All posts tagged: lifestyle

Trickle Down – Working On Writing During Lock-down

At the start of this year I was planning on which poetry events I wanted to go to in order to publicise my new collection ‘It’s All In The Blood‘. I managed a few local ones, and had a slot booked to perform at a Ludlow poetry night, right at the beginning of March. Then 2020 hit its stride in the UK.  Flooding meant that I wasn’t able to get to Ludlow, and lockdown meant no more poetry nights. What was supposed to be a year of poetry and readings, turned into four months of searching for new nooks and crannies in the house to reorganise. Of course I started off with the best intentions. I was going to finish my novel, work on my next collection of poems, and submit to every journal and competition under the sun. I did work on my novel, and I did write a few new poems, but I’m not close to finishing either project. Submission went very much the same way. In fact I’ve spent the last two …

Find A Room, Make Yourself At Home

All corridors run back to you, though they say loss gets less the longer you let it sit. And you’ve been sitting here, in this hollow you left for a while now Just a slither of yourself with no new words to say that might explain this empty. And barricades don’t keep the door from banging open, every time a storm or gentle breeze blows in. It only takes a name, or a memory, to raise your shade. So I given up airing out this room with all your secrets. Leave another hole in the wall the same shape as my fist, pretend I haven’t when the moments leaves. Re-watch you walk in sit down pick up your drink. Re-watch you pick up your drink.  

One Size Fits All In Broken Tartan

For a while I wondered if my grandmother was magic. You see she would talk about the night she spent near Culloden. How my grandfather slept on sound, and she was tossed through dreams of screaming men. The English and their guns, against the all those clansmen, come to die. For a while I believe she’d walked the battle in her dreams. The tartans, like welsh (for a while) were outlawed to break that spirit. Make them less like them, and more like us. Then they only rise against themselves. The English are very good at making adversaries of themselves. When a friend shows me her family tartan, there was a plucking sort of feeling. An ache for a history only half understood, and twice removed. I could find it, put it on, but somehow I doubt I would fit. Not enough of the right stuff in me, to tie me into the pattern. Made me wonder how much of myself I can claim. The loch waters rose and I saw my own face there …

Sunsets Over Sleeping Cities – #DVersePoetics

Syrup thick the evening slides in, through an open window, past clinking blinds left low.   Settled in the heat of floorboards, today edges towards tonight uncertain of any other name.   Could be Sunday for all its softness, its lifted underbelly showing to a glow on the horizon.   Even the birds seem distant, their swooping songs drifting deeper into the quietness.   In other poetry news, guess who finally had time to work out kindle publishing! ‘It’s All In The Blood’ can now be purchased on kindle through the amazon store. Feeling more than a little smug with myself I must say.

Finding Focus – #WeekendCoffeeShare

If we were having coffee, well first of all I’d have to offer an apology, this weekend seems to have gotten away from me. Sunday evening has crept up and before I really understood what was happening, the weekend is pretty much over. However, I feel like I’m ending on a positive note. On Saturday I ordered a copy of Stephen King’s book The Gunslinger and today it arrived. I was surprised by how thin it was, curiosity led me to google, and I went in search of the exact word count of the book. Turns out that it only just breeches the 60,000 word mark. Now, for the past six months I’ve been worry about the length of my book. The bulk of the fantasy novels that I own stretch into the 200,000 to 300,000 word mark and I was concerned that Shadow Dawn wouldn’t be a long enough book. However, it’s already longer than ‘The Gunslinger’ and I think I might be putting too much focus on word counts and chapter lengths. I …

Drawstrings

My chest has drawstrings. Some days they pull so tight my lungs cram up into my throat. They stop words from forming, keep me from telling you why I can’t keep my hands still or quite catch my breath. They keep me trapped, alone. Quadrilles are perhaps my favourite form of poetry at the moment. They’re short, sharp, and oh so punchy. Tonight’s prompt from the dVerse Poets Pub is to write a quadrille using the word ‘fear’ as your inspiration. Unfortunately this is a word I have a fair amount of experience with, I’ve let anxiety box me into corners more often than I like to admit. If you want to join in then click the badge above and check out the pub and all its patrons. I’ve no doubt they’ll be overjoyed to meet you.

It Took Me Four Long Months, But I Finally Did The Ironing! – How Not To Write A Novel – Weekend Coffee Share

Now I know what you’re probably thinking. What the heck does writing a novel have to do with not getting your ironing done? Well the answer is quite simple. I’ve been avoiding both tasks incredibly skilfully for a similar amount of time. Chapters have become akin to fitted sheets. I know they need doing, I know that once they are done I will bask in pride of having them tucked away all nice and neat, but facing that keyboard, I mean ironing board, has been beyond me. Even this post is two days late. This weekend has been a clear up weekend for both my fiancée and myself. While most people Spring Clean, I like to have a blitz around this time of year in preparation for the colder months to come. Call it nesting, call it prepping, I like to think of it as ensuring everything is ready so that I can snuggling into a corner when the wind’s howling and not worrying about anything except my mug of hot chocolate and the book …

Fake It Till You Make It – Not Letting Nerves Destroy You

When I get nervous I feel physically sick. This weight drops in my stomach, the back of my neck begins to prickle, and I feel like I want to leap out of my own skin. Sometimes I get to the point where I feel like I might start vibrating on the spot there’s so much nervous energy whirling around inside me. That’s how I feel every time I start to think about finishing my book and starting to look for literary agents. When the chance to submit to a poetry competition crosses my desk. When I ask someone to pass an opinion on my writing. Nerves are just something that I’ve had to learn to live with. As I’ve got older I’ve managed to reign them in a bit. The first two days of secondary school were hell mostly because of my nerves, and the way that they made me feel like I was about to puke my guts up at any second. These days I’m able to remind myself that it’s okay to be …

Don’t Ask Where September Went, It Was Eaten By Pygmy Goats

Good afternoon all you lovely readers, it’s been over a month since I’ve written a post of the Weekend Coffee Share so I thought it was about time to get off my butt, or in this case sit down on it, and get one written. September turned into something of a meh month for me, I’ve done very little writing and Shadow Dawn is pretty much where it was at the end of August, the only progress being that I’ve managed to finish redrafting chapter six today. This takes the word count up to 18,000 words for the redraft, closing in on the one quarter mark that is 25,000 words. My original target to try and have the redraft done by the end of the month is out of the window, which is a shame because I’ve been playing with the idea of doing NaNoWriMo. I don’t think I will take up the challenge this November but who knows, maybe I’ll get around to doing Camp NaNoWriMo when that comes around. The big news this month …

If We Were Having Coffee

Good Afternoon and my apologies for being late. This weekend turned out to be more jam packed that I expected, in fact the whole week has been something of a steamroller of unexpected events. Last week I was talking about the plans I had in place and for the most part, almost all of them went out of the window. Unfortunately, this week I lost someone who I was close to. I don’t know how he died, I won’t for a bit, but his mother let me know that the rumours were true and he had passed away. He was twenty-two. He was the sort of person who lived their life quite close to the edge but the news still came as a surprise and I’m still trying to process the reality of it. I’m trying to take comfort in the fact that during the last few conversations we had, I made sure to let him to know that I was always there for him and that I cared about him. As a result of …