Tag: Writing

January Small Stone# Three

Posted on Posted in A River of Stones, England, January Small Stones, WritingTagged , , , , 8 Comments

After work today my friend and I went to Topsham and had a gentle stroll around the empty streets, along to the end of the Goatwalk for a view of the estuary in the dark. Although the sun had set at four-thirty, the lights were shining down river at Exmouth and across the river to the west at Starcross. Occasionally the glow worm lights of a train travelled along the far shore, and a gap in the clouds, where the moon sprang through, created a reflection of the same oval shape in the water.

We were actually being peeping Toms – slowly walking past the windows that had curtains open.   Several homes had lights on, giving us a tiny insight into their world. Fairy lights and a few Christmas trees were still visible and the soft glow from hearths, plump sofas, cosy cushions and curled up pets. At one house where the kitchen was at the front, we could see an elderly couple chatting over a teapot at the table, as they must have for decades. A magical walk. DSC_1012

Welcome New Year!

Posted on Posted in Art and Design, Future, WritingTagged , 23 Comments

Each year I try to not wallow grumpily in the dark of the winter that I dislike so much, and I usually do okay until the end of January, by then I’ve had enough and will desperately seek daylight whenever I can. Until then I’ll try to let my body rest in the underworld as it needs, instead of fighting against tiredness. I’ve had some practise in the last six days, not getting up before 6am but burrowing and extra hour or two, and then lazing some more, reading and some walks in the wind. My energy levels will return as the days lengthen.

I choose to focus on the year ahead rather than the one we are leaving with quickening steps. I feel positive that 2013 will be an exciting one, there will be challenges – and I’ll thrive on them, there will be change, but that is so much better than stagnation. It would be wonderful if my path is a travelling one, there are so many places I dream of seeing. Eastern Europe, possibly the more remote areas of south west France and northern Spain, who knows I may even take my first steps across the pond. If fate keeps me in England all year, I will keep looking mindfully at Britannia and all her children, wherever they arrived from. England, Devon and Exeter endlessly surprise me and my camera will be close at hand.

Through my window I can see the dead seed heads of the Clematis Tangutica, growing over the hedge from next door. It hardly seems possible that in a couple of months it will burst with green buds, and then follow with its lovely lemon peel flowers for months on end. It is a personal clock, one of my markers of time unfolding. I also look forward to having some daylight before the walk to work and after the walk home, but I won’t ask for it to happen too quickly, it will unfold as it should.

The most important thing I could wish for is of course good health and happiness for my family and friends, including you dear reader, here’s to sharing the ride!

blessings

CPW’s Picture prompt

Posted on Posted in Creative writing, flash fiction, WritingTagged , , , , 40 Comments

Last week I went for a lunchtime walk with Crazy Polish Woman who complained that my blog is full of photos and not much writing these days. I explained that I have to keep my best writing for the course I’m studying, and to build up a body of work, but I do try to do the 100 word challenge most weeks, because flash fiction isn’t too trying.

Back at my desk she emailed me this picture, with the question ‘What is happening here?’

Desktop

The picture, by Charles Sims is called ‘and the fairies ran away with their clothes’ . But this is what I think is happening, what do you think?

Small Saboteurs

Now my love I want you to listen carefully.

You see these pretty little creatures at my feet? Well they are my small saboteurs and they lived with me for a long time. In the beginning they smiled and told me I was a silly little girl. But gradually they started to change. They said I was stupid, a hopeless case and that I would never get anywhere in life, and I believed them and became just that, hopeless.

Next they said I was ugly, and that I was getting fat. And so I never smiled, I screwed my face into a frown, turned my mouth down and ate and ate until I thought I would burst.

Worst of all, was when they told me that no one would ever love me. So I made sure that no one would, I behaved very badly.

Still my small saboteurs told me how bad I was, they all shouted at once and gave me such a headache that I shouted back, ‘Stop it, shut up and go away,’ I was very angry. They fell silent and huddled together, so I quickly put them in my hat and locked it in my drawer.

I felt a little better right away, and the very next day I met a handsome man, who said that I had a pretty smile. I smiled at myself in the mirror, turning from side to side, and saw that I had a tiny bit of prettiness, so I smiled wider!

The handsome man was always kind to me, and before I knew it, he said that he loved me and wanted me to be his wife. I was so happy that I forgot all about the small saboteurs, and then along you came.

So I want you to know that if ever a saboteur speaks to you, they speak untruths, and you must never believe them. I’ve taken these creatures out of the drawer and I’m going to drop them in the old well one by one, never to be seen or heard again.

 

 

 

 

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 69

Posted on Posted in flash fiction, short story, WritingTagged , , 6 Comments

This is the prompt over at Julia’s place this week, a hundred word story, poem or whatever springs to mind is the challenge.

Too late for some

I don’t know how you could eat that. Have you forgotten what we saw in the rain forest? Palm oil devastation? What about our pact to spread the word, to let our friends know, hoping that the circle of awareness would spread ever wider? When did your career become more important than us? It’s a bit like Eltsen isn’t it? putting growth and market domination before what really matters. Well soon there will be no rain forest but I’m not swallowing it, not sitting here while our relationship dies. You eat your Tik-Tak, if that matters more to you than an Orang-utan.

Gina volunteers at Teshie Childrens Centre, Accra

Posted on Posted in Ghana, Travel, WritingTagged , , , , , , , 9 Comments

I first met Gina when we trained as counsellors together ten years ago. We got on well from the start with shared passions for learning, travel, books and a touch of the alternative, and supported each other in our first counselling placements. Never one to let the grass grow under her feet – a Gemini like me, Gina has gone on to train in reflexology, and has also continued to study.

I remember when Gina  first voiced the idea of doing voluntary work abroad somewhere, she thought about India or Ghana, somewhere she could make a difference. It always had to wait for the right time, she is a single mum to a son but now that he is thirteen, it is easier for her to spend some time away.

We chatted occasionally about travel in third world countries; I shared some of my experiences and practical stuff. Nearly a year ago she told me that she was making plans, and Ghana was her choice. By then I had been there myself, not to volunteer, just to travel – in 2007 I toured around, and as far north as the border with Burkina Faso, and loved every minute I was there.

To raise the money for her trip Gina organised a fundraising evening. She sold tickets for a party with live music and a raffle, persuading and charming the prizes, and even the printing of tickets, from friends and local businesses, and then two weeks ago she was off! An hour before her flight she sent me a text saying she was real scared, and I said not to worry, the people are the friendliest anywhere in the country of smiles.

As soon as she arrived it was obvious how much she loved it, her joy just shines out, I knew she would. This is what she has told me.

 

The Under privileged Children’s Centre is based in Teshie Nungua and supports children from some of the poorest inner city areas of Accra. Those attending are from La, Teshie and surrounding communities. 

UCC was established in La, by a local Ghanian man named Billa Mahmud. Billa had grown up within this poor community and recognised the vast amounts of street children and orphans who were just roaming the streets or working without an education. In 1998 Billa began to teach what started as 5 children under a mango tree to 55 children under a larger mango tree to 80 children in a small rented room which he financed to what it is today, a thriving centre of which I have been honoured to be a part of. This project is continuing to grow and now includes further community initiatives including sports coaching and vocational training. Since 2010 UCC has been supported by a registered charity which provides volunteers and financial support to the centre in Ghana. The UCC is reliant on donations of money or resources and the sponsor a child scheme in order to continue its operations.
I have spent the past 3 weeks absorbing the local culture, the friendliest people I have ever met and the biggest hugs from these beautiful grateful children.
I am sponsoring a child here and plan to return with my son in 2014 to appreciate the growth of this unique project. An experience that will stay close to my heart…..

 Teshie sounds like an amazing place, doing wonderful work that will make a huge difference. Whenever a child gets an education, that child’s life changes and the effect spreads in expanding circles of opportunity.

If you have ever considered volunteering abroad I would recommend Ghana and I know for sure that Gina would recommend Teshie. It isn’t non-stop work, she has had  the chance to see some of the area around Ghana’s fabulous coast and to experience the culture.

Gina I’m sure that you will stay close to their hearts too, well done, you’re amazing.

Miss Christie Revisited

Posted on Posted in England, flash fiction, short storyTagged , , , , , , , 14 Comments

A few months ago I had my 25000th blog hit and I asked the person that ‘hit it’ to write a guest post for me. It was a busy time for her, but she has kept it in her mind and then recently she was inspired by a post here at Lucid gypsy. She is Sharon, or New Pillow Book, and her blog A Number of Things is an eclectic mix of poetry, photography, writing and just good fun. She takes part in several of the challenges and is a regular and supportive visitor. She made me laugh with Pie of Newt and I love her travel themes. She blogs most days, but not in a flashy way, she has a quiet unassuming style but also a strong voice.

When I posted about Agatha Christie’s Home recently, she said  `Dittisham is a perfect name for a village in a Christie mystery! Aside from that, your photos are so lovely. For some reason, I especially like the one of the moored sailboats dotting the river.’ So I challenged her again and she came up with this very clever and thought provoking flash fiction. Enjoy, and she would love to read any comments 🙂

Death in Dittisham

Enid checked to be sure that her stocking seams made a straight dark line up the backs of her legs. She peeked through the curtained doorway. There were only a few customers at the tables in the tearoom. “It’s quiet for now,” Mavis said. “Just as well you’re here, though. We’re expecting two busses of trippers today.”

“Shame they won’t have a chance to talk to Mrs. Mallowan.”

Everyone who worked in Dittisham knew who Mrs. Mallowan was: Agatha Christie, the famous writer. Of course, many of the trippers thought she was “Miss Christie” or, sometimes, “Mrs. Christie”. They all knew that the big house across from Dittisham was hers, though. That was part of the reason they visited, and their visits were what kept the Pink Petunia Tearoom open and kept Enid and Mavis employed.

Not that Dittisham was really the placid English village it seemed at first glance. But wasn’t that how any good Christie story started out, with a world that wasn’t at all what it seemed to be?

“Mrs. Mallowan? Oh, lots of them don’t want to see her,” Mavis said. “A nice chat with old Miss Marple, or a glimpse of that funny Belgian fellow, and they go home happy.”

But just then the first wave of trippers poured into the tearoom. It was hours before Enid and Mavis had another chance to catch their breath. “Regularly run off my feet,” Enid remarked as they leaned against the wall in the back room, tables emptying at last.

“It’s better than Micky D’s.”

“One party asked me where they could stay the night. I recommended Bertram’s Hotel.”

“Oh, get on with you, do.” The two girls wiped down the tables and tidied up before setting off in opposite directions for home. Enid liked walking through this silent Dittisham by herself. It seemed so real. She wondered if she and “Mavis” would convince the characters in a real Christie story. The light was fading, but she knew all the back streets and shortcuts. Sweet-smelling flowers, a friendly cat on its nightly prowl, a huddle of – something – under a bush. She crossed the lane and bent over the crumpled object.

And then she was running, running, all the way to the police station on the green. PC Jackson looked up in surprise as she burst in. “Now then, Enid, what’s all this?”

“Oh, Jim!” she panted. “It’s Miss Marple!” He gaped at her. Stupid, I’m being stupid, she thought. He wasn’t PC James Jackson any more than she was Enid Green. He wasn’t a policeman at all. This wasn’t England, and the 1930’s were eighty years gone. This was only a sham Dittisham, ChristieWorld, nothing but a specially built tourist attraction filled with actors working on their English accents. She loved it, and now she had to destroy it.

“Miss Marple?”

“Look, Matt, phone the real cops. It’s Miss Marple. I mean Mrs. Milewski. She’s dead.”

* * *

The African Chef, the Next Big Thing!

Posted on Posted in Devon, Food, WritingTagged , , , , , , , 15 Comments

Today I had the pleasure of meeting Malcolm Riley and his wife Sophie. They are perhaps the most food passionate people I have ever met. Their motto is ‘Inspired by Africa produced locally’ and Malcolm’s company is The African Chef. I was drawn towards their stand by the unusual sight – in Devon at least of a Baobab fruit and then the product labels caught my eye. BAOBAB JAM, of course I just had to taste the sampler, on cheese, the spicy version had all my taste buds zinging. I loitered, with plans to sample as many as I could get away with, all the same one of course – then I would move on to the next variety! Malcolm and Sophie are very friendly and keen to chat about their food. He is Zambian and grew up with a fusion of food because his mum worked at a Chinese restaurant, then had a catering business and a butchers. Apparently she was the best cook in Lusaka and his biggest influence.

I once spent a day in Zambia but ate in the home of an English woman so I was keen to learn about real Zambian food. They only season with salt, relying on the true flavour of the food rather than spice. We compared the traditional ‘Pap’, a maize meal with the West African Fufu that I’ve tried, a staple carbohydrate used as we use rice, pasta or potatoes.

Once Malcolm moved to London and was exposed to the vast array of food available he knew where his future lay. He spent six years working as a produce manager at Planet Organic. This must have been a huge learning curve, but he was hooked and with Sophie, moved to Devon and worked at Riverfood Farm. Here in Devon we produce some of the finest cheeses, wine and organic vegetables you can buy; Malcolm made some great contacts and moved forward.

I was mesmerised by the flavours to test and he asked if I like pepper flavours. Now, I can do without salt but pepperiness – no way. He showed me a jar of condiment made from Scotch Bonnets and I was tempted, but knowing my limitations, I opted instead for the African Gold, a divine mix of red kidney beans, chillies and garlic. I went in for seconds, just a tiny bit on bread and the flavour hit different parts of my mouth with different effects, zingy, hot and rich, it continued with an internal warmth, but not an over the top heat.

Next I tried the Carrot and Ginger Jam, mild and fruity and delicious on cheese. Malcolm had more delights to offer. A lovely little jar of buttery stuff, which he melted in a fondue to become a garlic dip, I tried it with bread and can imagine lots of ways to use it.

Of course I bought the Spicy African Gold and the hotter Scotch Bonnet for a gift, I sent my friend along and she couldn’t resist either. Malcolm gave me a free recipe card to showing how to use the condiment with steak. I said I wouldn’t be trying that as I don’t eat meat. He said that he had been veggie in the past and there was a recipe for tempura nettles, interesting, and I never say never, but because he added that it was good just stirred into potatoes, I’ve just had it with sweet potato mash – try it Malcolm if you haven’t already – it was wonderful. I look forward to trying it with fish, but perhaps not the cat fish or tilapia we talked about, I’m not sure it’s available here yet.

I wish I had tried more; there is a cordial and Baobab powder, which I didn’t even find out about. I’m certain that I’ll be buying more in the future, Malcolm’s products have already won awards. He grows some of his ingredients right here in Devon on his allotment, and he is dedicated to fair trade. As if this isn’t enough, 20 pence from every jar sold is donated to the David Shepherd Wildlife Foundation, supporting anti-poaching and conservation projects in Africa.

When you see ‘The African Chef’ for sale – and you will, give it a try, this is really good food, 100% natural and I give it a huge thumbs up!

Read more at http://www.theafricanchef.com/

100 Words for Grown Ups – Week# 67

Posted on Posted in flash fiction, short story, WritingTagged , , , 14 Comments

Julia decided that as the recent challenges have been sombre, this week she would try to lighten things up. The prompt . . . I really tried not to laugh . . . made me think of my afternoon.

Hysterical Boredom

 Doodling. That’s what kept me awake through a two hour VAT seminar. I wondered what the senior manager sitting behind me, thought of the back of my head, and then wondered if other people think about such things.

The doodle began as high pressure straight lines, and slowly became a gentle floral design, based on the PowerPoint presenting auditor’s dress.

I smiled sleepily when she joked about VAT on Tulisa’s autobiography and a war game for X Box  When she talked about contraceptive products and autopsy fees, without drawing breath, I really tried not to laugh but it was a tax too far.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 66

Posted on Posted in flash fiction, short story, WritingTagged , , , , , , , 14 Comments

THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING. Ah Julia I like this prompt, I always observe the silence. Those who have followed me for a long time, will know how moved I was when I visited Gallipoli, and may have read my poem.

11 am November 11th

The silence was deafening. But I heard the first whisperings in my head as I stepped out of the car; Anzac was like an echo chamber full of young men.

Tell my wife I love her, kiss my little girl, tell mum my savings are in a box under the floor, dad I’m sorry, Mary forgive me? I didn’t confess Padre.

Yes, I’ll do my best. One at a time, I’ll make a list.

They always laughed when I said I hear voices, keep taking the medication, they said. Now, finally, I’ve found my vocation. Spirit messenger.

Come and join in  with the challenge here,

http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/11/12/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week66/