100 words for grown ups week 67

I can't quite believe that there are only 5 school weeks until we finish for Christmas!! I have been trying to do a multitude of things; some better than others and had intended to do some decorating today. However, a cricked neck has put paid to that so thought I would have  a go at this week's challenge . (Julia's page at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/11/19/100-words-for-grown-ups-week67/  )

When I read the prompt ," I really tried not to laugh" it made me think of all those different types of laughter that you can have.  A good belly laugh with a mate, a stifled giggle when you should be terribly serious, a nervous laugh when things are not going to plan, a wry laugh at yourself for not seeing what was going on, laughing til you cry... the list goes on and on. 

Here's my effort for the challenge. Read the rest at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=172612&type=basic

Life, love and laughter

I really tried not to laugh:

When I opened the exam paper

            

                                               to see I couldn't answer any questions,

When I failed my driving test

                                                                      for the third time :/

When my friends told me it wouldn't last;

                                                                        and when it didn't.

When I looked in the mirror

                                                        to see the woman I had become.

BUT...

I really DID laugh:

When I had the strength to walk away

                                                                     and never look back,

When my precious son smiled at me

                                         

                                                                  and melted my heart.

When I met the love of my life

                                                                   who gave me wings.

When I look in the mirror 

      

                                                    and see the woman I have become.

                                           *    *   *

Thank you for reading .

100 words for grown ups

This week the challenge was a picture:
All the details can be found over on Julia's blog at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week65/

At first I thought I might do something to do with the Ash dieback disease, but I couldn't possibly make light of what is such a potentially serious situation.
So instead I have used the picture to inspire some serious "Girl Power."

I have parent evenings coming up over the next three weeks so will be pretty busy with those and not sure how much time I will have to do the next couple of prompts. I recently sent the synopsis and first part of my nanowrimo to have some feedback from a publisher who were running a charity event .
(Further details here http://www.justgiving.com/MeetandCritiqueVintageBooks ) so am looking forward to hearing back from them with some pointers for improvement.

Other than that, my Grandfather has pretty much got up to the present day with recording his memoirs and I am busy typing up and getting into order. After parent evenings I am going to print out a draft for him to go through, then to get some copies bound. (I have never had anything made into a book - well only my dissertation a long time ago and I don't think that counts! Will be picking people's brains about how to go about getting A4 pages put into book size for binding...

Enough prevarication.
Here is my piece for the challenge.
You can read the rest at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=170427&type=basic


Comments/critiques welcomed.

Orange Spot

Muriel scrubbed her hands. “That’ll show them, bloomin 

beaurocrats !”  

The letter had  clattered through the letterbox  the previous morning.

“sustainable forestry... carefully selected.... replanting programme...”

 “Yaddayaddayadda.” She  tossed it into the stove. “I won’t let them, I’ll show’em!”

All her life she’d lived there, surrounded by  the trees she’d come to regard as friends.  They’d grown old together.

 Family gone, schoolmates  forgotten: each  tree held a secret from her past. Stolen kisses, sips of beer, engraved letters, the first time... she hugged her knees closer and laughed out loud.

 The truck rolled into view and she sat back to watch...

A story in a tweet

I had a go at the writers bureau monthly competition; didn't get anywhere but had fun trying.
Here is my "scary story" in less than 140 characters (139 to be precise) excluding title




WEDDING NIGHT

Drifting to sleep, Josie marvelled at the coolness of his milky skin.

As she dreamt he crept, shadowless, to the window. 

Let feasting begin.

Secrets...

I have been reading through the nanowrimo that I did back in June and have started the editing process. It's interesting reading something after leaving it for a period of time as it has highlighted the areas which, although crystal clear in my mind, don't actually either make sense or confuse the reader.
So, I am trying to put some sense and order into it.
I'm really not sure what I will do with it once I have tweaked it; a couple of my work colleagues have asked to read it as have my Mum and sisters; at the moment it's a long long way from ready.
So, dear blog followers, I am going to throw myself wide at your valued opinions and put some extracts on here.
I don't want to give the story away so will be posting parts from various points in the story. I would very much appreciate feedback- pan it if that's what you think!
Thanks in advance.


This is a part of the backstory; set in the late 1960's

“And I’ve got... ‘til forever! Come on let’s go!” and taking her hand he pulled her towards the wood, “I’ve something to show you!” 

Kit went to pick up the spilled lunch. “Leave that, for now, you’ll see why!” She let him take the  lead along the familiar paths; they’d been meeting here for picnics regularly and had spent many an afternoon in the woods exploring. Henry’s parents had taken over the village pub, the Cat and Fiddle,  two years ago. Kit’s father, Albert,  had been a frequent patron there. Too frequent for his own good .

 Since his untimely death the previous summer,  Kit had spent more and more time with Henry and his family. Kit’s mother had taken her husband’s death badly and had thrown  herself into her cleaning jobs. Most evenings she was so exhausted  she fell asleep in her arm chair  not to wake until  long after Kit had gone to bed. The weekends were spent making half-hearted efforts at conversation to enquire of school and friends. She hadn’t noticed how infrequently Kit’s friends came over, nor did she notice how much time Kit had been spending with Henry. It suited them both for Kit to be out of the house so much. Her mother didn’t question and Kit didn’t volunteer the answers.  

This is a bit from later which is set in the 1980s (I set it then because that's a period of time that I know about - also because of the lack of technology and social networking that nowadays makes it so much easier to trace people...)

It had been a mistake coming. What  had  she hoped to achieve? Was she going to learn anything that would undo what had happened in the past? “What’s done is done!” She remembered those words from her mother. The past can not be changed. She had a future with Nigel. She could just go home now, home to him, tell him what she could and finally lock it all away forever. Forget the solicitor. What was he going to tell her? That she had been left a fortune- no chance of that. Gran had never had any money. The war pension had helped her to make ends meet, but there was not going to be a fortune waiting for her. She pulled over to the side of the road and beat her hands against the steering wheel. She wanted someone to make the decisions for her, to tell her what to do. But who?

  No,  she had to make that appointment. The wounds had been reopened and  she had come this far, to turn back now was not going to ease her pain. Maybe she would at last find out what it was that her Grandmother had known all those years ago.  Whatever it was she didn't want to hear it from her mother, she could never forgive her for what she had done.

You'll notice that I have used the name Kit - one of the names I have used in various 100wcgu . The inspiration for the story came about from one of the 100 word pieces I wrote a while back. I rather like the name and it seems to suit the character. 

Thank you again for reading...

100 word challenge week 64

This week Julia's challenge is to create a recipe fit for a witch.

Now, I thought about this when I read it and decided to try to  do something different to what I expect the others to do, for after all witches do not have to be bad do they?

This time of the year, with Haloween looming (and I hope the forecast is correct so that the trick or treaters stay home) it is all too easy to slip into bad witch territory.

So, here is mine- hope you like it. If it seems somewhat confusing see the note at the end :)

Comments good or bad welcomed. 

(By the way, have I ever mentioned that I own not one, but two little black cats? ) 

                                      >^..^<         >^..^<       

Recipe

A breath of air,

From a mother’s kiss silver dust,

From a butterfly’s wing a newborn babe,

Suckling from the breast an orb spider

Weaving her intricate web.

Sparkling dewdrops,

From snowdrop’s petals a fizz,

From a sherbert dip a tender kiss,

From a lover to his sweetheart a glorious tune,

From a skylark  warmth.

From the midday sun a flicker,

From  a fire gentle purring,

From a sleeping cat bubbles rise,

From a freshwater brook hope springs ,

From an eternal optimist.

Lastly I will stir it once, twice, thrice.

My recipe for a future not yet told.

If this all seems somewhat random, I used the poem , "I saw a peacock with a fiery tail" as my inspiration; it is a poem I have often used in class with children to stimulate creativity. http://www.potw.org/archive/potw193.html

I adore poetry and love teaching it to children ; if I was in charge of the curriculum I would have far more emphasis on it because it is such a rich and varied genre of writing. But I'm not , so I just do it as much as I can.  And I wouldn't be without this book http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhyme-Not-Teaching-Children-Poetry/dp/0340611480/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1351617050&sr=1-1 

I have been in the classroom for more than 20 years now and have not found a better poetry book than this.

Read the rest of this week's at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=169496&type=basic 

100 words ...returning...

I haven't done one of these for ages. Have been exceptionally busy since term started. (Goodness, how I hate that excuse! But I really have!) 

I have been working with my (92 year old) Grandfather to help him write his memoirs. Each week I visit him (he's in a nursing home) and download the next lot from the dictaphone. I then type it up before visiting him the following week and sorting out parts which I couldn't quite make out.

So far we have covered his war years and his working life as well as what he could remember from his childhood. It has been absolutely fascinating.

As we draw near present time I will have to embark on the editing process; so far I have been pretty much typing up verbatim. The aim is to eventually make it into an e-book for all the family to read and maybe to get a copy professionally bound for him (Thanks to the lovely SJ for that suggestion)

I am going to go through his photos and scan those in to be inserted at appropriate places and have also been adding links to elaborate on various things that he has mentioned.

Oh yes, been teaching my (enormous) mixed age class of 35 year 4 and 5's too!

And been starting to look through my nanowrimo I did in June to edit that.

Parents evenings are looming and I STILL haven't got the decorating done. 

But I am NOT bored which is always a good thing (in fact I don't think I can remember the last time i was bored to be honest. Sometime before becoming a parent perhaps?)

Anyway enough of that. I will endeavour to do some more of these as it is a great way to practise my writing. Still no luck with any competitions...

Here is this week's piece.

Link to Julia's place is http://jfb57.wordpress.com/tag/100wcgu/

Find the others at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=168507&type=basic

Mists of time

As the steam rose from her mug, June stared through the once clean windows . The pain would pass, they told her, we’ll keep in touch.

That had been in Spring.

Words spoken after her darling Doug had finally lost his battle.

Summer had been and gone, the pain remained sharp as ever.  Promised visits not made. “Call soon. Must dash. X ” the text had read.

 Autumn brought its muted hues, lace cobwebs jewelled with crane flies. A golden anniversary remembered alone.

A buzz from a drawer: “Plane booked. All 2gether 4 Christmas x”

And winter will bring them home.  

Thank you for reading. I will be on half term next week so will visit the rest then. I am hoping to put some sections of my nanowrimo on here; comments, as always, welcomed.

Endeavours

This is a piece I recently submitted to a writing website for publication. It was written in response to a photograph of a girl with a reflection behind her of wings. I would very much appreciate comments (good or bad!)

Angel

Nobody believed me; they just laughed or chose to ignore. “Poor little thing.” I could hear their hushed voices, “She’ll grow out of it, you’ll see.”

“It’s just a phase.”

I don’t remember the exact moment it started but to me it seemed the most natural thing in the world. For the first time since she’d died the world had started to make sense once more. They said it was my reaction to losing her- those whisper-voiced people who mistakenly thought I was unaware of their conversations. I heard each and every word.

It was the way they looked at me, or if I’m more precise, didn’t look at me that particularly grated. Never quite making eye contact, over earnest smiles that stopped at too thin lips, the talking about me as if I wasn’t there. Or worse was too young (or stupid) to understand. They knew it was true but because they couldn’t explain or understand it they chose to hide behind their hands and write me off as precocious, attention seeking. A problem.

So, they’d point and laugh when they thought I wasn’t looking, “That’s the one, you know, she’s a bit different.”

“Never the same since her mother died.”

“Over active imagination. Lives in a fantasy.”

They are all wrong. I can feel myself growing stronger each day. Last night I managed my first flight. Mother held me tightly the whole time but I could feel the strength in my wings, almost ready to fly solo and join her at last. Then they would see I hadn’t been lying. 

The doctors said it was a tumour just like the one that took her. That was the reason for my mood swings, my “imagination”. Tablets would help they said, but I knew they wouldn’t. I let them believe I was taking them- I had them well hidden along with the long since shed downy feathers. Now I have white ones - golden fringed- the exact shade of my hair when the sunlight catches it.  They light up my darkened room when spread. Mother doesn’t need to hold me tonight. I am ready for the journey.

I wanted to leave a feather for my father. Try as I might it wouldn’t come with pulling so I had to resort to the nail scissors. Strangely it came away, before the first cut had been made, to be instantly replaced by another. It faded a little as I placed it on my pillow. I knew that Father believed me deep down, but would never admit to that in front of the others. As a respectable doctor he had to keep up appearances. I would be sorry to leave him, but since she’d died he’d been increasingly distant, the pain etched more deeply across his face each time he looked at me. The feather would keep us close. If he let himself believe he would be able to see us both in more than dreams.

They would all know that I had been telling the truth once I’m gone. Perhaps I should stay a little longer but the need to spread my wings is too great. She is calling me.

 Can you hear her?

I feel her reaching out. Maybe I will come back one day...