A lost boy

It is that time of year again. I can feel it washing over me. It always creeps up softly at first then, with more force, it pushes and bumps then knocks me sideways. Having a miscarriage is a misunderstood condition. People can be cruel. They try to make excuses for you, some think they are being kind (they mean it to be sympathetic) but phrases like 'you weren't meant to have that child', 'there must have been something wrong with it', never mind, you can try for another' don't help. After a number of miscarriages the remarks intensify ; ' you are not meant to be a mother', 'maybe you are just meant to be an aunty', 'if you want children that much, why don't you work with them'. Then the really hurtful, 'you must have done something bad to deserve this', 'it's karma getting you back for a past life misdemeanour', 'at least you can get pregnant, there are many who can't', 'try again, you are young enough!' Someone in work, who had 5 children, tried to joke ' to lose 1 is upsetting, to lose 8 is careless.' Thankfully the rest of the office chose not to laugh, they just sort of shuffled paper and put their heads down. And then after my stillbirth ' you must have done something wrong or eaten something or stretched too much , etc .... '. (as if it was my fault) 'you got this far, you can always have another!' 'Why are you so upset. It's not as if you knew it properly.' 'When you have the next one you can forget all about this one (and all the others ) and put them all behind you.' How dare they suggest that one baby can wipe out the loss of another. No baby can be replaced. Every baby left a print on my heart. Any baby following it left their print next to the previous one. This week is the 28th anniversary of our stillborn son. The fact is, nothing prepares you for the death of a baby. Every girl from early childhood who has ever played with dolls, expects to be able to grow up, fall in love, get married and have a baby; well maybe not all of those or in that order, but certainly if you get married it is generally presumed that a baby will follow eventually. Not even the eight miscarriages I had over the 6 year run up to his conception could have prepared me for the wave of grief I felt losing this baby, this perfect child, that I had carried and grown to love for months. Even more cruel than the previous lost pregnancies was the knowledge that this one was THE one. The one who would survive. I'd had the tests and discovered I had an immune problem. My immune system didn't recognise a pregnancy, and was rejecting it. Pushing it out of my body. Fighting it. But the hospital university staff had a new weapon. They took cells from tissue from placentas (afterbirths from women who had just given birth) and they made a serum that they infused into my system to teach the antibodies to recognise a pregnancy. I was a guinea pig on the trial of this new wonder serum. Ten of us had the treatment then all we had to do was sit back, rest and wait for the baby to grow, be born and live happily ever after. My happy ever after didn't happen at that time. I was the only one who delivered early. Not the university hospitals fault. My cervix had weakened after so many miscarriages and couldn't hold up the weight of the growing boy. A simple stitch at 14 weeks rectified that in my next pregnancy, but at the end of this one I was left without a baby again. A son. A perfect beautiful son. Nothing wrong with him except that he fell through a loose trap door far too early. The trauma that followed has stayed with me for life. The staff were busy. They were in a hurry, they didn't know my history, I was in a different hospital. They didn't offer for me to hold him and I was too dazed after 6 hours of contractions without pain relief (the drs were too busy to check me and prescribe it) to ask to hold him. They held him up in front of me then put him in a bucket and took him away. He was two weeks too young at that time to warrant a burial. The guilt of not holding him and telling him I loved him and the grief from watching the way he made his departure from the room has stayed with me for twenty eight years. It doesn't get any easier. I am suffering more and more from the constant 'what if' syndrome. It haunts me . Don't get me wrong. I went on to have a beautiful daughter and a handsome son not just in looks but in everything and I love them both very much, but I feel that I let my first boy down. That I didn't insist on spending time with him, holding him and telling him how much we cared for him and loved him. I didn't tell him that I would miss him and never forget him. I let myself be intimidated by the impatience of the nursing staff, and not wanting to be a nuisance and stop them from getting on with their care of the other patients, I didn't demand my moment. These days they can save babies born as early as mine was, they also ask if you want a proper burial/cremation and photo of your stillborn now too. I have a special place where I go to remember him each year. The Liverpool catholic Cathedral has a chapel dedicated to babies with no resting place. I can sit there and light a candle and fill in a slip of paper with a message to him and put it in their file for prayers to be said. I am not a catholic, but it is a comfort. I also have a place by a river where I leave him a card in a hole made by roots of the tree. I sit there quietly and meditate and ask the angels to look after him although in truth I am sure he is really up there looking after me. http://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/

The woodpeckers song

The woodpeckers song.

The first thing I saw in the living room was the squat lamp, with its light glowing warmly from a fat shade, sitting on the dark stained, low, chunky wooden table in the corner.

I sat down in the comfy two seater sofa and picked up the country living magazine from the coffee table next to the sofa. The front of the magazine had an attractive golden orange and brown wreath on a cottage door as an illustration but as I leafed through the pages it was the article on the Pendle Witches that took my attention. I settled back to read it. It was interesting to see Alice Nutter portrayed from a journalist point of view. She of course was the main, most famous witch from the Lancaster Witch trials.

It was about three thirty in the afternoon and the light was dimming outside. It was the perfect time of day for a coffee and a relax with a magazine, being the interval between the daily chores and the preparation of the evening meal. 'My guilty pleasure' time, as I called it. The house was warm and cosy.

 I looked up from the article in the magazine and my eyes were taken with the clock on the wall. It had been bought n a trip to scar top at Haworth and the first time my husband and I had fallen for a piece of wall art at the same time. The setting sun was sending it's last fingers of light to the burnished metal and the colours it revealed echoed the autumn colours outside. Warm reds and oranges, golds and glints of green, all added to the ambience and relaxed me further.

 The woodpecker was tapping in the woods. I could hear him quite well even when indoors, with all doors and windows shut. When we first moved in I used to think it was a visitor at the door and regularly went to answer it. What a fool I had been, a regular towny. Now he is my friend and neighbour and I listen out for his visits and look for the flashes of colour.

 Through the French windows I spied the woodpecker on the peanuts that were hanging from a bracket on the fence. The bracket was in the shape of a witch. My husband had crafted it for my birthday and joked that he had made it in my likeness.

I slowly got up out of the chair even more slowly, made my way to the window to look more closely at him. Usually he would catch me approaching and fly off, but he just stayed there. I moved closer, he moved off the nuts and sat on the witches broom. I moved closer still, until I was right up against the window. I could have sworn he winked at me. I winked back.

 My border collie chose this moment to enter the room. He came to the window and looked out in the direction of the hanging peanuts. He gave a low growl and tilted his head to one side, then he backed off slightly and growled again this time from curiosity. The woodpecker replied by spreading its wings out, but not to fly, it looked like an embrace.

 It was all very strange. I had a deep feeling that it meant something, that this was not a normal day. What I had witnessed in these last few minutes was not an isolated incident but the beginning of a series of events that I would later think had been a dream.

But do not worry dear reader - I will not end this story with; ' and then I woke up' - but instead I will tell you the whole unbelievable tale.

The next challenge and a new toy

So... I started the 100 k words in 100 days challenge on first January.

It's amazing to find how many words I actually write !
My lovely hubby bought me an iPad for Christmas when he saw how serious I was about writing . I think the 50,000 word completion of Nanowrimo convinced him.
So now I have this wonderful invention ... The iPad, ...and a great app.. Writing spot.. And on it over the last 10 days I have added ideas and plots for 19 novels and 5 short stories , yes that is right, and altogether just writing on the writing spot app comes to over 14,000 words.
Pen and paper- I am going to make you part time accessories now that I have my full time writing equipment.
 What did I do today? I went to the gallery to research for my next novel.
I am leaving the Nanowrimo novel for a month or two before going back to it, because that way I can read it with fresh eyes and correct delete and add to it .
I am really excited to be starting the year on such a positive note.

Happy 2013 everyone.

Here's an interesting question (for me anyway)

I took on the nanowrimo challenge full of self doubt and expecting to fail, but I rose to the challenge and 50,539 words later, I won!

No one could be more surprised than me.

 But here's the 'thing'...

When I won, I felt like a winner.
When I got the certificate, it proved I was a winner.
I bought the T shirt to look like a winner.
When I wear the T shirt I act like a winner.

Does wearing a T shirt boasting of your achievements make you a Loser?
(Aside from having to pay for the unflattering, shapeless thing, plus customs duty! )

Will anyone staring long enough at my boobs, to read the message printed on the T shirt there, even care ?

The funny thing is... after I won nano, I was full of ambition. The further away the finish date became, the less I felt like a winner and the 'who am I to think I can write anything worth reading' devil jumped on my shoulder and shouted down any attempts I made at striding for a goal.

Now, like Superman and Dumbo, when I wear the (awful, shapeless) T shirt, I can do anything.
I wore it to go for a walk at 7.15 this morning and ended up jogging! I never jog.
I was only ever a 100m / 200m sprinter, even in my young and fit days I couldn't jog or run over 400m. Today... wearing the T shirt I jogged a mile and power walked just under 3 miles before returning home at 8.30 am :)

Now I'm saying i will do that everyday, but today I achieved something else too...

The feel good factor.


I'm off to type some more novel .......

On the 29th November 2012 I reached over 50,000 words of my novel on Nanowrimo. This was a great mile stone for me and I am still finishing it off before I edit it ... but a HUGE chunk of it is done and I am so relieved :)

I've been away from my blog for a while , but hope to keep updating from now on.
I am doing the Nanowrimo and have reached 25,560 words so far and still going......

Short story

I am still working on my short story. I am half way through and hope to finish it tonight. I already have a plan written for the next one ...... Let's hope I keep it up . # am writing

Hanging around

I have discovered that hanging around the first class lounge for 2 and half hours on a Monday morning , waiting for the train from euston to Preston is a great time to write !!! They also serve brilliant pain au chocolate .
#am writing

What a few weeks continued

Had a lovely 11 mile walk along the canal and back around the fields and now to continue my story. ........

A few days after Harry died I took Mum to the shops she cried in the car because Dad had slurred and his mouth had dropped down at the side the day before and he won't go to the Drs or talk about it and she certainly didn't want me to talk to my Dad about it and said she shouldn't be telling me. I noticed dad had trouble with his hand and arm on the day Harry died.
Spooky isn't it. That the story I wrote for my assignment was about a stroke victim and because I knew nothing about strokes I researched. So when I saw him rubbing his hand and holding his arm funny I latched on to it and asked or he wouldn't have said anything. That morning he had gone to Blackpool on his own, so when I phoned mum to tell her about Harry he wasn't there. But he didnt go to Blackpool he got off the bus in Preston and came home... He didnt know about Harry then , there was no reason to come home. He said he felt mean leaving mum on her own but he's been out all day before !! I am suspecting that he didnt feel well and came back because he knew it wasn't the norm. He won't tell us though if he feels ill. Seven or so years ago they didnt tell me mum had her stroke till 4 days after it. She had been in a train station when it happened and they didnt phone an ambulance for her they just got a taxi home.
So I added up speach + mouth + arm and got possible stroke??? Worried about Dad I ended up emailing their gp and asking if they could maybe send him a letter asking him to come for a routine check for the elderly and not to let on that I have told them anything because I promoised mum I wouldn't. If they know I've interfered they wont tell me anything again. Mums been in tears over it and its upsetting her tummy but dad hates Doctors and hospitals and wont go off his own bat.

The doctors surgery did write to my Dad and he has ignored it.

The day before the anniversary of my brother in laws Death I woke up about 6am. I felt the need to send Reiki to my husbands remaining brother. I don't know why but I followed my instincts and sent reiki for an hour even though my shoulder, arm and hand kept going dead/numb and uncomfortable. I left it until 8am to text his wife and ask if everything was ok cos I'd had the feeling to reiki Ste. She started to cry... It appears that my bro in law had got his lift to work an hour earlier that day and they had been in a head on collision not far from work at around 6.45am. A driver 3 times over the limit had driven into them at over 50 mph. The front passengers were just in shock, Ste and the other back passenger had been hurt. His Shoulder, arm and hand needed an xray. The other back passenger had been taken off to hospital on a spine board and she is still in hospital. They said it could or even should have been much worse. Police said they were really lucky. I just thank the universe for waking me up to send Reiki.

And yesterday... The first Anniversary of hubby's Bro's death...was a sad day and consequently with all the tension of the last few weeks it ended in a blinding Migraine....

The walk was refreshing, the sun shone and I didn't notice the wind too much. I'm off to pour myself a Gin and tonic before another round of ' in-law ' visiting.

What a few weeks.

Why, oh why just when you think the year is settling down to be a normal one does the universe conspire to unsettle and upset you. It started with the news that my Uncle had died. He had been ill , but I hadn't expected it anywhere near as soon. It was a shock.
Uncle harry had always treated me like one of his own. I was an only child and they had five children. In their house there was always something going on, laughter, games and openess. Harry was equally proud of my achievements as he was of those of his own brood. If I had to choose another father I would have chosen Harry. Don't get me wrong... I love my own father dearly and wouldn't swop him (more on Dad later)... but if I liken it to the Queen having two birthdays , one official and one unofficial.... or taking and extra name at holy communion so you have one official and one unofficial... then that was my wish for Harry...(an unofficial father). He was the opposite of my father and I suppose that gave my safe and quiet life a healthy balance.I can't count the amount of times over my young , and not so young life, that I wished I belonged to their tribe. Harry made me feel as though I belonged but in truth I really just stood on the edge... As I did at the funeral. They all had each other in their grief and I stood at the edge being quietly eaten up by mine. Oh I gave them all hugs and we said the usual.. must keep in touch, go out etc but we are adults with our own lives in our own places and I know , as has always happened after events such as funerals, the keeping in touch lasts for just a short while then slides back into the way it was before.
Added to the pain of Harrys death is the fear of losing my father and all it's implications.
I am an only child, I have no-one to help me with my parents. They have quite a strict code of not letting emotions show or upsetting the other. They have made themselves an Island and no one gets a ticket to cross over without first agreeing not to rock the boat.....
But that's another story and I am off for a walk today (we didn't walk on tuesday)to hopefully clear my head and bore Carolyn senseless with my worries and problems... Don't worry , it's not all one sided she tells me hers too....
Yesterday was the first anniversary of the death of my husbands youngest brother from a brain tumour. The day has left me with would could turn out to be a migraine. At the beginning of february I thought that would be the only black spot/ obstacle to get over . But, dear reader, it has turned out to be just one item on a long list of black spots/ obstacles.
When I have some more time I will continue with my tale... until then ( in the manner of scheherazade ) I will leave you to your day and continue later.

A Coastal walk and a sad week for our family.

Had a lovely but cold walk today. It was a bit last minute , but when my friend suggested a walk today because we missed our Tuesday walk, I jumped at the chance. My Uncle died late on Tuesday and I have felt the loss in many ways. Today I took the opportunity to have fresh air clear my head with an 8 mile walk along the coast

I can't believe I have never been to see these Gormley guys before
. Funny how you never investigate your local area but always look to go farther out to places for outings.

When I first heard about these guys I wondered what all the fuss was about, and as I hate over hype of any sort I avoided going to see them.

Today I came across them by accident.... I had forgotten they were there and also hadn't realised how far we had walked. They were a great sight. There was also evidence of scouse humour / vandalism , where someone had painted on swimming trunks and arm bands on one of the men ! When it is a better day weather wise I will take my camera back there for some better photos.

As promised part of my TMA 01

                                                       Frustration

She squeezed her eyes and shifted awkwardly in the hard chair, her usually slim figure had shrunk to a bony thin frame and the lack of fat around her buttock cheeks made sitting in the waiting room uncomfortable.

   She was still feeling vexed with the receptionist. The girl had reluctantly turned away from telling her colleague about her weekend, and then ignoring Elizabeth, had directed all questions and information to Paul.

  A voice inside her screamed at the girl, ‘Talk to ME, I’m in front of you, I understand, it is my appointment for God’s sake.’ But she couldn’t say anything and instead had shrugged in exasperation, waved her hand dismissively at her husband meaning, ‘you sort it out’ then sat down.

  The lighting in the room was unnaturally bright. She fidgeted with the rings on her numb hand, listened to the incessant paging of the Doctors and the matter of fact discussions of the medical staff. The wheels of a records trolley hissed past on the tiled floor and the automatic doors swooshed open to let more patients through. The room smelled of disinfectant. The therapist was late. She, Elizabeth, had never been late she had always started her lectures on time; she should be there now not sitting in a waiting room full of elderly patients. She caughta few of them giving her a pitying look and once or twice she looked up to find the receptionist staring at her.

  Elizabeth pushed her long blonde fringe from her eyes clumsily with the wrist of her useless right hand, would she ever get used to using her left hand for everything, her glasses fell to the floor and she nudged her husband to retrieve them. He put them gently back on her nose and tidied up her fringe and the sides of her hair as he did so. She tried to say thanks but all that came out was a toneless moan followed by the indignity of drool escaping from the right side of her downturned mouth.

  She was sitting with her head in her cupped hand when the therapist called her name.

  ‘How are you doing Mrs Upton? OK?’

  ‘She’s doing better than I could have hoped for considering how she was last month’ replied

Paul.

  Elizabeth banged her good fist angrily on the table. She was exploding inside. The annoyance from someone speaking for her without knowing what she was thinking or what she wanted to say was burning inside her.   She wanted to say that she was a prisoner; she wanted to explain that ther had been a mistake. She wanted to say that that somewhere somehow the Gods had made a mistake. She was only thirty three years old, this shouldn’t be happening to her.She wanted to say so much but the inability to form words and communicate came out as a throaty ‘Aaargh’ so she lashed out at Paul and turned away.

Then I remodelled it later at a writing workshop.......not sure which I like best.... think I like this better ???

Frustration
Karl sat patiently in the chair whilst Laura busied herself with the morning routine. He watched the children, Ben and Chloe, eat their coco pops and squabble over who would keep the cut out finger puppet on the back of the packet.
  Then he accepted their kisses on his cheek as they left for school when the child minder picked them up from home.
  Laura appeared by his chair, she wiped the dribble that was escaping from his downturned mouth, then planted a light kiss on his lips before helping him out to the car.  He was a little unsteady on his feet but he was determined not to succumb to a wheel chair.
  The waiting room at the clinic was already filling up. He stood by the reception desk with Laura and when the receptionist glanced at him but addressed Laura, he wanted to shout ' it's my appointment' but he gave a shrug and went to sit down.
  The chair was uncomfortable and he shifted awkwardly in it. The waiting room was filled with elderly patients. What was he doing here. Why him ? The therapist was running late. He had never been late for work. Lateness is a sign of sloppiness. No room for sloppiness in his business.
  His fringe flopped in his eyes and he tried to push it to one side with awkward movements from his jerking wrist. he needed a haircut. He had his hair cut every six weeks and it had been almost three months since his last visit to the barber and two months since...
   'Mr Lander please'.
  Laura helped him out of the chair and slowly into the consulting room.
  'How are we today', chirped the Therpist.
  'He's doing well, really' answered Laura not looking at Karl.
  In his head words bounced like squash balls of a wall. Angry frustrated and out of control his indifference bowed to a greater superior strength and he banged his hand down on the table between the Therapist and Laura.
  Startled they both turned and gaped at him.
  He wanted to say that he could answer his own questions. He wanted to say that he was a prisoner in this body. He wanted to say that none of this should be happening to him, that someone some where had got it all wrong. He was too young. He wanted to tell them that he would be back to his old self soon. there was a lot of things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was...
  'aargh'.


                                                                                                        copywrite BMC  21.01.11

Busy week.

I didn't go for my usual walk today because I have hubby off sick and 35 ebay items have sold overnight so am busy packing them up ,as they were all 30p to 50p an item I am also wondering if it is all worth it.... then I think of the trip back to Venice that we want to book for next year and I suppose it is.
It's mums birthday this week  so am taking Mum and Dad out for a sight see and a meal on wednesday. They don't drive so when they go out on the bus and train they always get to see the same views, tomorrow I am taking them off the beaten track and maybe end up in Ilkley or similar. I have to be careful that Mum, who is disabled, will be able to walk along the pavements ok or I would have chosen Haworth or Grassington to take them, but with cobbles and hills places like that are not such a good idea.
Then probably off to the cottage at the weekend for hubbys birthday, maybe including a trip to the Lakes or the Dales on the saturday..................or maybe not if it's peeing down.

Yesterday I took up the rest of the lawn ( a big job I started 4 weeks ago ) and aerated it  and raked up more leaves and for the first time in ages I slept well last night.

There has been some discussion on the post A174 forum about putting up our TMA's. I want to develop mine but I think I will be brave and put up part of my TMA 01...... and see what reaction I get.

I have had quite a lot of 'serendipity' moments lately too, so am hoping to find some quiet time this afternoon for a chance to meditate. if anything developes from that I will post it up. Last time I had a period of serendipity the results were amazing and re affirmed my belief in the unseen, elementals, spirit and intuition. I drafted out what happened to maybe include it at some point in a story .

Opposites

I wrote a piece about someone who was so superstitious that it was ruining her life. I wondered what it would be like to write a piece about a character that was totally the opposite. I liked the start of it. Now I am wondering if these two people are related or work collegues , neighbours or..........? may have to finish it now so I can find out.. ha ha ha !


Neighbourly Nonsense

Joan was a matter of fact no nonsense woman, and she prided herself in that.

She was the sort of woman to tread on cracks in the pavement and walk under ladders on Friday the 13^th. So when she was given a lucky rabbits foot as a gift from Amelia’s trip to Bonnie Scotland she was not impressed.

“It wasn’t lucky for the sod of a rabbit “she quipped when she opened it. “What do I do with a thing like this. Waste of money Amelia, you could have put it towards a nice bottle of scotch. Now that I could use ! ”

Amelia had no doubt of that.  Joan had developed a taste for it several years ago and was becoming far too reliant on it as a relaxant after a days’ work.

                                                                                                                       B M C 13.02.11

Family meal.

It is hubbys birthday next week and tonight was the only night that the whole family could be together for a meal so I arranged a Tapas night. Pip's girlfriend came too. I made chicken and bacon Paella, chicken and chorizo fajitas and tapas (despite my being a veggie and not able to eat it so I had crackers and cheese !) It went down really well. Then we played buzz on Pips playstation and the board game Balderdash . A good time was had by all.
I just have to face all the dirty dishes now.

Bruges

I woke up this morning to the sound of rain beating on our window and flat roof and my immediate thought was that I would have to abandon all ideas of gardening today and my second thought was, 'hope it doesn't rain for the full 4 days in Bruge next month.'

I sold most of my hobby craft stuff on ebay last year and used the money to buy my hubby a Christmas, Anniversary and Birthday pressie of 4 days in Bruge and 5 days in Rome. :)
We fly out to Brussels then on to Bruge a month today and we can't wait. It is somewhere we have wanted to visit for years and just never got around to organising, so I am hoping it lives up to expectations and is worth the selling of my precious horde of yarn, fabric and threads etc.
I also bought him a book on walking tours of Bruge so we can take in as much as possible in the short time we are there. Hence my thought on the weather. I don't want it to rain the whole time we are there and March is so unpredictable. I suppose I could have picked a better month to go but I felt that it might cheer hubby up , lift his spirits, as it will be the first Anniversary of his youngest brother's death in March and it is a big milestone to pass for him, coupled with not being very happy in his job  I imagine he will need a big lift around then.
Bruges is full of canals and as our favourite cities, Amsterdam and Venice are also full of canals Bruges seemed the ideal place to 'chill'.

We go to Rome in May. I blew the rest of my ebay money on a really nice hotel and a longer stay in this capital and hopefully it may be a little warmer by then to walk around the many old and arty sights.

I am still selling the rest of my craft on ebay, originally towards the next writing OU course I had registered on. But I may not waste my money on that now. I wasn't too impressed with the short course I have just finished, except that through the forum I met some really nice and interesting people ( some of whom I hope to remain in touch with) . I go to day workshops locally once a month and the class situation there is much more helpful that the whole of the short OU course was. I have given up any ideas of completing my degree, it is working out too expensive plus if I am not working anymore I don't need one. Maybe if I make millions through my writing Ha ha ha ha I may finish it just to say I have a degree........then again if I make millions with my writing,  who cares about having a degree !! Ha ha ha....... I wish :)

A difficult day.

An arrangement to go walking with a friend today was cancelled on the last minute , and as it was a lovely day and I was dressed for walking I walked the 4 miles to my Mums, had a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and walked back. I had hoped that the walk would inspire me to get on with some writing when I got back after lunch.
It didn't.
Mum had been upset telling me about the horrid bloke who lives at the back of them, hammering on their door and aggressivly accusing my Dad of destroying his privet hedge. Dad is 84yrs old and frail and it upset him so much he couldn't eat and felt sick for days. And the truth is that Dad planted the trees and hedge around their garden 52 years ago when they moved in and the plot was bare. The guy at the back has only lived there 30 years and doesnt look after his garden and the trees and that bit of hedge were dead anyway. Dad had the trees taken down and had a nice strong fence put in , he is too old now to care for the trees and that part of the hedge and he paid for it all himself.  I was so angry that the guy had dared to upset my dad like that  that the only creative writing I could think of on the walk back home was writing an angry letter to the brute.
When I was on my way home, my aunty phoned and asked if I could pick her up and run her to Southport Hospital to bring my Uncle home from a stay over the weekend, there had been some concern about his heart. I was happy to do that, Aunty Al has always been there for me when I needed her. My uncle was glad to be home and I went sraight from my aunties to ballroom dancing. Good job I'd thought to put my dancing shoes in the car. When I got to the dancing school there was a new couple joining us, and it rapidly became apparent that the woman wanted the attention and was a big know it all and thought she owned the floor. Consequently neither of us enjoyed it much tonight and I have come home on a low when usually we have laughed and giggled through the hour, as well as danced, and I usually come home on a high.
I thought that all the activity of the day had prevented me from writing..... then I realised that had only been an excuse, and I had woken up with writers block and hadn't felt like the challenge of overcoming it.
I also realised that the tutors label of 'dirty realism .. in the kitchen sink sense' that had described my story for the OU has really put me off writing at the moment, and I need to get out of that mindset.


Ho hum
x

A confession

Activity was for everyone to confess something , then we pick someone elses to write about:

Confession
( inspired by Andrew)

When drinking with the lads my plight is plain to see
My thoughts freeze, and here lies my flaw,
They presume I have a meagre repartee
Then they dismiss me as a bore.
It isn’t that I try to act the prude
I don’t intend to play that role at all
I try not to be misconstrued
But age has dimmed my memory recall.
I vowed to keep a note pad in my pocket
To write in it ideas and tales to tell,
A list of deeds I don’t want to forget,
to entertain my drinking pals as well.
Still the note pad is unopened, my deeds are small.
I confess to having nothing to confess to after all.

TMA Open Uni

Well I passed my OU assignment with probably a decent score , though it was a bit lower than my first score of 76. I ought to be feeling really pleased with myself but find I am dissapointed.
Silly because I wasn't convinced that the second story was good enough , I wrote it without going through the last 3 blocks in the course , what with Christmas and Migraine etc, and wasn't totally sure what was expected of me.
The bit that is dissapointing I suppose was not the comments embedded in the story, which were mostly positive, but the fact that reading through the advice on the commentry it seems I got most of that wrong. I thought I was writing  in the genre of 'magical realism' when in fact I was writing in 'dirty realism'. Isn't it strange that when told I am writing 'dirty realism' I instantly feel that I don't want to continue with it.... the word 'dirty' has soiled it for me.
Perhaps it is just my age.I know that dirty realism is : literary genre portraying disaffected: a literary genre, originating in the United States, using an unpretentious laconic style and depicting the lives of rootless and disaffected people
but I was writing about serendipity, angels, the intervention of  the spiritual and magical unseen and what can be achieved with a belief in things that can't be seen but intuition tells you is there.
Because I got this genre wrong the rest of the comments on the story were relating to 'dirty realism'.

What , with speculative fiction instead of fantasy/sci fi, and dirty realism instead of magical realism I am so totally confused and feel that I will never get into this writing lark...... or maybe it is just how I feel at the moment because I've had a migraine coming and going and coming the past 2 days.
Me thinks....Time for a cup of tea !

MADNESS

50 million for a footballer !!!
Speechless.
May as well get some gardening done while it's quite warm and I have no inspiration for writing because all I can think of is ....
50 million for a footballer !!