Dear Words

Specifically, Dear Words in my Head.

Why do you have to fly around like confetti at a wedding making no sense to me or to my fingers which are trying to interpret you into something sensible and logical that could be called a sentence?

Why are there so many of you tumbling like leaves in the autumn wind? I don't have an enormous vocabulary so how is it possible that so many of you exist? Unless you are secretly cloning yourselves up there, conspiring to further confuse me.

Occasionally you hint at something that could be useful, like a to-do list, a blog post or a multi-million pound best selling novel that is just crying out to be made into a box-office hit. I know they are all hiding in there, particularly the to-do list which, unless it can escape and metamorphosise into the written word, will stretch and grow and twist and knot itself to the point it makes me rather ill (in the stressed out kind of sense).

Meanwhile, I grasp at the few moments in my day which are uninterrupted by children's demands, and try to purge my brain of a few words that may make someone smile, or nod sagely in understanding. My brain struggles for air as it drowns in literary flotsam and I manage to cough up a tweet. It is however not worthy of a reply or retweet. It is just a belch of words that are commonplace and unremarkable save for their indelible mark on the web.

I really need to find some space where I can set some of you free, make your own way into the world and release the pressure that is mounting. Because the pressure is mounting, and if I can't find the release valve there will be an almighty alphabetti spagetti inspired blog post flying across my readers screens.

Or is this already it?

Yours desperately trying to clear some head space so if you could just sort yourselves out into a semblance of order that would be great,

Me

Spectacular Speculations - Graffiti

I speculate.

I have written before about my love of people watching, how I imagine little back stories for people I see in restaurants, how I speculate about how things got to where they are now (like a single shoe in a gutter or half a pair of glasses on a bench) or where our neighbour goes every morning with his daughter (at least we think it is his daughter. See. Speculating again) in one car, but returns later, alone, in another car.

So when I see this graffiti on a fence:

I have to speculate.

Here are my alternative speculative theories regarding it's authorship and intended message.

Theory 1:

Thinking his captors have not missed him yet and not realising civilisation and potential rescuers were merely yards away, the mute escapee took his can of red spray paint that he'd carefully concealed for just such an occasion, and started to write 'HELP'. Unfortunately, his captors were fast to realise the handcuffs they were holding no longer had a hand within them and caught him before he could finish scribing his desperate plea. Hope he's okay.

Theory 2:

Her passion for abstract art and her strict Renaissance loving parents were not a happy mix, so the rebel in her would sneak out early in the morning to get a quick fix of urban creativity. Sadly on this occasion, her father had slept badly after a heavy curry the night before and taken Rembrandt, their elderly spaniel, for an early stroll. He happened upon her before her she could complete her urban cityscape. I have taken the liberty of anticipating what the finished artwork might have looked like.

Theory 3:

It had been a particularly tense match at the bridge club and Geoffry was still confounded how Lionel had pulled that winning rubber out of the bag. He had replayed the match over and over while he sipped his sherry in the bar afterwards and became certain that foul play was afoot. He knew his wife wouldn't want him to make a scene so instead, he made an excuse to pop outside to the car park. Armed with his red biro he located Lionel's car and set to writing "HE CHEATS" on the fence with a large arrow pointing accusingly at his Vauxhall Passat. Geoffry would come back next week and finish his expose just as soon as he had bought another dozen red bics.

You may now vote for your favourite theory ;-)

Conference - 100 word challenge

I am a "100 word challenge" virgin. Be gentle with me.


I bought the ticket months ago. I decided on my outfit weeks ago. I wrote my to-do list and ticked everything off days ago. And finally I stand outside, anticipation cursing through me, palms more than slightly sweaty. 
I put on my brave face, the confident one that says ‘I belong here’ and move to push through the doors.
But they push back against me, charged with energy that overflows the building. The noise that assaults my ears confirms there's a real buzz about this place that cannot be contained by walls or a bloggers' words.
So BritMums Live commences.


I'm linking up with JB47's 100 word Challenge prompted by the phrase "there's a real buzz about this place".

Pic Lit

You all know I'm doing a 365project where I take a picture a day.
And you probably know that I like to write.
But I am not writing enough. At least not enough creative writing.
So I've had an idea.

Once a week, I am going to pick one of the pictures I have posted for my project, one that inspires me, made me look a bit closer, a bit longer than usual, and then write about it, creatively, in a story kind of way, in a fictional sort of style, sort of.

And I shall name it Pic Lit (like Chick Lit but not). Picture Literature in other words.

Get it? Okey dokey then.

~ ~ ~

Climbing Fences

- Come on!

- Where?

- Over there. Look! there's a horse. We could ride it.

- No. We shouldn't.

- Come On!

- No, it's not allowed.

- Who says? Come ON!

The horse looked up suspiciously, snorted and then returned to munching on the frosty grass.

The fence was slippery and his foot slid slightly. He wondered how far he would dare go. Jump down the other side? Yeah, that would be ok. Maybe go to where the horse was standing. Because the horse would have moved away by then, wouldn't it? Horses were friendly weren't they? Weren't you supposed to give them sugar lumps or polos or something? He checked his pockets knowing he wouldn't have any sugar lumps or polos. When had he ever carried sugar lumps or polos anyway? Stupid!

On the other side of the fence, the sunlight had thawed the frosty ground enough to make it quite muddy. He wished he had worn wellies now. He had no idea what he was going to do really. Just wanted to spook his sister. She was such a drama queen and never did anything daring. She had once hidden from Mum, really held out for ages, until she could hear that Mum was getting a bit panicky. She thought that was daring. He could see she was getting all worried, hopping from foot to foot and looking around all the time. She was telling him not to, starting to raise her voice a bit. He thought it was really funny when he ignored her. She would get so cross and start shouting and when she couldn't stand it any more she would scream at him and start to cry. Maybe she would cry now. Maybe someone would come around the corner, see her standing there screaming and crying and call the Police thinking that something terrible had happened to her, She would get to ride in Police car. He had always wanted to ride in a Police car, with the lights flashing, the siren blaring, driving so fast that your eyes were blasted open and you couldn't move in your seat. She would love that, "I've been in a Police Car and you haven't." with a silent but implied "Na na na naaa na!" Couldn't let that happen. If anyone was going in a Police car it was him.

He didn't like horses anyway.

~ ~ ~

Should you feel compelled to join in, I have made a little badge that you could use :-) Mention me won't you x




<a href="http://s1126.photobucket.com/albums/l611/fivegoblogging/?action=view&current=piclitbadge.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1126.photobucket.com/albums/l611/fivegoblogging/piclitbadge.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>

NaBloPoMo - The Conclusion

I definitely made the right decision when I chose NaBloPoMo rather than NaNoWriMo.

Could I have written 1500 words a day that could be considered literature?
Would my family have moved out in the search for food?
Would my fingers be reduced to bleeding stumps?
Would my eyes be bloodshot and out on stalks?

In answer to the above, no, yes, yes, yes.
And would I have a novel that I was proud of? A categorical NO.

Instead I joined in with Britmums NaBloPoMo (or Write a blog post every single day through November whilst trying to gain new readers whilst hanging on to the ones you've got). This required on average 321 words per day taking about 40 minutes to write, 1 awesomely edited photo a day *cough* requiring 30 minutes on Picnik, and add to that time to read other blogs and comment.

The writing was easy (thanks to a couple of timely memes to fill in a couple of gaping holes in my otherwise fun packed blogging calendar) but the hard part for me was giving enough time to other people's posts and giving them the comment love that I wanted to give. My comments became more meagre and uninspiring as the month went on but I did comment whenever I could. I know for those of you who are stat-aholics, a comment is a comment and counts for your rankings, but I am not as sensitive to my stats. Don't get me wrong, I look at my page views, I am disappointed if I don't get any comments, I worry if no one visits my blog and I plug my posts all over twitter and facebook. I write for pleasure, but I also write for recognition and for appreciation. I am a blogger but I am also a person *wibble*, which is why I like to give something back in my comments if I can, it is just an extension of my writing after all.

I could have spent more time on the writing, at times it was just pushed out rather than considered, there wasn't much time to actually do anything to write about either, which has led me to the conclusion that I shouldn't try to write a post a day from now on. Keep it natural and when the writing inspiration hits, I am poised and ready at the keyboard (life permitting, those little people may get in the way on occasion).

You will glad to hear that I am not going to be force feeding you through December, there will be enough of that in the form of mince pies and chocolate (I hope), but what I do feed you will be high quality, refined and heartfelt. At least I'll try ;)

Thank you for sticking with me. Normal service will soon be resumed. By normal I refer you to the last sentence of the previous paragraph. Any other interpretation of the word 'normal' is unintentional.

NaBloPoMo, I bid you goodnight.

*dashes off to think about tomorrow's post*
*hah, I don't need to now, do I?*
*but I may want to, it being December and the run up to Christmas, and all*
*oh poppycock (heavy emphasis on last syllable) where did I hide the advent calendars*
*rummages in cupboard* *drags out sorry looking supermarket advent calendars* *calculates time available to hand craft something more blog worthy*

*head desk*

Lazybloggeritis

I think I may be suffering from a contagious lurgy. Symptoms include brain ache, sloppy writing, lack of inspiration, seeing blog badges before my eyes, and a strong sense of deja vu. I think I may be a lazy blogger.

You see doctor, there are just so many great linkys, blog hops and memes out there that I could sometimes post more than once a day just joining in with everyone elses's great ideas. And in a month where so many of us are partaking in NaBloPoMo this is clearly very helpful and frankly much needed. (Brain ache!)

But (there is always a but isn't there, and this is where I get to the point, I think, hopefully) am I a lazy blogger if I join in with too many blog hops? And, important this bit, how many is too many? Granted, many of them are blog hops where you link in your own original post, as long as it ties in with the theme, so there is the prerequisite that you have written something in the first place. So that isn't lazy is it? Or does using a prompt from someone else class you as lazy too? Oh hell!

I guess there are echoes in this post of the balance between reviews and interesting unique writing from the author. I know that debate has been aired recently and I am firmly in the camp of, if the review is relevant to me I will read it, if not I will click away, hopefully not stumbling upon another blog reviewing the exact same thing in the process.

At this point in the proceedings, I should add that this post comes only 2 days after I started my own blog hop. (Hypocrite!). It's called Snap Slappers and all you have to do is... SORRY!

So what's a blogger to do?

On reflection, having given it considerable consideration, I've thought long and hard and I have reached a decision. I have to be true to my heart. Oh, Dermot this is really difficult.

I am going to continue with the linkys and blog hops that I do.
I will join in if I have a relevant post to link with.
I will ensure that I am giving good blog through original and thought provoking posts (That'll be a first).
I will continue to waste many hours to photo editing ;) to ensure that I have beautiful/hilarious/witty images to accompany my words of wisdom.

As for the stats, well that's another whole conversation.

Blog on my friends. Blog on!

By the way, if you have a meme and you would like to send it my way. Please do! I have some serious gaps in my blogging calendar for the rest of NaBloPoMo! Just don't call me lazy!

Sod's Law And Some Of His Friends

Dilbert's Principle - Scott Adams

You know when you say something and then you have to kick yourself (hard) because, by saying it out loud, fate will hear and then come crashing down and rain on your parade (if fate could rain) the day after you left your umbrella on the bus. That. Aka Sod's Law, not to be confused with Murphy's Law where if something can go wrong it will.

Most of these instances inevitably involve children. This sort of thing: 

• While they are quiet I'll just... *tea gets cold. again*
• Don't run around in your socks. You'll...  *wheeee..THUD*
• Be careful. Don't drop it. *CRAAAAASH*
• Oh he'll eat anything. *except what you are giving us for lunch*
• So you are absolutely sure you don't need a wee. *Does the wee jiggle after queuing in post office for 30 minutes*

Then there are the ones that cannot be blamed on the ankle biters much as we would like to blame them.

• I know the fuel light is on but we're only going a couple of miles. *Repeat for every subsequent car journey until fuel runs out in Waitrose car park*
• We don't need these receipts do we? *shred receipt for new shredder as it self combusts*
• There's no need to set the alarm. The Wee One always wakes us up. *except this morning*
• I won't buy it now. They have loads of them. *Sells out in 30 minutes*
• I'll buy it now. *50% off the next day*

Just for a laugh and because I didn't know, I googled Sod's Law to see if I could find out who Sod was. I didn't but I am easily distracted. Instead I found a fascinating list of eponymous laws on wikipedia.

I have a few highlights (because many of them are dull as a very dull thing that lives on a dull street on a very dull day). Having said that, if you even have the remotest interest in anything scientific, the list could keep your scientific juices flowing for days.

• Amara's law – "We tend to overestimate the effect of a technology in the short run and underestimate the effect in the long run."
• Dilbert principle – Coined by Scott Adams as a variation of the Peter Principle of employee advancement. Named after Adams' Dilbert comic strip, it proposes that "the most ineffective workers are systematically moved to the place where they can do the least damage: management."
• Dunbar's number – A theoretical cognitive limit to the number of people with whom one can maintain stable social relationships. No precise value has been proposed for Dunbar's number, but a commonly cited approximation is 150. First proposed by British anthropologist Robin Dunbar.
• Littlewood's law – States that individuals can expect miracles to happen to them, at the rate of about one per month. Coined by Professor J E Littlewood, (1885–1977).
• Muphry's law – "If you write anything criticizing editing or proofreading, there will be a fault of some kind in what you have written." The editorial equivalent of Murphy's law, according to John Bangsund.
• Parkinson's law – "Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion." Coined by C. Northcote Parkinson (1909–1993), who also coined its corollary, "Expenditure rises to meet income." In computers: Programs expand to fill all available memory.
• Rothbard's law – Everyone specializes in his own area of weakness.
• Sturgeon's law – "Ninety percent of everything is crud." Derived from a quote by science fiction author Theodore Sturgeon (1918–1985).
• Wirth's law – Software gets slower faster than hardware gets faster.

This got me thinking...

If a law was to be named after you, what would that law be? Tricky I know but to get you started here is mine (it could equally apply to any parent).

Mrs Five's Law - "The quieter the child in the next room, the larger the repair bill."

x

10 Questions

The origin of the Question Mark. Wikipedia.com

The origin of the Question Mark is from the latin 'quaestio' meaning to ask as illustrated above. Don't ever day that this blog isn't educational!

I like questions and I like question marks and I have been set the challenge by Motherventing to answer 10 questions. Not 9 or 11 but a nice round 10. Apparently I am supposed to be honest to reveal to my followers a little bit more about me so they can get to know me better. Thing is I am very shallow and there isn't a whole lot of interesting stuff to know.

Fortunately the questions are nice and shallow too. So without the aid of any swimming aids I can jump straight in.


Describe yourself in seven words.
Bad-tempered writer of the next best seller (hyphenated words count as one don't they?)

What keeps you awake at night?
The Wee One but fortunately not that often any more. I am blessed with the ability to sleep through all manner of stress.

If you could be anyone for a day, who would it be, and why?
I would like to be Orla Kiely on a day when she is designing and playing around with patterns and colours and handbags. Heavenly.

What are you wearing now?
My wedding ring, a bad haircut, clothes that Gok would frown at and an expression that says, what the hell!

What scares you?
Spiders, rats, cockroaches, and anything else that might make itself at home where I am and it should not be.

What is the best and worst thing about blogging?
I like that, as a blogger, I can write what I want, when I want and occasionally get my ego massaged by some lovely comments. The worst thing about blogging is how remote it is. I can't wait to meet some fellow bloggers IRL!

What was the last website you looked at?
Apart from Motherventing's blog obviously, I was ordering my shopping from Ocado. Sorry, very dull but hey, the family's got to eat.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
Shave a few pounds off here and there and add a few to the bank balance would be a good start.

Slankets: yes or no?
I think I might be a closet slanket lover but I cannot quite bring myself to buy one. It sits along side a foot cosy on the shopping list. Both practical, warm and snuggly but not something you really want the Mr to see you in.

Tell us something about the people who tagged you?
Motherventing is my writing and blogging inspiration. I aspire to her greatness of the use of the english language and her ability to make people not just laugh, but laugh until they either cry or pee.

Now I need to hop over to the Super Amazing Mum's blog where all this started and leave a comment along with everyone else who has answered the 10 questions.

And tag someone, a deserving cause who is also taking part in NaBloPoMo (or National Blog Posting Month) where you write a blog post a day. By being tagged for this meme I didn't have to seek inspiration for today but tomorrow is another story!

So Cat at Yellow Days... over to you x

NaBloPoMo vs NaNoWriMo

NaBloPoMo vs NaNoWriMo. What the what?

Allow me to translate.

National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short, is a marathon to write a 50,000 word novel in November. Sounds oh so simple but oh so demanding on time! Seeing as I have a couple of ideas for novels floating around in my head, and I LOVE writing, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get one of these ideas, or more likely a mishmash of some of them, down in black and white, thereby facilitating my meteroric rise to fame as an accomplished contemporary writer. Aaand back in the room!

I have only just heard of NaBloPoMo thanks to BritMums and this post. National Blog Posting Month is a challenge to write a post every day through November. Now that sounds a little more acheivable especially considering normal family life, need for sleep and a few other commitments in November. But actually it is sometimes really hard to find your blogging inspiration, she says writing a post about writing a post a day!

I am in desperate need to get writing, proper words that tell a tale and get my imagination spinning off in various directions but hopefully getting somewhere in the process. So my challenge is this. Do I try to write 50,000 words in the form of a novel or do I try to write a blog post a day or do I write a novel on my blog in 30 posts hopefully hitting about 50,000 words in total? Or do I wish everyone luck who is attempting one or other of these writing challenges and sit back and read the fruits of their labour?

No pressure or anything (on October 31st)!

Did you consider one of these challenges? Did you decide it wasn't for you or are you going for it? Obviously I understand that you may be a bit tied up writing if you are!

Sloe Gin by Me and Seamus Heaney

 

Sloe Gin. Too slow for me!

I was waiting for the first frost which didn't come.

So I gave up, picked the sloes anyway and took the advice to freeze them overnight and then thaw them to mimic the frost.

Were they fooled? Only time will tell. Ten weeks time apparently.

I only bottled the ingredients today. The kitchen smelled fantastic although not entirely appropriate for 10 in the morning.

Counting on my fingers, I can crack open the first bottle on Boxing day.

Apparently I can keep the second bottle for another year.

We'll see about that.

SLOE GIN

The clear weather of juniper
darkened into winter.
She fed gin to sloes
and sealed the glass container.

When I unscrewed it
I smelled the disturbed
tart stillness of a bush
rising through the pantry.

When I poured it
it had a cutting edge
and flamed
like Betelgeuse.

I drink to you
in smoke-mirled, blue-
black sloes, bitter
and dependable.

-- Seamus Heaney

 

Book Title Poetry

You know when you happen to come across something on the interwebulator but can't for the life of you remember how on earth you got there? Well, that happened to me a week or 2 ago and I happened to fall upon (not literally I hasten to add) Janet Reid, Literary Agent.

She was running a little contest where you had to create a poem from the titles of books and then take a photo of the books you'd used. It really caught my attention and I quite literally dropped what I was doing and started scouring the shelves of my library (er, couple of book shelves actually).

Here is my entry which, I thought was rather good until I saw the quality of the other entrants:

A long way down

the road of love

more tales of the city

were burning bright.

A spot of bother

saw them

behaving badly.

One day

with nails sharpened

came the slap

Safe retreat with friends, lovers and chocolate

Just like the way we wore

the comfort of strangers

like a nice jumper.

Happy now

dead sexy

in the blue afternoon

women in love

are starting over.

There were something like 200 entrants so I'm not upset that I didn't win :-(

The winner's poem was amazing and you can look through all the entries and the winning poem on Janet Reid's blog.

Tick Tock - Writing Workshop

Time is running out.

Out of what?

Out of me.

It starts too slow.

And before you know

It's running too quick

so nothing sticks.

Slipping away

through my fingers.

I take pictures

to hold time still.

So when I sit

I can look and see

what passed me by

today.

This was written for the Sleep Is For The Weak Writing Workshop from the prompt Time.

Join in or stop a while to read the other contributions.

Unwrinkle me

There have been a couple of significant events this week:

1. I had a haircut. This is an infrequent event. I am happy with the results.
2. While sat in front of the mirror at the hairdressers, I had plenty of (too much) time to look at myself. This is a aspect of hairdressing I do not like. In so doing I was able to assess that I am aging. I have wrinkles.
3. I am writing.

Two of these things excite me.
One does not.

According to my hairdresser one of the above things is a direct consequence of the other two.

I HATE having a fringe. A suntanned forehead will become a wrinkled forehead. I should have a fringe according to my hairdresser. This fringe will serve 2 purposes:

1. Prevent further sun damage and further worsening of the wrinkles.
2. Hide the wrinkles that I already have.

But I HATE fringes (on me specifically).

Writing is also causing wrinkles. I frown when I concentrate. I concentrate when I write.

So there are 3 things I can do about my wrinkles:

• Get another haircut which features a fringe.
• Stop writing.
• Buy anti wrinkle cream.

I have bought anti wrinkle cream.

PS. Any manufacturers or PR's of anti wrinkle cream who would like me to test their product, feel free to contact me. I will gladly review and write a post on the results ;-)

PPS. In writing this post I have also discovered that you can buy clip in fringe hair pieces! Who'd a thunk it?

My Interrupted Life

photo credit: mycatisgay.tumblr.com

My Interrupted Life

I wish I could be solitary

just for a minute or three

to privately

go wee.

I wish I could drink my coffee

before its cold completely.

Hot and frothy,

milky.

I wish I could watch daytime news.

But I don't want to lose

the innocent view

you're due.

I wish I could read a story.

No children on my knee

demandingly

happy.

I wish I could sleep a whole night.

No first annoying sight.

No chink of light,

or fright

I wish I could chat on the phone

without the nagging drone

of a child prone

alone.

I wish I could complete something,

finish without juggling

and dropping

a thing.

When you're grown I'll get my wish.

Home alone and you I'll miss.

No goodbye kiss.

No bliss.

This is my contribution to The Writing Workshop and the prompt "I wish" from Sleep is for the Weak

The one where I release my inner child!

Because that little girl who was never too far away from a book or a pencil is still in there.

Given the choice (time), I would be writing or drawing or taking photos or making something. Easy.

But time is so hard to find. It eludes me. There is always something in the way. Something grown up and 'important' and BORING!

Except today. In rained. A lot. Big fat sploshy drops that land and then rise again, bouncing off surfaces to make more drops. From the sanctuary of the door step I watched as they fell incessantly.

I experimented with the settings on the camera trying to capture the scale of the drops and the splashes as they hit the table. I cursed not having a better zoom but continued to snap away revelling in the marvels of digital photography and the gift of being able to shoot 100 frames and delete 98 of them without having wasted money on films and developing.

The kids watched TV uninterested. I had to cajole them into their wellies to go and splash in some puddles. Princess's wellies sprung a leak. The Big One complained that his wellies were too small. The Wee One sat down.

I lifed my chin up high so the water could hit my face, not so heavy now but still raining. I stuck out my tongue to get a drink, licking my lips expecting saltiness but tasting nothing. I looked round to see what the children were doing. They were taking off their wellies, deciding that it was too cold and wet. Even The Wee One with his now sodden trousers looked back over his shoulder and I swear he sighed and shook his head.

I smiled. I executed a near faultless pirouette on the patio for no-ones benefit but my own. With my arms swinging out at my sides I felt the rain against my skin and then I too went indoors, the grown up resurfacing, remembering how frizzy my hair gets in the rain.

Thank you Josie at Sleep is for the Weak and her Writing Workshop prompt: Big Kids

On Beauty

Open your eyes.
Look around you.
Look through a photographers lens.
Just look.




I did this and watched my daughters golden hair swinging from side to side as she ran, in her own penguin like way. I wanted time to slow down so I could savour every lock catching the light, reflecting the sun. I wanted to hold the golden tones and feel them run through my fingers, sure that they would simultaneously be heavy and soft to my touch. The waves of her hair and its fluidity filled my heart. If I could hold them, I could keep them and save them.

I saw a feather drift through my back door on the afternoon breeze. Time was, I would have tutted and tossed it in the bin. Instead I held it up to the light and turned it into the sun transfixed by the amazing regularity of each barb and how the light was distorted as it passed through this simple, discarded piece of anatomy. Such uniformity creating the perfect tool with which a bird can fly and look down on me looking at it's feather.

It rained. The smell of green was wonderful, no beautiful. The earth gave up its fresh rich scent that held me, smiling, and sent me into the garden to touch leaves, lift flowers, brush raindrops from abandoned toys and reach into the sandpit to feel its cool dimpled surface. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect to be pulled outside. My bare feet, with grass and earth stuck to my toes, woke me and led me to get my camera.

Beauty is there to be appreciated. But there isn't always time to indulge in it.

I will make time.


Inspired by Josie at Sleep is for the Weak and the Writing Workshop .

To-do or not to-do

That is the question.

Should that title have a question mark?
Not sure. Will add it to my to-do list to find out.
In the meantime I do have a few other things on the list that require some attention.
But I have a couple of to-do lists and I'm not sure which list to put what on.

The first list is never ending, always more to put on it even though I mostly manage to cross off a thing or to during a typical day. Top of tomorrows list are the following:

1. Clean bathroom
2. Hoover upstairs
3. Dust bedrooms
4. Water plants - dependent on rain
5. Post cards
6. Finish this note
7. Entertain kids

The other list is far more interesting and takes up significantly more headspace but rarely gets anything crossed off it. It is my "Achieving this will make me happy" list.

1. Make things - sewing, crafty stuff, a list within a list of lovely projects that when my studio (not office) gets built (see point 4) will gloriously rise from a pile of hoarded fabric, buttons, paper, cards and ribbon.
2. Write things - a novel, childrens ryhmes, blog. I will carry a tatty notebook within which rich and elaborate plots will hatch from snippets of conversations and doodles.
3. Sleep more. Self explanatory really.
4. Have a studio. It will be a retreat, with a lovely huge comfy reading chair, a library of fiction and home decorating coffee table books, a pin wall with gorgeous things that I will one day make and a huge old cutting table on which piles of fabric and scrapbooks lie invitingly.
5. Be a retail consultant (successful). A career in retail and a vain belief that I can help small retailers far and wide improve their business. Move over Mary Portas.
6. Or be a Social Media Consultant. Methinks this is actually me just wanting to write on facebook, twitter, blog blah blah. Can't imagine a career that involves telling people what to write when I just want to talk about me!

So the challenge is to cross off the boring stuff from the first list as quickly as possible so that I have time left to have a crack at something off the second list.

Best crack on then.

PS It's Actually Mummy's fault that I am writing this. Damn her for being a great blogger.