All posts tagged: musing

A Call For Guest Post Writers!

Good Afternoon lovely readers. For those of you who read this blog, you may have seen some of my posts about writing and struggling with trying to create an identity for yourself as a writer. A couple of weeks ago I talked about starting a weekly guest post that talked about writers and their darkest moments during their careers. A few people mentioned that they liked this idea and I’ve decided to try to get things kick started. Beginning the 5th October, Writing and Works will host a weekly, Wordy Wednesday where one guest writer will post about their first work, what it was like writing it and what the most difficult moments they found themselves in as a writer. The point of these posts is to share how we move past those moments and why it is important to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you would like to get involved in this then contact caroljforrester@hotmail.com and let me know your story. The guidelines are as follows: The post should …

Research Lab X

Gardner kept one eye fixed on the progress screen and the other on the gun pointed at his forehead. ‘Easy now.’ He raised his hands slowly and swallowed the last bit of his sandwich. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’ ‘I wasn’t expecting you would,’ replied Tris. ‘Is it done?’ ‘Not yet. A full recharge takes time.’ Gardner could feel his palms starting to sweat. ‘Look Tris, you could come back, the boss he’d take you back if you just apologise.’ ‘Apologise?’ Tris snorted. ‘After what he put me through?’ She shook her head. ‘How long until it’s ready to leave?’ Gardner checked the screen. ‘Ten minutes.’ ‘Too long,’ scowled Tris, ‘make it quicker.’ ‘I can’t. It doesn’t work like that.’ His hands began to drop towards the desk. ‘Back up.’ Tris gun jerked in her hands. ‘Back up high where I know they won’t be a problem.’ ‘Nine minutes,’ said Gardner. ‘We both know you haven’t got that sort of time.’ Shouts began to echo down the corridor from the other side of the steel …

How Not To Write A Novel: Yes, I’m Still Procrastinating

Hello all you lovely readers, how are we all doing today? Saturday has rolled around yet again and this week I’m actually able to get the my laptop and write this on the day I want to.  So let’s start, ‘if we were having coffee…’ Well, it’s been something of a quieter week this time around, and I’ve procrastinated more than I should have. YouTube seems to be the biggest obstacle between me and productivity and I’ve realised that I need to work out how to turn off the distractions and get out with cranking out chapters. To be honest, my motivation towards Dawn Shadows had been a little lax this week, and while I written out pages of notes and started editing chapter four, I haven’t got as deep as I wanted to into the re-write. Instead, most of my writing has been for this blog. I did want to have the current redraft of Dawn Shadows out of the way by the end of October, but the only way I can see me …

One Last Hope

Grendal, Chief Clansman of the Ruling High Council For Witches, Warlocks, and the magical sorts, did not appreciate being woken before dawn. His bones complained about the cold and his knees refused to cooperate as he traversed the endless staircases and corridors that led from his rooms to the Grand Hall, where the rest of the council was supposedly waiting. ‘Where is everyone?’ Looking around the room he could see four others, only one of which had bothered to change from their night clothes. Looking at the swaying man Grendal reconsidered the assumption and decided that he’d not been to bed in the first place. ‘Well,’ Grendal demanded, ‘where are the rest of the sods?’ ‘Succumb?’ said one of the others. Elmer Throttle sat hunched in his seat, the folds of his dressing gown tightly roped around his midriff and a single fluffy slipper poking out beneath the hem. ‘He believed himself to be a Warawhump, whatever that is. He won’t come out of the cook’s wine cellar and appears to have crafted himself some form …

Quiet Elegance

You called it quiet elegance. The bite your tongue, watch your mouth, mind your language elegance. Draped in satin I walked your walk, talked your talk, kept myself inside the lines. It wouldn’t do to smudge. The first time I spoke back, you laughed. The second time you frowned and the third time, I thought I saw a fist. I didn’t turn the other cheek. I laid you bare, stripped out the marrow of you and passed it to the next woman, told her to look. This is the man buying you flowers. This is his quiet elegance. Daily Prompt: Elegant   

History In The Attic

The attic had long since seen better years, and Julia’s knees no longer allowed her to climb the steps. ‘You’re sure you want this downstairs?’ her grandson asked. He called over his shoulder, shirt sweat stained and shoulder muscles straining beneath the fabric. ‘I ain’t carrying it back up.’ ‘I’m sure,’ she told him, watching from the hallway. She let the men place it, her son and a friend who seemed to always visit when Joshua did. ‘It was my mother’s, and her mother’s before that.’ Six generations it’s clothed. She patted the old sewing machine. ‘Perhaps seven?’ she smiled.   Photo Prompt © Sandra Crook

Building Heros From Words And Dust

  I was thirteen years old when I started writing Shadow Dawn and Tara was the sort of girl I wanted to be. She didn’t need anyone to look after her, she was clever, a good fighter, fierce and independent. She had all the confidence that thirteen year old me didn’t have. This is back when Gabriel was the main character of the story, it was still called Obscurite, and it never got past more than about 5,000 words. Since then the title has changed, Gabriel has been lost, new characters have been added, the plotline has shifted dramatically and there have been more than a few revamp of character design. What has stayed the same is Tara and her awesomeness. I’ve talked about writing Shadow Dawn on this blog before. The book one of those things that I’ve tried to do over and over but have never managed to get to the end of. In the last couple of years I’ve managed to get my head down and most of the book written. Right …

I Wish…

More than anything, I wish for things to be easier. For my feet to find footings without the sickening stomach drops of missed steps, when the ground isn’t as close as expected and just for a moment the fall is endless, hopeless, and filled with the prospect of broken bones no amount of positive thinking can fix. I wish each inching move forward was a leap, a bound, that there was something to mark each milestone other than my own voice saying ‘right, what’s next?’ I wish I could accept just one achievement without wondering what more I could have done. It’s poetics night over at the dVerse Poets Pub. What do you wish? Write a poem about it and share it with the rest of the bar. Make sure to check out the rest of the wonderful writers while you’re there!

Stars, Emptiness, And A Lonely Heart

There used to be few nights where I went inside without pausing to look up. And as I grew older I began treating the stars like people, imagining those I’d loved and lost among them, watching over me. Being alone in the dark still scars me, but I can take comfort in those tiny lights. There is sadness in the idea that some are ghosts of suns long burnt out, but hope in the ones that are just echoes of furious creatures still roaring somewhere in the distance. I like to think of my ancestors and lost friends that way. Echoes still roaring in the distance, just out of hearing. On frost bitten nights I stand there thinking of you, wishing on the stars. Tonight we’re writing haibuns over at the dVerse Poets Pub so pick up your pen, take a look at the night’s sky and join us at the bar.

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 …