100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week #117

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‘It’s winter here in the UK and we need comfort!’ Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or . . .

Quite right Julia we do. Here is my response to her prompt.

Spiced comfort

‘Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or?’ these few words uttered by the softest voice were a pleasure to his ears. He chose hot chocolate.

‘Milk, dark, white, with marshmallows, cream on top?’

He frowned, ‘Just dark please.’

‘Mint, mocha?’ he was getting irritated, since when did a hot drink become so complicated?

‘No thanks,’ he sank into an armchair to wait.

She called across, ‘Spice? Ginger, chilli?

His mind whirled, spice? hang on, I remember now. . .

‘Don’t suppose you’d have cardamom?’

She gave him the thumbs up, ‘Two minutes.’

The rich, fragrant liquid permeated his senses and he relaxed.

Ahh, now I’m home.

Join in at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2014/01/13/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week117/

A Dilemma, what would you do?

Last week I met a miniature thief. I was doing a craft fair, in a busy hall, full of families with young children and with a nice buzzy atmosphere. My table was full and on the front edge, perhaps too easily accessible to small hands were three little bowls with low priced hand-made beaded bracelets. A small girl perhaps three or four years old came across, on her own, and studied them. After a few minutes she started picking them up, looking at the colours and trying them for size on her tiny wrist. I could see she liked the bright colours. Just as an older lady came up to talk to me she grabbed three of them and trotted away. My chin dropped and I asked the lady if she had seen it happen. She had half seen and guessed because she noticed the look on my face. I meanwhile was trying to track the child’s path across the hall. She disappeared into a corner where a few people, children and adults, were gathered. I made note of the colours she was wearing and kept looking that way in between talking to potential customers.

I didn’t know what to do. When everyone had moved on I came out from behind my table, walked part of the way across the room and looked at where I had last seen her. I wasn’t sure which if any of the little girls still there was her and with a sigh I returned. I mentioned it to a young woman at the next table but she was busy and had no idea who the child was or what was best to do. I decided I should probably right it off, the items didn’t have much monetary value, but they had been crafted with love. The strange thing is there have been times when I’ve seen little ones really, really wanting something on the stall who clearly could not afford to buy it, so I’ve given it as a gift.

I brooded. Then I saw her clearly again with a woman, very young who had to be her mother. Okay should I go and say something. A couple of people came to chat again and for a few minutes I couldn’t do anything, then lo and behold the mother came my way with the little girls hand firmly in hers. I was embarrassed but raised my eyebrows and said hello, pointing at the bracelets that mum had in her hand. She looked at my table and knew it was where they came from.

‘Are these yours she asked?’

‘ Uh yes, she obviously liked them because she helped herself and ran off, I didn’t know what to do – I didn’t want to upset her or make her feel bad (thinking all the time that she her behaviour was bad!) but she needs to know that it’s wrong.’

Mum said ‘She’s done it before.’ Apparently she has seen things in shops and said to her mum ‘why don’t we just take it?’ Mum was profusely sorry and embarrassed so I tried to be kind, while reinforcing that little girl needs to learn quickly that it’s wrong. They left then. This has never happened to me before after doing craft fairs for about five years. My question is what should I have done? Actually it probably has happened, other people have had things disappear from their tables. Should I have stormed over behind the girl and made a fuss right away? Suppose they had left immediately without the mum doing anything? or the child could have dropped it in a corner, having got bored with it, then another could have picked it up and ‘found’ it. Tricky things to deal with, when it’s a very young child. What would you have done?

Weekly Writing Challenge: Snapshot

Today Erica at the Daily Post said,

At a concert. Snap. At a restaurant. Snap. Watching the sun set. Snap. These days, everything feels like a Kodak moment. What happens when you stop taking pictures, and use words to capture a moment instead?

This is what happened when I didn’t snap today.

Snapped Flags

A windblown flash of colour caught my eyes. He turned, dropped a stub of fire to the ground and rubbed the heel of a Nike trainer into it, pressing the pavement like a dog leaving its scent until it was extinguished. The colour flashed again. He swept aside green fabric with a white cross emblazoned on it, the flag of Devon, revealing scruffy denim with frayed edges.

Intrigued, I looked up; two people were ahead of him as he waited to get on the bus. I stopped, fumbled for my phone camera but changed my mind, what if he saw me . . . Instead I acted as if I might just get on the bus. He was wearing a letterbox red gilet, somewhat effeminate, over a bold shirt with a large black and white check pattern, below a crown of orang-utan hair.

As he moved up the queue I took my eyes off his hair, and his garments became clearer in the light of the bus. He bent to pick up a bag, stooping from the waist down, releasing more fabric, dipping onto the damp path at the front. It looked like he had a dozen or more oblongs of bright silk attached to his middle. How? Tied to a belt? Made into a silk version of a grass skirt?

No-one else seemed to notice him; if they did they weren’t acknowledging him in any way. I was blocking the way and had to move aside and I nearly missed his ascent of the steps. Before the bus protected him, a final small gust of breeze caught him, bright as a Morris Dancer on amphetamines, blowing first a Union Jack,  next, a red flag with a star and a crescent moon, I hunted back through my memory Turkey, yes that was it, Turkey. Stripes of black, red and yellow, another blue with a small Union Jack in its corner, and a Star Spangled Banner, bold as it should be. The door closed behind him, narrowly missing blue with yellow stars in a circle, familiar of course, the EU flag.

It is a public building, but not in the centre of town, and there were no events taking place, no festival, although he wouldn’t have looked out of place at Glastonbury. Perhaps I’m just dull; I wonder how I would look in a flag skirt. Maybe if I were younger I could get away with it. I didn’t even get to see his face, but I could tell that he was middle aged and happy in his own skin. I suppressed a laugh, people never stop surprising me.

Does this seem real? well it is, I actually did see this today. What have you seen today that made you smile? You all know how hard it is for me to not take photos, how about you? If you care to share go to . . .

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/02/weekly-writing-challenge-snapshots/

A Fanfare for Marionette!

Today I’m thrilled to be taking part in a cover reveal for TB Markinson’s second novel, Marionette.

 Here we go!

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Title: Marionette

Author: T. B. Markinson

Cover Designer: Derek Murphy

Publication Date: December 2013

Synopsis:

Paige Alexander is seventeen and has her whole life in front of her. One day her girlfriend comes home to discover that Paige has slit her wrists. Paige isn’t insane, but she acts like she is. Why?

After the incident, Paige agrees to go to therapy to appease her girlfriend, Jess. However, Paige doesn’t believe that therapy will help her. She believes she’s beyond help. Paige doesn’t want to find herself and she doesn’t want to relive her painful past in order to come to terms with it. What Paige wants is control over her life, which she hasn’t had since her birth.

During her childhood, Paige is blamed for a family tragedy, when in fact, her twin sister, Abbie was responsible. Abbie doesn’t come forward and Paige becomes the pariah of the family.

To add to Paige’s woes while attending a college in a small town in Colorado, the residents are in the midst of debating whether or not gays and lesbians should have equal rights. Tension is high and there’s a threat of violence. She isn’t out of the closet and pretends to be straight at school since she fears what will happen if her parents find out she’s a lesbian. Will she end up dead like her best friend, Alex?

About the Author: T B Markinson

T. B. Markinson is a 39-year old American writer, living in England, who pledged she would publish before she was 35. Better late than never. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling around the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs in England, or taking the dog for a walk. Not necessarily in that order. Marionette is her second novel.  A Woman Lost was her debut novel.

Sign up to TB’s New Release Mailing List here. Your email will never be shared and you will only be contacted when a new book is out.

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Meeting Myself Coming Back

In my post earlier, photos in sepia tints for Cee’s Challenge, I mentioned being busy and that my grandmother used to say I would meet myself coming back. Seonaid from http://breathofgreenair.wordpress.com/ asked what I might say to myself if I did!
It’s an interesting thought isn’t it?
My snap reaction was ‘Oh no not you again’ but then I thought on.
‘Stop chasing your tail’
or maybe ‘Smell the roses’
‘We each have an alloted number of heartbeats, don’t waste them’
‘You spread yourself too thin’
‘But there’s so much world’
‘Neep Neep!’
‘Have we met?’
‘Sloooww dooown’,’Where’s the fire’,’Tell me a story’,’Is it ready yet?’
So how to stop the relentless chase of life in our high tech world? Are you the same? are you always overloaded? Maybe you don’t see it as a problem, maybe I don’t. It’s just the way it is, I’m a Gemini, quicksilver. I want to experience as many things as I can in this lifetime with all of my senses. To meet and listen to as many people as possible, to have them share their stories, to touch people in some small way.
So tell me, are you the same? If so what would you say to yourself? If you can, maybe you could share with our community.
Seonaid, I suspect you’re far too mindful to rush around as much as I do!8

Slowly, slowly!

Meeting Jackie Kay made my day!

Budleigh Salterton has just had its fifth literary festival and I was thrilled to get a ticket to see a favourite author last week.
Jackie Kay is a Scottish but like me, she is also half Nigerian, Igbo to be precise. She is professor of Creative Writing and has received her MBE. Jackie has written a growing collection of novels, poetry and short fiction for both adults and children. In her talk at Budlitfest she focussed mainly on her memoir Red Dust Road , as well as several poems.
The talk she gave was hilarious and early on she spotted me in the front row getting one of her jokes way before the rest of the audience, and said that she was happy to share the same sense of humour.
I’ve read Trumpet, one of her novels and some poetry, as well as hearing her on the radio, but had avoided the memoir, somehow I knew it would affect me. A couple days before the festival I realised that Red Dust Road would be featured, so I downloaded it with the plan to buy a real copy on the day. I won’t give any spoilers but we have a fair few things in common, and it is very emotive for me.
On the day I was determined to try to talk to her, but I suprised myself. Believe it or not I’m actually a shy person, except with very small number so people – any more than six and I clamp my lips! But questions were invited and I had one. I waited until the final call, suddenly my hand was in the air and I knew I was going to speak. Me speak, in a hall full of people. I actually did it and was so proud of myself.
Afterwards several people took me aside and asked me questions, that was fine, I’m not shy at all with a couple at a time. I felt like a mini celebrity for once.
Over in the marquee, the bookshop and signing queue was horrendous so I got myself a cuppa and waited for the rush to end. I joined the queue and chatted to the lady in front and together we realised that the books we wanted, Fiere for her and Red Dust Road for me, were sold out. Mortified we each grabbed one of the very few copies of Reality, Reality instead.
Soon the nice lady was chatting with Jackie, expressing her disappointment that she couldn’t have the one she wanted and Jackie pulled a copy out of her handbag. ‘You can have mine,’ she said ‘no, I wouldn’t dream of charging you.’ I think she saw my jaw drop and my eyes turn into Bambi’s because she smiled and went back to the other lady.
Then it was my turn. I handed her the book I had bought and she said ‘Which was it you were hoping for?’ I thought I’d gone heaven when she pulled her own copy, complete with her notes, from that handbag, signed it and handed it to me.
I think she would have talked and talked, asking me all about myself and the similar experiences we’d had. She encouraged me to keep writing and made me promise to send her my book in return as soon as possible.
This was a very special afternoon for me, it was great to meet a writer who was genuinely interested in her readers, a warm and generous lady. Meet Jackie,
jk

and here are my two special books.

Crossing genres

A writing friend of mine, Rebecca Alexandra has penned the Myslexia Blog this month. It’s an excellent read in which she talks about genre and breaking a few rules. Rebecca’s first novel will be published in two months and I can’t wait to read it, click the link to find out more about Myslexia, the writing competition that helped Rebecca achieve her dream and her novel ‘The Secrets of Life and Death’.

Crossing genres.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 92

I’m very late posting last weeks challenge, never mind! The prompt was YELLOW, in honour of the sun the Julia had been enjoying. The new challenge will be out today at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/ meanwhile here is,

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Gorse

Each spring, the gorse carpets the heath in golden yellow, reminding me of my loss. I walk the moor to immerse myself in its fragrance, though I can hardly bear it. Never has the extreme weather of 2003 been repeated. Some higher power must have punished me to have swept my child away in the river.
Ten years have passed.
‘God give me a sign; let me know my child is safe’ and then, a few feet from me stood a hare, it eyes, almost human, met mine. I held my breath; time seemed to stand still until it hopped away.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 91

100WCGU (7)

…there’s always a sting in the tail….

This is Julia’s prompt for the 100 WCGU this week. Join in at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2013/05/27/100-word-challenge-week91/ and here is my attempt.

A tale of Tinks tail.

 Faerie folk aren’t what they seem you know. Did you think that Tink was Miss Goody Two Shoes? Nah, she didn’t mend pots and pans out of the goodness of her heart. He motive was banging us on the head with them. If we managed to duck in time, then the noise would perforate our dainty little eardrums instead. Those wings made her look like a flutterby; but she was a hornet with a sting in her tail. There’s always a sting in the tale, hers gave us sweet witchypoos a bad name, blaming us for her naughtiness. Into the cauldron with her!