - who writes cheap romance and chews pink bubble gum. A good friend suggested Camara Bryne but that doesnt suit me. So I am stuck. The article is almost finished. And I have no idea what to call myself.

Here's pondering.

Sunday Scribblings - Wonder

2010-04-18T20:13:00.000+01:00

The whorls on the bark caught her attention. Zooming in with her favourite camera, she focused and clicked. Relaxing her grip she turned and looked through her lens for the next shot. Pushing through the foliage Kayla searched for the shot, the one shot that would get her name known. Stepping into a clearing, she admired the play of light on the moss.

Crossing the clearing she sat and drank from a bottle of clear spring water. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Memories of childhood spent playing in these woods, flickered behind her eyes. Coming home had been hard. Mother was barely talking to her. She sighed.

A twig snapped. Opening her eyes, she saw a doe hesitate on the edge of the open space. The doe’s ears twitched back and forth and she sniffed at the air. Kayla froze. The doe looked back into the trees and her fawn joined her. The deer moved cautiously into the open and began nibbling at the mossy grass. Kayla’s hands twitched to hold her camera, to take the shot. Kayla moved slightly and the doe looked up.

Their eyes met. And held. Looking into the dark glassy eyes of the doe, Kayla felt her breathing slow. The worries of her life faded away as the gaze held on. Her hands lifted the camera but Kayla found herself unwilling to break away from the understanding in those eyes. For the first time, her camera took second place.
The doe looked away and Kayla brought the camera to her face. The doe looked back. Looked straight through the camera. Her fingers shook as she clicked. Lowering her camera, she smiled at the doe. The doe nodded her head and calling to her fawn walked serenely out of the clearing. This was the shot, Kayla knew without even looking. This shot would get her name out there.

Picking up her gear, she made her way home. This shot would be spectacular. And just for her. So she could remember that moment, the doe and the wonder of the day.

24 hours

2010-04-12T18:41:00.002+01:00

The sound of frantically tapping keys filled Amy's ears. Kaitlyn sat at the next station, head bent towards the keyboard as she scoured the keys to find the one she wanted. A stack of books balanced precariously by the abandoned mouse. 'All you need to know about: Jane Austen' read the title. Beneath that were her notes on Pride and Prejudice.

The hum of the computers warred with the hangover from hell to prevent her from forming that all important sentence. The blank page glowed adding to the nimbus of pain that surrounded her. She had twentyfour hours to write this essay. Five thousands words from beginning to end. Dumping the book back on the pile, she winced. Kaitlyn passed her a bottle of Diet Coke and 2 asprin without looking up from her screen.

Next time, she would plan ahead. Next time, she wouldnt go out with the gang from the flat so close to deadline. Next time, she would have it all done weeks in advance. Funny how each time she got an essay, this promise was made. She really would knuckle down. Soon.

Best Friends, Sunday Scribblings - Mentor

2010-04-04T13:48:00.000+01:00

Callie clutched the flyer in her hand. The paper was crumbled and slightly worn from being repeatedly screwed up and smoothed out. Looking around the buildings, she spotted the banner that matched. “Mentoring Event Today!” Her stomach turned over. She hoped she met someone who would like her enough to consider mentoring her. Her skin felt too tight and she felt dizzy but she made herself put one shaky foot in front of the other.

The cool air washed over her hot face as stepped into the building. People bustled about is smart suits and jackets. Callie felt underdressed. Scanning the exhibition hall, her eyes caught the sign for the toilets and her feet took her there. Sitting on the toilet seat, she held her face in her hands. Her shoulder length hair drifted round her fingers, freeing itself from the neat ponytail. You can do this, you can do this, you can. She repeated her mantra over and over. Feeling stronger, she pushed to her feet.

The outer door swung open. “Why do I have to come here?” a sullen young voice asked.
“Because we agreed you would be part of the mentoring programme,” replied an older woman in tones brooked no argument.
“No, you said I would. I didn’t agree to anything,”
“Lisa, you need to show willing or your foster mother will ask to move you on. Again.”
“Good, then maybe I wont have to put up with that brat William.”
The social worker sighed quietly. “Lisa, please. Just give it a chance, alright?”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Callie debated staying where she was or leaving the toilet cubicle. Taking her courage in both hands, she opened the door. The young girl wore an expression of studied nonchalance. Her spiky bleach blonde hair and heavily made up eyes were supposed to make her look for adult but to Callie’s understanding eyes, they made the girl look younger than ever. Nodding to the social worker, Callie washed her hands.

Her eyes caught the girl’s in the mirror and Callie’s mind flashed back 7 years to her 14 year old self. All hard eyes and don’t care attitude hiding a world of hurt and loss. Her mother had ditched her in some Social Services office when she was 11. She had waited and waited for her mum to come back but she never did. Callie had spent the next 3 years making everyone’s life hell. She cringed to think about it now. Finally, one foster mother had been stubborn enough to get through to Callie but it didn’t look like this kid was going catch that break any time soon.

She smiled at the girl, who scowled back. Callie knew that scowl. It was the one she had worn (and still did sometimes) when trying to work out what someone wanted from her. This kid clearly wasn’t used to kindness. Drying her hands, she left the kid and her social worker to work it out. The social worker would win, they always did but the kid, Lisa, would have her say.

Walking round the stands, she spoke to lots of people. Business mentors, career mentors, befrienders and life coaches. Yet none were really what she wanted. She circled through to the second half of the exhibition. Her feet ached and the air conditioning was a tad chilly now. She would give anything for a cup of tea. A crash sounded from the end of the hall. Callie turned and looked, Lisa stood in front of the remains of a table.
“I didn’t mean to!” cried Lisa. Her bright red lips forming an ‘O’ of shock and dismay.

No one moved. Lisa flushed redder than her lipstick and looked round wildly. Her social worker stepped towards her and Lisa fled. Head down, she ran passed Callie. Callie could see the tears that were flowing down the girls cheeks. Her social worker came after her. Callie searched the social worker’s face for anger and only saw concern. Relieved, she made her way towards the toppled table. A woman in her forties was tidying up.

“Hi there.” The woman smiled while still collecting leaflets and pens.
Callie picked up several pens and handed them over. “Hi. Um. Just thought you could use a hand, seeing as your help is.... unavailable.”
“I’m Beth. I volunteer with the BF Group. We match people who want to help young people achieve their potential with young people who need a little guidance and friendship.”
Callie blinked and worked through it. “So you put adults with teens who need a bit of friendship?”
Beth smiled widely, “Yes. A lot of our young people are in the Foster Care system and they need someone who is there just for them.”
Callie nodded, “I get that. I really do.”

Beth looked over Callie’s shoulder and frowned a little. Turning her head, Callie saw Lisa coming back with social worker in tow. Lisa began to pick up the last bits and pieces, including a clipboard with a sign up sheet. “I’m guessing there is a CRB check and whatnot involved?”
Beth nodded, “We have a 6 week programme that people attend, after which they decide if they want into the scheme. We will of course, get checks done but after that, we match people up.”
“Do you get to pick who you are matched with?” This was suddenly really important.
“Yes, but you then have a trial to see if you get on with your matched young person.”
Callie smiled inwardly as Lisa rolled her eyes. “Great. Where do I sign up?” Callie knew already who she wanted to match with. Lisa was a great kid. Someone just needed to show her that and it looked like Callie was going to try out for the job.

Sunday Scribblings - Alchemy

2010-03-28T11:49:00.002+01:00

At the beginning of the year, I spoke about my new character. This week's prompt from Sunday Scibblings, took me back to the first time she showed up in my mind. Im about a third of the way through her plot now and it's looking worryingly novel sized as an end product :)

So sit back, relax and enjoy my first meeting with Miralee Kane.

The green goup landed with a splat next to her foot. The acrid smell of burning hair wafted passed her nose. Brushing back her short, brown hair, Miralee retrieved her hat. She sighed, she should have known better than to mix Charlie Rainsworth and possibly volatile liquids.

Behind her, the collectively held breath slowly hissed out. She examined the hole in her favourite hat. The feel of the velvet soothed her slightly. She glanced up at the cornice that had more green goup suspended on it. A laugh bubbled up and was restrained. Schooling her face into the 'not amused' expression she had practiced in the mirror for hours, she turned.

The class sat with a mixture of horror, laughter and devilment on their faces. Charlie stared at the floor trying to appear contrite. The green goup in his singed ginger hair wasn't helping. Then again, neither was the teeny grin that was fighting to pull up the corners of the twelve year old's mouth.

“Oh Charlie. Next time, wait until it stops bubbling before adding the next ingredient.”
“'Kay Miss.”

She shook her head. And glanced at the clock. Five minutes to the end of this session of torture. “All right, everyone. Clear up as best you can and get out of here.” The responding stampede brought back memories of her own escape from similar classes. “Don't forget your homework assignments. That means you as well Amethyst Carmichael.”

The door slammed behind her students. The last of goup made its way earthward. Charlie Rainsworth would either be her star pupil one day or the death of her. She began to tidy up. Taking out her birch wand, she muttered the cleansing spell. Stacking the books on the table, she pulled out her mobile phone and checked her texts. Well, she thought, back to the office tomorrow. What would the girls say if they knew what she spent her Sundays doing.

Picking up Amethyst's homework assignment from under a desk, she popped it in the wallet to send to Amethyst's mother. How she had ended up teaching this class, Miralee wasn't sure. If she didn’t know better, she would say she’d been bewitched. She had hated School as a kid and had sworn never to inflict it on others. No-one need ever know that she actually enjoyed teaching it. Her own mother would be overjoyed and before you could say 'eye of newt' Miralee would be in charge of the School. And that would never do.

A quick explanation

2010-03-24T18:00:00.002Z

Right, I just thought I would explain my lil goal widget. Scroll down the page and you will see Kitty's Goals and it does look pretty pathetic.

Now the reason is this.

My goal is simple. I want to write something, anything, every day. So, every day I write something, whether it is a few words here, a poem, a story or my 'novel' I get a tick. If I manage to write 1000 words, I get another. If I write 2000 words, I get 2 more ticks. 3000 words = 3 more ticks and so on.

Today I wrote 2000+ words. So I get 1 tick for writing at all plus 2 extra ticks. :)

Make sense?

Where did you come from?

2010-03-24T17:17:00.002Z

I dont often blog about my writing. Mostly cos I feel a bit pretentious when I do. Im no expert and Im not published (well I am but, shush. Do e-zines count?).

Anyway, I am writing a story that hopefully will be novel sized when I am finished. I have thought long and hard over my characters, I know what they like and dont like. I know why they do the things they do and what they avoid doing. I know their favourite colour, smell and thing to eat. I know this for all my main characters.

I know lots about my supporting characters and my background characters. I know why they are there and what they will do (or not do).

Then today, out of the blue the heroine's estranged dad just showed up. Out of nowhere! I knew he wasnt in the picture and was off travelling. Now it turns out, the heroine's main talent comes from her dad and he can help her develop it further. And the hero has decided that the heroine needs her dad so he's set about tracking dad down and bringing him home!

Now, just where the hell did that come from????????

I've heard that the author is god in their writing. You decide what will happen when and where and why. And this is mostly true BUT what about the sneak attack from the character who wants is regardless of your intentions? Who is god when you are bullied by your characters to write something down at 3am and you have to be at work for 8am?

I tell you, writing is less about godhood and more about being able to stand up to your characters and tell them what you want. Then the negotiations can begin.

My Demands

2010-03-21T17:04:00.002Z

In some future time when I am a world famous writer,I shall make the following demands while travelling on my amazing book tours (where naturally I will be witty, charming and spellbinding with my readers):

A good internet connection free of charge, so I can keep in touch with my family and friends

A double room for me and my hubby (who will of course attend the tour but will no doubt be found in the sci-fi section of any bookshop I am doing a signing at)

Coca-cola not pepsi being served (sorry but I can tell the difference in a blind taste test and I know which I like most)

And finally, time to see the place I am visiting (what is the point of going somewhere if you never leave the hotel?)

But until that time, I shall stay home with our wireless and buy Coke Zero and visit far off lands and times in my minds eye.

But. One day, I will travel to sell a book. :)

The last envelope

2010-03-14T20:10:00.001Z

The post hit the mat with a thump. Amy was already half way to do the door before the dog had even left his basket. The large white envelope leaped out at her among the junk mail and bills. The white envelopes had been arriving over the last couple of weeks. This was the last one to arrive. And the one she really wanted.

Grabbing the mail, she dumped it on the table where it belonged until people picked it up. Heading for her room, she tore open the envelope. The glossy cover gleamed in the light from her desk lamp. Biting her lip, she opened she ticked off the last brochure from her list.

Flicking through the papers, she found the right section. Now to work out exactly which course she wanted to do at university. The decisions she made after reading this little book would affect the rest of her life.

All by myself? Yes please

2010-03-09T20:11:00.003Z

A conversation today has inspired me to blog.

I've long since ranted on here about 'me' space. I need it. I have to have it. There is no other way about it. If I don't have it, everyone gets to know.

But it's more than that.

I have been chased for the passed week by the song 'November Rain' by Guns N Roses. More specifically the lyric 'Everybody needs some time on their own'. And I was struck today by how true that is.

Everyone needs some time to themselves. To be free from the demands of our everyday lives. Even if we are head over heels in love, we need time to be alone and be ourselves totally and utterly. When we don't it shows up in our behaviour. We are less tolerant, we are more stressed. Alone time gives us time to relax and think totally about ourselves. It is our time to be selfish. And I think that is the reason why so few people take that alone time. They don't want to be selfish.

We are taught from a very early age that we have to share. It's good, it's polite, it's what nice children do. But then we arent told the other side of it. If we arent selfish some of the time, we lose ourselves. We have the right to say no. We have the right and the need to be a little selfish sometimes. To say we want something just for me and no one else.

There seems to be a view that sharing and selfishness are an 'either, or' situation. You are either sharing (and nice) or selfish (and bad). To me, it's a scale or continuum. The key is to get a balance of both. Share freely with people but hold something for yourself. And then (here's the tricky bit for most people) don't feel guilty about it!

So here's to my mind the circle of it (except I cant show it as a circle cos I dont know how here): You want alone time but that is selfish. Being selfish is bad so you feel guilty for being selfish. Feeling guilty makes you stressed which makes your whole life feel pressured. Feeling pressured from all sides makes you want alone time. You want alone time but that is selfish. And so on, and so on.

However, if you didnt feel guilty about taking some alone time, you would feel relaxed and re-energised. You will feel less stressed out and so be able to share more. It's time to start seeing alone time not as being selfish but as re-investing in yourself.

Have you re-invested in yourself recently?

Are you fluent?

2010-03-06T15:38:00.002Z

Fluency is a funny thing. When asked if we are fluent in a language, we tend to think of languages other than our own. For example, for many years I was semi-fluent in French. This has dwindled through lack of use but I still hold on to key phrases like 'Ou est la toilette?' and 'Trois bieres, s'il vous plait'.

However, we forget that in our main language (mine being English) we have lots of different fluencies. I speak and understand the dialects I grew up with. In many cases, these have words that can often defy translation into everyday English.

I am fluent in Bunny Speak. That halfway house of English spoken by my Goddess-daughter. We don't always use the same sounds but we understand each other and are thus fluent in the other's language.

But it's more than that. In my last post, I talked about learning someone's language and teaching them yours. In that case, we all speak English but we all have different frames of reference. So I became fluent in their language - their frames of reference. I have learned that one manager prefers to have things explained one way and another manager prefers it in a difference way. My new manager has another, new language for me to learn. When I have learned her language, Iwill be able to get ideas and thoughts across much more easily.

Every day we meet new people and learn ways of communicating with them, becoming fluent in their language. This is what makes people great! When they take the time to learn another person's language, they benefit too. Their own language changes and grows and goes on to benefit others.

We really are amazing, we take in all this fluency and take it for granted.

Who and what are you fluent in?

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings blog. Many thanks for new opportunities to become fluent in more languages.

Becoming whole

2010-03-06T10:55:00.005Z

A post from the lovely Andy at The Spiritual Journey of a Somerset Pagan has sent me thinking.

In his post Celebrating Difference set me to thinking about how I have managed to come through a crisis of conflict of personal and work life.

When I first started working in my office, I was open about my disability (I walk with a stick, not much choice really) but I kept silent about my beliefs. Who I was at work was almost like a costume that I would put on walking through the doors. I was me but only part of me. I would shunt the part of me that was Pagan into a corner and shut it off for the day. Walk out the doors, I would pick that part up again and feel more whole.

Funnily enough, I became more and more dissatisfied with my working environment. I felt drained by the work I had previously enjoyed. I couldn't wait to get out of work, just to be me again.

This went on for a while. I became ill more. Tired more. And generally a pain in the rear to live with. My creativity dried up and I felt stagnant and lost.

Something had to give and I didnt want it to be my spiritual side. So I set about introducing my pagan side to my working side. I brought in a few crystals in a bag to keep next to my computer. I bought in a room spray which cleansed the area. My colleagues immediately noticed a difference. Tensions would leave more quickly. If the boss was in a bad mood, the rest of us could more easily ignore it.

At first I introduced the idea that I dont follow Orthodox religion. Then as the questions came, I was open and honest about my thoughts and beliefs. My office has a mixed bag of people from the New Life Christian to the lapsed Catholic. They reacted as they had been taught but by staying open and the same as ever, they slowly got used to it.

As an active member of the Pagan Federation, I began talking about the events I was helping to organise. I asked their advice on how to set up events and get opinions from them about how I was explaining my beliefs. I also would explain things in a way they understood. Growing up, I had been encouraged to learn about the beliefs in the U.K. I attended a school with Christian leanings. I did Religious Education along with everyone else. I wasnt specifically brought up with any religion, just with an open mind and an encouragement to use it.

I had learned to speak their language, as it were. I knew where they were coming from and I used their frame of reference to explain my beliefs. I will often explain the different types of Pagan as being like the different denominations of Christianity. They share base ideas but differ in how they are practiced. I can then lead this into more in depth ideas.

This has lead to me being considered the 'go to girl' on faith matters within my office and within the agency that I work with. This was an unexpected consequence of my openness. And yet, I dont mind it. If I can help people to understand and learn about other faiths as well as my own, then I believe that can only be for the good. The more we are open and learn from each other, the more we all benefit.

Equality and Diversity should be more than a policy in a file, brought out once in a while to be looked at and agreed on. True equality and diversity is about being open to new ideas and concepts and about being willing to change. That doesnt mean we have to give up our own principles and beliefs but to allow that we dont know everything. True equality and diversity, for me, is about allowing ourselves and others to be themselves be it spiritually, physically, or any other way. It's about respecting each other and who we are.

What do you think?

Sunday Scribblings No 201 - Message

2010-02-07T19:47:00.003Z

From the wonderful writing prompt blog Sunday Scribblings, here is my response.

The Message

The paper was crisp and new in her hand. She crumpled the envelope in her other hand and tossed it onto the scarred desk. It rolled to a stop amid the drooping contact sheets.

COME HOME STOP P STOP

The words of the telegram blurred like a shot out of focus. The sticky heat swirled around her driven by a lazy whirring fan. Home. So cool and fresh. It called to her, a siren’s call. And yet, she’d worked so hard for her freedom here.

Come home. So simple but it wasn’t. Home meant family and the restraints of them. Could she really face them after all that had happened? All she’d done. Cradling the comforting weight of her camera, she remembered home. The green and bobbing flowers of the garden. Her mother’s voice raised in song. Her sister’s laughing face. Her sister laughed no more and her mother no longer sang.

Walking across the bare wooden floor, she picked up her trusty duffel bag already half packed as always. It took moments to pack her things, her toiletries and clothes. Carefully, she stowed her camera in its sturdy silver case that gleamed dully in the harsh afternoon light. Turning her back on the little room she walked to door. Yes, home. She would go home and see what was to be done.

Another year, another photo

2010-02-05T13:49:00.004Z

It's become almost a tradition for me to post my Imbolc altar on my blog. I think this is because I connect to Imbolc the most. The Goddess Brighid calls to me and I answer every year.

Last year's ritual was lovely but not great as I felt railroaded by others suddenly wanting to take part. I dont mind people sharing my rituals, however I do resent people sitting watching me prepare and saying nothing, then 5 minutes before asking what they are to do. If people want to share that's fine but they must contribute more than their presence.

This year was sooooo much better. Hubby and I discussed it before hand and he contributed ideas and thoughts. My ritual is roughly the same every year but with minor differences that develop the ritual. I think this is vital. A root idea that develops over the years.

I feel that this year, my magical practice will develop a lot and I will finish my year with a good idea of where I want to be in the future with it. I am coming into contact with people and ideas that touch my path and inform it. I love this.

Imbolc Blessings everyone!

Sunday Scribblings No 200 - Milestone

2010-02-03T13:47:00.002Z

Milestones are funny things. In my case, I tend to only notice them after they happen. I have had a few milestones this past year, both good and bad.

In 2009, I began teaching others. Something which still scares the daylights out of me but I really enjoy (after first five minutes hyperventilation). The teaching I do is fairly informal in that I organise a Discussion Group and get them started and pipe up my own thoughts. This also involves keeping an eye on who isnt contributing for whatever reason.

Last month (February already? How did that happen?) I gave some more formal training. By this I mean, I stood up in front of total strangers and trained them in decision making for a grants panel. I hate public speaking with a vengeance but actually, this wasnt as bad as I had thought. I knew my materials backwards and even handled the irritating City Councillor who insisted everything be explained in terms of being a Councillor.

Milestones are great to look for. They remind us to look back at what we have done and what we have enjoyed and to take that knowledge into the future.

It reminds me of my (current) favourite phrase I found:

Learn from Yesterday
Live for Today
Dream for Tomorrow.

Poetry Slam entry

2010-02-03T13:44:00.001Z

This should have gone up yesterday but I managed to break myself on Sunday and have only just managed to get back to the computer.

Anyway, here for the 5th Annual Poetry Slam is:

Snowdrops

Peeping out of hedgerows

Nestled in the roots

Protected from the season’s grip

Seeking the growing sun

White bowed heads

‘Gainst long green frocks

Demure yet strong as well

Bending, not breaking, ‘neath the wind

Frost does not faze them

Rain is their friend

A little sun is all they need

To show their faces again.

5th annual Cyberspace Poetry Slam for Brigid

2010-01-31T10:26:00.001Z

Feel free to copy the following to your blog/facebook/website and spread
the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2010

WHERE: Your blog

WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to
post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on
this post. Last year when the call went out there was more poetry in
cyberspace than I could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear
about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.

Please pass this invitation on

Sunday Scribbling catching up

2010-01-31T10:13:00.002Z

Still a week late, but I'm here!

Sunday Scribblings #199 - Yes

"Mum?" I gripped the phone, my new ring catching my eye, "I'm getting married!"
"Yes," said Mum. "I know, I dreamt it last night. The 3rd of June looks good but dont let your cousin Billy and Uncle Jack sit next to each other if you want to save the dress."
I sighed. Having a psychic for a mother could be a real pain in the ass.

Sunday Scribblings a little late

2010-01-30T10:16:00.002Z

Ok. So Im a little late with this one. Still I got there. Eventually.

It's a mad, mad world.

So.... here is my Sunday Scribblings No 198 - The Good Old Days (yes two week late but shush).

“Zack get yourself down here!” Mum was getting mad. Zack flicked through the Screen channels again, stalling. He didn’t want to seem eager to get down there.

“I’m warning you Zachary Aymes! If I have to come up there, there will be trouble.” He checked the time. Yup 2030 hours. Right on schedule as always. Grandfather wanted to tell the family his stories of days gone by. Mum and Dad loved that. Callie loved it too. He had once but now he knew better.

Tramping down the stairs, he wondered which opening they would get first tonight. “When I were a lad” was a popular opener to begin the half hour story telling session. Which would then move to “In the Good Old Days”. As a kid, he had listened and been captured by the stories. But they were just that, stories.

The family room was cosily laid out. Not a living room, or hang out, a Family Room – with capitals you could hear. This was all so last century, literally. Mum had poured over links for hours to get this look. The Family Room was the place for Quality Time. Mum and Dad worked all day and the colony was too far away from home to get regular visitors. So Quality Time was important, they said.

Mum and Dad were talking. Something about irrigation and hydration. Zack tuned it out, they were still working really. Callie was playing with her doll. She preferred aeroboarding but right now, she played with the doll to make Mum and Dad happy. Later on Sally doll would be helping Callie figure out the next ‘board move.

Grandfather shuffled to his chair and settled. Listening into conversations to get the link to his first story.

“Hey sis, what ya up to?” he asked Callie. Knowing his parents expected the siblings to get on.

“Not a lot. Rainbow Anderson broke her arm today. She cant do backflips or anything!” Rainbow Anderson was Callie’s arch enemy. They both ‘board but Callie is better. Rainbow’s ‘board is more expensive than Callie’s courtesy of Grandfather (Children must learn the value of things) but Callie is better on any ‘board.

“That’ll put her off her swing.”

“That reminds me of a story,” said Grandfather. “When I were a lad, we didn’t have aeroboards, we had skateboards and skater kids.” Callie rolled her eyes. Zack grinned. This one again. The dangers of skateboards and the crowd of kids that ‘board in any century.

Zack tuned it out mostly. Still picking up the cue to nod and agree at times while planning what to do Saturday. Not that there were many places to go here. The Mall was a joke and the Yards were boring. Aeroboarding was huge here. It was the only thing to do really. He’d just hang out as usual and see what turned up. He figured on swapping creds for Pizza from Max’s. Max’s mum was pretty cool. She figured one day a week on Junk wasn’t so bad.

The story ground to a halt and Grandfather smiled his contented smile. This was his chance.

“Dad? Can I get some Screenies? All the guys have ‘em.” he asked. Trying to stay cool.

Dad sighed. “We’ve had this discussion. They are bad for your eyes AND your concentration. Studies have shown that children using Screen Shades may well become photosensitive.”

Zack sighed. “But I have the creds saved. And it is my money.” Careful, that would set off another “When I was a lad”

“We discussed it and said no. Not every new tech is a good thing.”

“In the Good Old Days,” chimed in Grandfather. “There wasn’t all this tech about. No. We happy with our bad health care, our homeless people, the tech wasn’t needed to clean up streets, we had low paid workers to do it.”

Mum and Dad stared at Grandfather in horror. This was not the usual story line. Zack stared at the floor, laughter jumping in his stomach. Callie was looking at Grandfather in amazement.

“We drove in polluting cars, packed onto overused roads and didn’t bother to do anything about it really. We were happy.” said Grandfather. “Why, I can remember this one time, it took me 2 hours to get to work by car through rush hour traffic and road rage. You could smell the exhaust fumes through the old AC.”

Mum jumped up. “Where the hell is the instruction manual?”

“Dunno. Mandy cleaned it away.” Mandy was the maid.

Mum ran from the room and Zack could hear her searching through the Readers for the manual – which was currently residing under the composter. She came through with two in her hand. “It’s not there!”

“It has to be,” said Dad.

“It’s not. I have the Maid’s manual, the gardener’s but not grandfather’s.”

“Mum? What’s a ‘boozer’?” asked 10 year old Callie. “It sounds fun. Can we get one?”

“NO!” shouted Mum and Dad together.

Callie turned on the waterworks. “But why not? It sounds like lots of people had one and got into lots of fun. Grandfather said so.”

Grandfather was telling stories of pub crawls and drinking contests. And fights. Zack could barely keep a straight face. Mum and Dad were frantic. This was the ultimate!

“Mum? What about a ‘pint’? Is that a drink.” Callie was thirsty, it seemed.

“I’ll get her a drink, mum,” offered Zack. He needed to breathe and if he did it in here they were bound to work it out. “Pink fizzy?”

Callie’s eyes rounded. Pink fizzy was her weekend treat and never allowed on a school night.

Mum waved at the kitchen. “Sure. Whatever.”

Zack headed for kitchen. Callie followed. Not giving her parents chance to change their minds.

Passing Callie her fizzy, Zack grinned. “Grandfather’s in trouble I think.”

Callie nodded. Not risking stopping drinking til the fizzy was gone. “Yeah,” she gasped when finished. “Looks like we get to watch Screen tomorrow like every other normal person. Reckon I can ditch that stupid Sally doll now?”

“Give it a couple more days.”

Callie went back to fetch the doll. Zack grinned and helped himself to a Coke. Mandy the maid powered up to clear up the empty fizzy bottle.

“Can I help at all, Zachary Aymes?” she asked in her fake cheerful voice.

“No thanks, Mandy. I’ll clean this up.” He said, waving the coke bottle. Mandy powered down.

It was amazing what Tech class and a bit of research had done for Grandfather-bot. He looked a Mandy. Maybe a bit of personality in here would work too. He headed to his room. Mum and Dad were desperately calling the maintenance line. They were on hold. The hold music was loud and tinny. He grinned. Maybe they would ditch the droids altogether. Time to look at the copied manuals again.

I did it!

2010-01-14T12:42:00.003Z

I did.

I came, I saw, I trained!

I took a course a couple of years ago in how to train people. I loved the course, I liked the training techniques, I really enjoyed the people. But..... I also have a rather bad phobia of being the focus of attention. It's not public speaking that scares me as such, it's the idea of all those people staring at me.

It all comes from my disability. I have really bad balance. I can fall over myself without any assistance from obstacles. I can even start to topple over just by being stood up. All this means that I will at some point go base over apex if I am not really careful. Or at least end up leaning on walls in a somewhat bemused fashion.

Anyway.... I always think that I will somehow end up on the floor while everyone is watching. Then comes phase 2 of my fears - getting back up. It's extremely painful (and not just because my pride is somewhat damaged) and getting up is a complicated matter. So, I will do a lot to avoid it happening.

However, on Tuesday, I put all this cubbins aside and just did it. I gave some training. I was stood up and the centre of attention for nearly 3 hours. After the first 10 minutes of my brain going 'What the HELL do you think you are doing?' I did really well. I got some great feedback and, you know, I may well do it again.

Hurrah for me! Today, a half day training course; tomorrow, the world? Or maybe just the pub (well, it will be Friday!)

Sunday Scribblings No 197 - Extreme

2010-01-10T21:38:00.004Z

Ok, this one had me stumped. I toyed with it, I let it percolate in my subconscious and.... nowt.

Then I realised, I rarely use the word. It's not one that I am all that familiar with. Hubby on the other hand will go from one extreme to the other while I potter along the middle(ish) road. I seek balance and this means not being extreme.

And then I realised something else.... a life lived in total moderation can be extremely limiting.

Thanks Sunday Scribblings for this thought.

An update

2010-01-09T14:07:00.003Z

Well, I seem to have received a real creative kick up the butt. I have started writing again!!!! *Does lil happy dance*

My character has started living her life and telling me what to do about it. I have a half formed plot and almost a workable genre. All this reading I have been doing in my lunch break seems to be paying off. The fact that my reading tastes are somewhat eclectic is neither here nor there. :)

I dont know at the moment, if the character is after a short story or what yet but I cant wait to find out!

In other news, I have started work on a sewing project and I love it too! Both my new projects are pulling me away from World of Warcraft (a good thing) and giving me energy too.

Now, if I can only find the person who has been singing 'Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow, with such success, I hope to persuade them to sing 'Let It Stop' instead. :)

Here is the view from my window:

And here is the Rosemary valiantly staying the course:

New Leaf

2010-01-03T10:06:00.002Z

My New Leaf for this year is actually an old leaf revitalised. My New Leaf is to get myself writing again.

Last year's chaos will glide into a New Year with more focus. Honest.

Life is going to change soon, whether I meet it or not. So, I will meet it and see where it takes me. This includes my writing. I fully plan to integrate writing time into my life no matter how it changes. I will learn to dance in the rain with my whole heart (and a few cliches).

So.... My writing plans are: to do Sunday Scribblings which gave me this writing prompt; to find me a character I can giggle with through the year; and to write that character some adventure.

I love a good goal, dont you?

Happy New Year!!!

2010-01-02T12:40:00.003Z

Here's the thing. I wanna write but I appear to have the mental discipline of a Guppy with ADHD. I was full of plans and so forth and then......... nowt, nothing, na da. I found 'other things' to do.

However, when my crowning achievement for 2009 appears to be that I have managed to get 2 characters on WoW to almost lvl 80, I realised I needed help (or a swift kick up the butt).

Sooo......

I went on't net and found this Sunday Scribblings I likes it. So I'm gonna have a go and see where it leads me. I have also made a goal (not a resolution!) to do some creative project at least on a bi-monthly basis. I will track on this here blog, what I do and how I get on.

On a side note.... I am currently working on this. Its called Brickstorming. Have a go, its fun and harder than it looks (either that or my creativity has packed up and left for the hills when I was on WoW).

And thus, I end this rambling.

Happy New Year folks, may the year be fulfilling and joy-filled for you!

Gratuitous Cuteness

2009-07-22T21:56:00.004+01:00

Just thought I would pop a couple of pics of the new Kitten. Warning Gratuitous Cuteness!

Loafing

2009-07-20T18:13:00.003+01:00

This passed weekend I loafed. There is no other word for it. I buried myself at home and did as little as possible. I read, I played online and watched TV. And I have to say, it was GLORIOUS!

I think that in my life, I would have to say that I spend a lot of time doing projects, seeing friends and generally running around like a loon. To take a break and vegitate for one weekend has done me so much good. I returned to work ready for a challenge and to be active.

That said, I dont think I will be loafing too much. I was getting rapidly restless towards the end. This says something about me I think. I like a couple of days of relaxing but then I need something to do. Look at me, when I did I become this productive? lol!

Um. Wow. Er. Hi?

2009-07-17T13:48:00.002+01:00

Oops.

I have no excuse and nothing to say but.. um... where did the time go?

Ok. Brief recap on the passed few, er, months.

Lemme see.

Housemate and baby have moved out. This was at the beginning of June. There was a moment of chaos followed by a stunned quiet. It took a couple of weeks to fully get my brain to realise I could once again wander round my home stark naked if I so chose (and no, I am not saying if I have). We are still getting things back to normal. I have unpacked boxes that were put away for safe keeping and can revel in having all my books out :D

I am still employed and still plotting the demise of various residents I have to deal with on a regular basis. One of the Community Development Workers is now on Adoption Leave so the office is manic and I am doing different work so not quite going round the bend yet. My contact is up in March and I putting serious thought into whether I want this job or not. On the one hand, it's not a bad job and only has a few niggles. On the other, I need more creative freedom than I currently have. We will see at the moment.

My life is still being eaten by World of Warcraft (still not linking it if you wanna risk it, on your own head be it). However, the addiction is more manageable and I can actually spend time away doing other things. Which is good cos I has projects.

Project A: Pagan Conference 2010. Yes I am doing it again and yes this may qualify for an insanity plea at some point.

Project B: Brace yourselves, more insanity ensues. I am co-ordinating a multi-faith event in November for my local Interfaith group. Yes, I think this event organising thing may also be addictive.

Finally, I has a kitten! A friend's cat (almost wrote a friend has) has had kittens. And one was soooo cute. And is now mine! *Dances* She occasionally drives me nuts but is cute. We only have to drag her away from something she didnt ought to have maybe 3 or 4 times a day. She is getting better though. Either that or she has learned how not to get caught!

Right. Back to the employment thing and then home to relax for the weekend. Friday is here and there is alcohol at the end of it!

It's good to be back!

Just bimbling

2009-04-20T13:32:00.002+01:00

Not been blogging much as to be honest, I have been bimbling. This means to wander along not really taking note of the world or doing much.

I've been bimbling to work, going home, playing on the computer and then going to bed. For a normally active and productive person, I have done very little this passed month - and boy it has felt gooooooood.

Work is a bit better, the new hours seem to be working. Although the bosses were all on leave last week so that might have something to do with it. :)

Home is the same. Very little movement other than my hand to the knife drawer now and again. My temper is on a pretty short fuse to the point that I turned into a bit of a cow the other day. Took myself off for a bit to calm down which worked but I can see the end of that tether and it's getting closer.

Having some wierd dreams of late though. I dont tend to have nightmares (I learned to lucid dream years ago which means when the adrenaline kicks in so does the lucid dreaming) but these ones have been particularly violent and involve me either fixing something with violence or starting something with violence. It doesnt take much of a leap to work out why though does it.

Anyways, life is pretty good with the occasional 'grrrrr' moment. One day, I will be able to go home and dance naked in my living room (curtains closed). I live for that day.

Rejuvenated

2009-04-05T09:30:00.001+01:00

Wow, it has been a while again.

To be honest, I havent even been looking at other people's blog never mind actually looking at my own. Life has been rather hectic these past couple of weeks. So a quick catch is in order, methinks.

Right, so the 'trouble at mill' has died down. A slight change to my working hours and everyone is happy again (sort of - I didnt get exactly what I wanted but neither did the bosses, so everyone is happy with something but not everything which is apparently close enough). The new hours take effect from Monday and we will see how it goes. The good news is that the next fortnight we have a 4 day week thanks to Bank Holidays. Woo Hoo!

The PF Conference went well. Not stupendously well but good. There were too many folks to play with (good thing in the end) but it was well received by all who attended both stall-holder, speaker and attendees. The staff were run ragged but the reasons for this will be looked at. I am even planning on a SWOT analysis of sorts so we can evaluate what happened for the next time. Oh yes, and there is a next time. Next year, in fact. With the same madness. Why did I agree to this? Again.

The court case I have been involved with for the past two years has finally ended. Sentencing was last Tuesday and I can finally get back to worrying about small things not whether my family is going to fall apart at a moment's notice. I know there will still be fall out but things are returning to previously set grooves and I feel calmer again. All I can say is, for a Legal System supposed to help victims, it doesnt half treat them badly. Once they are done with you, you are pretty much dumped elsewhere and forgotten, even made to feel like an inconvenience at times. Not impressed. At all. But, anyway. This may the source for an article or two at some point. There's a pamplet about being a witness available, I am think a pamphlet on surviving the system is needed too.

Finally, Spring is definately here at last. It has been a very long winter for me. I am looking forward to the increased Sun and warmth. I can feel my energy growing with the Sun. Here's to hazy days and sun drenched parks with a good book (either writing or reading) and good people. The Sun is shining and I'm reading to play.

Surpreme irony

2009-03-18T15:20:00.002Z

Ok. so Tuesday was a crappy day. I got chewed out by the boss for not being on top of my work.

Today, Wednesday, I have finished all assigned work and have nothing to do.

Ironic? Yes. Will this be noted? No.

I love my job :S

Mildly panicked but getting there

2009-03-15T08:53:00.002Z

I have less than two weeks before the PF Conference.

Oh mother goddess, how did that happen???

Work has been challenging since having a week off. I think it did me good but I now have all the things I should have got done in that week to do on top of the new things. My lips are above the waterline but only just.

My plans are turning into a reality and it feel both good and terrifying. Will I have enough of everything? Will I end up with more materials than kids? Will I still be conscious by the evening entertainment. Will I get the programmes sorted out in time? So many things, so little, little time.

*Breaths*

It will all be fine. It will all be fine. It will all be fine. But maybe I should think about laying of the caffeine. :)

Bleuh!

2009-03-05T08:55:00.002Z

WARNING: RANT AHEAD, PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY!

Different people react differently when they are poorly.

Some people go from being assertive people to whiny infants. Some people dont want to acknowledge they are ill. Some people milk it for all it's worth. I like to think I have a realistic attitude to being ill. I will look after myself while the symptoms are about and take one extra day to make sure it wont come back. This is where I think most people go wrong. They take all the medications (which I do too) and then think they are better. They go back to work and end up more ill. The thing that annoys me then is that they then give whatever it is they have to their colleagues.

I have had a cold almost constantly since last October. I am heartily sick of being ill. I am having to go to work when I am still ill so that I dont take too much time off. While the person I caught it all off is back at work and fine and complaining I might give it back! This has resulted in me having sinitus and cold sores around my nose - making it very uncomfortable to sneeze! I also have a nasty cough which is trying to become a chest infection. Bah!

I am normally a fairly ok poorly person. I will take time to recover and prefer to not lie in bed. I like to be up cos I feel better then but this last lot is really doing my head in. I want to be healthy (for me) again. I want to be able to get up in the morning without my head wanting to explode. It's not much is it.

The little things

2009-02-26T15:59:00.002Z

It really is the little things in life that make or break your day.

I have finally seen the signs of spring returning. On the bus the other morning, I saw a garden lawn covered in Crocuses (Crocii?). More than Snowdrops, the Crocus has always meant spring is returning. I was happy all day after seeing those. It really perked me up.

Now to start looking for the swallows and swifts :)

Touching base

2009-02-23T12:27:00.002Z

Well, its been a full month.

I am now totally addicted to World of Warcraft. It is amazing stress relief to sit and kill of random monsters after a day at the office. You would be amazed how much transference goes on!

It's been an interesting process at work as well. It took a while to break my brain out of the 'I am leaving soon, I dont really care' attitude. I am finally getting my desk how I want it. It's nice and colourful and pleasant to work on now. Instead of paper infested and dour. I have some pretty boxes and so forth and I starting to populate it with pictures. :)

I have just over a month to go before the PF Conference (10 pound a ticket, for all day plus evening entertainment with The Band From County Hell, I have some with me!) and I have it all planned, I just need to start collecting materials. I am getting to that twitchy stage where I want it all organised and just need the money to get started (10 pound, very reasonable). I just want to get started!!! (Breath)

So all in all, a bland month but hey, I have a Mage character to kill things with. Does that count as productive?

Sunday Mornings

2009-02-08T09:15:00.004Z

I have the firm belief that Sunday Mornings are designed for relaxing and doing as little as possible while still breathing.

This belief has held true for many, many years. Right up until I started writing that is. You see, my Sunday mornings are now spent either crossed eyed with fatigue or writing until my eyes cross with fatigue. Are you sensing a theme?

Nevermind. It is a minor thing really. My thoughts at the moment are for the people in Australia with their nasty heatwave and Docwitch and her family. It really just puts it all in perspective.

Head over to Docwitch and lend her your positive thoughts.

Imbolc 09

2009-02-03T19:57:00.005Z

Well, how strange to think that it has been a full year since my last altar pic. I tend to me more fussy about Imbolc as I follow Brighid more than any other God or Goddess.

This year we had a ritual with me, hubby, M and Bunny. It was amusing as Bunny has glorious timing. We did it in the living room where her toys were and right as things were getting serious she turned on her ball popper which had us all in stitches.

Anyhoo, here are some pics.

Here is our Altar (the tealight candle flames have been pointing to the centre candle all evening)

This is my Lady Elizabeth with some friends:

And here is our youngest participant enjoy her share of the Ewe's milk cheese we had instead of cake and ale.

Happy Imbolc to everyone!

Imbolc Poetry Slam

2009-02-02T19:08:00.002Z

I am

I am the apple seed bursting forth with glorious bounty

The fruits of my labours are few yet manifold

The winds of change blow through me as I walk my path through life

Welcomed in with open arms

Girl and daughter; woman, wife

Standing tall within the breeze, I bend but do not break

Magic courses all around me, from my roots up to my head

The life I lead I choose from the tapestry that founds me

Simple choice, many actions

Girl and daughter; woman, wife

Alone or in a crowd, I wait with curious patience

Shading smaller plants beside me as they walk their paths

Drawing comfort from the Earth and the strength provided me

For I cannot grow unnurtured

Girl and daughter; woman, wife

January, A Month in Review

2009-02-01T11:27:00.003Z

January in Review

Summary (3 sentence max)
A challenging month full of uncertainty and change and yet life remains unchanged. Sharing joy at a first birthday and taking time out for me.

Fun
Planning a birthday and hanging out with old friends

Challenging
Dealing with not knowing whether I would have a job at the end of the month.

Thoughtful
Wondering where I will go with my career

An insight/thought
The Big Bad Wolf often turns out to be not so big after all

Website/blog Find
Holistic Mama - Inspirational

Words (quote/reading/book recommendation/1 sentence review!/anything word-related)
"Bunny, leave my printer alone!" Possibly one of the most said phrases by me this month.

Note to Self
Peanut butter squares dont taste the same as peanut butter (which I hate).

Favourite Tip/Idea from web
Lovely egg covers for Ostara http://www.crochetmemories.com/archive/april7.html

Slice of home (A photo of a tiny corner of your home, or objects, that represent something about this month)

The Chaos is that is home. This picture was taken as I did this post!

Um.... Oops

2009-01-31T20:23:00.002Z

Well, I've done it again.

I have joined forces with some other writers to set the goal of writing a novel in one year. That includes writing, finishing and editing it all in one year. I know I can write it but I have a little trouble with editing. As in, I don't do it. I know it needs doing but I really struggle to get back to a novel once I have done with the writing bit.

Anyway, this means writing 20k words a month. Which is less than NaNoWriMo and NaNoCoMo but still it is 20k a month. I feel a bit daunted but I have determined I will do it. I shall be including my word count on this blog and probably on the joint blog we are setting up. So, kick me if you dont hear how I am getting on.

Here is the url for the joint blog http://oneyearonenovel.blogspot.com/

Wish me luck!!

Funny Old World

2009-01-30T15:56:00.003Z

Well, it's been a while hasnt it?

I was just thinking the other day how funny we can be in certain situations. When we are thrown together in room with perfect strangers we either sit in silence or we end up gossiping as if we had know these people forever. I ended up having a conversation with people I will never ever meet again and we were laughing like old friends. How weird and yet how reassuring.

I have also discovered the art of meaningful conversations that say absolutely nothing. You sit, you talk in confidential terms and talk about absolutely nothing.

Well, at least I can safely say these are skills that shouldnt go on the C.V. but a very useful in my line of work. It's a funny old world.

Invitation to The Fourth Annual Brigid in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam

2009-01-19T13:04:00.002Z

Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2009
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid

Image by Lisa Iris

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post, where the Slam originated. Or link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers. Thanks to Reya, who began what is now an annual event, and Deborah Oak for continuing it.

I am a horse!?!

2009-01-17T11:17:00.003Z

Thanks to Holistic Mama for putting me onto this personality test. I think it may actually be the first time I have been called a Horse and found it a compliment. :) Although I think I may have the proportions of a large shetland pony or perhaps a Thelwell?

Take the test here: http://www.animalinyou.com/survey.asp

Horse
Genera and species: Equus ballus
Collective Term: A team of horses

Description
Horses are those strong, capable people that breeze through life with envious ease. But a closer look at these free-spirited personalities finds surprisingly complicated individuals that are sensitive to criticism and hate to be ignored.

No one should say anything behind the horse's back though, for its sense of hearing is fiercely acute and its temper carries quite a kick. Friendly, sensible, and ticklish, horses insist at taking charge of their lives unless a special someone comes along and takes control. Then the horse suddenly becomes a supportive, broad-shouldered mate ready to go anywhere and support any burden for the good of the relationship. They are deliberate creatures and are always trying to anticipate life's obstacles. Although it is capable of bounding over most challenges, it certainly isn't too proud to admit its shortcomings by taking the easy route wherever possible.

With confidence in their strength and speed, horses are unintimidated by hard physical work. Their stamina makes them good candidates for any type of manual labor and they are dedicated employees. When tasked with challenging jobs, they'll champ at the bit to show off their capabilities. With their gregarious natures, these sturdy beasts generally rise to the top of their fields, especially in sales and public relations positions, but due to their lack of aggression are not natural leaders. They prefer to slipstream behind others and control events from behind the scenes. If they are to be found in the political arena, it is usually in a key advisory position and are almost never the person in the limelight.

There are very few true friends in the horse's stable of acquaintances, for the carefree horse simply does not have the time to cultivate deep relationships. It's not that the horse is a loner or anything, it simply prefers the freedom of uncommitted alliances. Horses are great protectors of their children who are encouraged to sow their wild oats. But they always maintain a tight rein and children are only allowed to gambol close to home. The horse relaxes its discipline as its offspring matures and once it has reached young adulthood, it is given a word of encouragement, a slap on the tail and sent on its way.

The best way to get a horse's attention is to be patient and gentle, for the horse responds better to a whisper than it does a shout.