If you haven't already downloaded my novel, Charcoal, you can get it for FREE from Amazon today and tomorrow (18th and 19th September).
The link to download is:
UK readers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW
US readers: http://www.amazon.com/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW
Please share the links with your friends and enjoy!
You don't need a Kindle to download it - you can get a free app for the PC or for iPod/iPad/iPhone etc.
Tuesday 18 September 2012
Wednesday 12 September 2012
I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
Tonight I have been searching for something that I couldn't find. I thought I knew where I had put it...but apparently not! What it was is irrelevant, because I found some of my notebooks, and I thought I would share a couple of poems with you.
Would Like To Meet
Thank you for your message,
I'm pleased you like my 'pics'.
I've only just joined up here
And so far it's been quite....
An experience.
Yes, I'm into music
With quite eclectic taste -
You want to see more photos,
To see more than just my face?
First please tell me some more
About the things you do -
I don't want to see your six pack,
I'm not interested, thank you.
There'll be no naked photos
I'm not looking for that.
I've got a degree (I've got three),
A few kids, and some cats.
Sorry if that puts you off,
I'm not sure that we're matched.
I'm looking for intelligence
And opposites don't attract.
Digital
Love used to be kept in a box
Under the bed.
A strip of photographs,
Four white-bordered squares,
Photo booth fun with someone.
Me, looking younger,
Smiling. In love.
Now love is digitalised,
Trapped in a hard drive.
Messages on phone screens
For a month and then
Lost.
Our photographs never printed,
Never touched.
Then, when love is gone,
We click 'delete'
And move on.
Would Like To Meet
Thank you for your message,
I'm pleased you like my 'pics'.
I've only just joined up here
And so far it's been quite....
An experience.
Yes, I'm into music
With quite eclectic taste -
You want to see more photos,
To see more than just my face?
First please tell me some more
About the things you do -
I don't want to see your six pack,
I'm not interested, thank you.
There'll be no naked photos
I'm not looking for that.
I've got a degree (I've got three),
A few kids, and some cats.
Sorry if that puts you off,
I'm not sure that we're matched.
I'm looking for intelligence
And opposites don't attract.
Digital
Love used to be kept in a box
Under the bed.
A strip of photographs,
Four white-bordered squares,
Photo booth fun with someone.
Me, looking younger,
Smiling. In love.
Now love is digitalised,
Trapped in a hard drive.
Messages on phone screens
For a month and then
Lost.
Our photographs never printed,
Never touched.
Then, when love is gone,
We click 'delete'
And move on.
Monday 10 September 2012
Let's write something "happy"
Regular readers of my work may know by now that I am not particularly known for writing cheerful pieces. I'm sure it's not a spoiler for my novel, Charcoal, to say that it's quite a dark story - after all, the blurb starts with "Jess is dead". Never going to be a romantic comedy, that one.
So I was feeling the pressure heading to my writing group tonight in the knowledge that the subject for tonight's writing was going to be something light-hearted. Light-hearted, I do not do. My genre is DARK-hearted.
Of course though, even given the subject of writing a piece about winning the lottery, from a partner's point of view, it doesn't have to have a happy ending. You can read tonight's writing at the end of this post.
Firstly though, some news! I will be holding another Free Download Day for my novel on Tuesday next week. That will be the 18th September then.
The download link are:
for UK buyers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW/
for US buyers: http://www.amazon.com/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW/
If you haven't already bought a copy or missed out on the last free download then please get yourself a copy next Tuesday. If you have read and enjoyed it already, then please share the links with your family, friends, followers, or anyone else that you think would like a free download.
Thank you! Here's tonight's writing...
Not Forever
They say it's life changing, a lottery win. I used to think that it was impossible, but no. Again, I was wrong, and it was just improbable. I stopped buying my weekly ticket years ago. Once a week was manageable, a tax on the blindly optimistic maybe, but just one pound every seven days was fine. Then they started with their Thunderballs and bi-weekly draws, Eurowhatsits and, well, it was all too much. I gave up, as is my way. But Georgie, well, he never did.
I gave up on lots of things, over the years. We've been through our ups and downs, more of the downs than the ups, it has to be said. In and out of bad jobs, just about scraping by. We were neither of us ever meant for anything bigger or better than we had.
For a long time, all that we did have was each other. When we were working, that seemed to take over our lives and "us" was just a hobby that we sometimes, rarely, got to partake of. Georgie got lucky though, he always had the best of that. He got a job at the fruit machine factory that seemed almost secure. Long hours, not quite decent money, but for what it was, it was something. It was enough.
"It's not forever," he said.
He was always looking towards the future, always optimistic, always positive. But a part of me hoped that it was forever. I'd become used to us passing each other by, him heading out of the house as I arrived home. The more time that we spent together, the more I tired of him.
I had signed up to a temping agency, with high hopes of becoming a PA to some top executive. Instead all I got was filing, typing, and a slap on the arse from some suited prick. Not quite what I had dreamed of, but is life ever what anyone dreams it will be?
"It's not forever," Georgie said, when I told him about the sleazeball who called me into his office, and then had me sit there and do nothing, just so that he could leer at me.
"I hope not," I replied, but I didn't mean just that incident, I meant everything. I hoped that none of it would be forever, the way that my life was then. I wanted change.
And, of course, things do change. I was in that company, paid for my time and not for my skills, wasting my hours and their measly money, for only a month. Holiday cover, that was all, and then I was moved on. Looking back, things would have been very different if I had stayed. In the next organisation, there was no sleazy suitman, but there was Alex.
I was used to being treated as a temporary inconvenience, being looked down upon and walked over, but Alex, well, he was different. You can guess what happens with a woman, unhappy in her life, meets someone that finally shows her some respect, and gives her some attention.
I was ready to leave Georgie, to tell him that this life of long hours, passing in the hallway, always hoping that it wouldn't be forever, that it wasn't enough. I was ready to tell him that I wanted out, but then, the improbable happened. The numbers came up, and that life changing moment happened.
Georgie ran into the lounge, Friday night, when he was meant to be at work until the early hours of Saturday morning. He was laughing and crying and I couldn't even work out what he was trying to say at first. Then I saw it in his hand, he was waving that pink-red ticket, and I knew. I knew that he had been right all along.
"We've won," he said in a gasping heavy burst.
I scrunched my eyes up, trying to block it out, trying to wish him away, but the world shifted to slow motion. I knew what was coming next. I didn't have to think of what to say, or how to react because there, coming down the stairs was the life changing moment. Alex, half dressed, but still smart, sophisticated, solvent; everything that I had wanted.
Georgie's face changed in a flash. He had gone from being a man who had everything to a man who had come home from work to find his wife had been sleeping with her boss.
And all I could think of to say was,
"It's not forever."
So I was feeling the pressure heading to my writing group tonight in the knowledge that the subject for tonight's writing was going to be something light-hearted. Light-hearted, I do not do. My genre is DARK-hearted.
Of course though, even given the subject of writing a piece about winning the lottery, from a partner's point of view, it doesn't have to have a happy ending. You can read tonight's writing at the end of this post.
Firstly though, some news! I will be holding another Free Download Day for my novel on Tuesday next week. That will be the 18th September then.
The download link are:
for UK buyers: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW/
for US buyers: http://www.amazon.com/Charcoal-ebook/dp/B008FKBUJW/
If you haven't already bought a copy or missed out on the last free download then please get yourself a copy next Tuesday. If you have read and enjoyed it already, then please share the links with your family, friends, followers, or anyone else that you think would like a free download.
Thank you! Here's tonight's writing...
Not Forever
They say it's life changing, a lottery win. I used to think that it was impossible, but no. Again, I was wrong, and it was just improbable. I stopped buying my weekly ticket years ago. Once a week was manageable, a tax on the blindly optimistic maybe, but just one pound every seven days was fine. Then they started with their Thunderballs and bi-weekly draws, Eurowhatsits and, well, it was all too much. I gave up, as is my way. But Georgie, well, he never did.
I gave up on lots of things, over the years. We've been through our ups and downs, more of the downs than the ups, it has to be said. In and out of bad jobs, just about scraping by. We were neither of us ever meant for anything bigger or better than we had.
For a long time, all that we did have was each other. When we were working, that seemed to take over our lives and "us" was just a hobby that we sometimes, rarely, got to partake of. Georgie got lucky though, he always had the best of that. He got a job at the fruit machine factory that seemed almost secure. Long hours, not quite decent money, but for what it was, it was something. It was enough.
"It's not forever," he said.
He was always looking towards the future, always optimistic, always positive. But a part of me hoped that it was forever. I'd become used to us passing each other by, him heading out of the house as I arrived home. The more time that we spent together, the more I tired of him.
I had signed up to a temping agency, with high hopes of becoming a PA to some top executive. Instead all I got was filing, typing, and a slap on the arse from some suited prick. Not quite what I had dreamed of, but is life ever what anyone dreams it will be?
"It's not forever," Georgie said, when I told him about the sleazeball who called me into his office, and then had me sit there and do nothing, just so that he could leer at me.
"I hope not," I replied, but I didn't mean just that incident, I meant everything. I hoped that none of it would be forever, the way that my life was then. I wanted change.
And, of course, things do change. I was in that company, paid for my time and not for my skills, wasting my hours and their measly money, for only a month. Holiday cover, that was all, and then I was moved on. Looking back, things would have been very different if I had stayed. In the next organisation, there was no sleazy suitman, but there was Alex.
I was used to being treated as a temporary inconvenience, being looked down upon and walked over, but Alex, well, he was different. You can guess what happens with a woman, unhappy in her life, meets someone that finally shows her some respect, and gives her some attention.
I was ready to leave Georgie, to tell him that this life of long hours, passing in the hallway, always hoping that it wouldn't be forever, that it wasn't enough. I was ready to tell him that I wanted out, but then, the improbable happened. The numbers came up, and that life changing moment happened.
Georgie ran into the lounge, Friday night, when he was meant to be at work until the early hours of Saturday morning. He was laughing and crying and I couldn't even work out what he was trying to say at first. Then I saw it in his hand, he was waving that pink-red ticket, and I knew. I knew that he had been right all along.
"We've won," he said in a gasping heavy burst.
I scrunched my eyes up, trying to block it out, trying to wish him away, but the world shifted to slow motion. I knew what was coming next. I didn't have to think of what to say, or how to react because there, coming down the stairs was the life changing moment. Alex, half dressed, but still smart, sophisticated, solvent; everything that I had wanted.
Georgie's face changed in a flash. He had gone from being a man who had everything to a man who had come home from work to find his wife had been sleeping with her boss.
And all I could think of to say was,
"It's not forever."
Monday 3 September 2012
A book and a butterfly.
You can now buy my haiku book, "five seven five", from Amazon in a download or paperback (pamphlet) version. There are one hundred haiku in the book, on various topics.
If you head over to the Amazon page, you can get a free preview of some of them. If you want to see more of my haiku and micropoetry, and are on twitter, you can find my outpourings at @thehaikugirl.
I haven't been to Holmfirth Writers Group for the past few weeks, due to life, and that, but was back tonight. Sarah, who you may recall is the proprietor of the wonderful blog over at Sarah Writes, led the session, and we wrote about, well, all sorts of things. The topic was getting inside someone else's head and seeing things from a different perspective. In particular, we focused upon mental health.
This is my thirty minutes' worth.
Butterfly
This is Kiera. She's three years old. We were at the park, when I took this photograph. Up and down the slide, climbing on the monkey bars, begging me to push her on the swing, again and again.
"No," I said. "No. Mummy's too tired, too big. The baby in Mummy's tummy makes mummy so, so tired. No. No swings."
And though her face, for the briefest of moments, showed disappointment, that was fleeting. It passed, and again she was off on her way, chasing after a butterfly. A red-yellow-black burst of summer.
These are the things that I remember. The sunshine, the laughter, the way that I said "no". But how was I to know what would come next? Life changes in the flash of an instant, in the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
This is Sophie. On the fifteenth of September it will be her fourth birthday. I see her now, sitting on the floor, in front of the television, drawing pictures of flowers, faces, spiraling circles again and again.
"Mummy, draw with me?" she asks.
And I am busy, I am working. I have invoices to send, emails to answer, and that important deadline ticking ever close. But I stop.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, Sophie. Of course."
And we sit on the rug, while Peppa Pig jumps up and down in muddy puddles behind us.
"Draw me a dinosaur. Draw me a dog. Draw me the World."
And I do. I do all of this. The clock ticks, the computer switches itself to the screensaver. The family photographs play out on the monitor in a looping cycle. The emails are ignored and the deadline is put off. Because what matters is Sophie.
On her piece of paper, Sophie has drawn us. Mummy, Daddy, Sophie and Kiera. Kiera has wings, like a butterfly.
Like an angel.
And that picture, well, you know, I want to take hold of Sophie and hug her and kiss her and never let go of her. Because life changes in the blink of an eye. It can go from a girl chasing a butterfly to a girl disappearing. From laughter to tears to sobbing that you feel will never ever stop. To pain that you know will never end.
"Kiera's my angel, Mummy."
"Your big sister," I say, and it hits me. Sophie is older now than the girl in the photograph. The last picture that I ever took of Kiera. Sophie is the big girl now.
As the years have gone by, I have gauged Sophie's progress against what I knew from Kiera. Sophie spoke sooner, Kiera walked sooner. But now - what? What did I know about being a mother of a four year old?
Only to never, never let her out of my sight.
On the fireplace are photographs. Mummy, Daddy and Kiera together. Smiling, happy, together. Then Sophie, Mummy and Daddy, but never Sophie and Kiera. Never. My two children will never meet.
"Read to me, Mummy," Sophie says, but I am looking at her drawing and I have to bury my face into her soft hair to hide my tears.
If you head over to the Amazon page, you can get a free preview of some of them. If you want to see more of my haiku and micropoetry, and are on twitter, you can find my outpourings at @thehaikugirl.
I haven't been to Holmfirth Writers Group for the past few weeks, due to life, and that, but was back tonight. Sarah, who you may recall is the proprietor of the wonderful blog over at Sarah Writes, led the session, and we wrote about, well, all sorts of things. The topic was getting inside someone else's head and seeing things from a different perspective. In particular, we focused upon mental health.
This is my thirty minutes' worth.
Butterfly
This is Kiera. She's three years old. We were at the park, when I took this photograph. Up and down the slide, climbing on the monkey bars, begging me to push her on the swing, again and again.
"No," I said. "No. Mummy's too tired, too big. The baby in Mummy's tummy makes mummy so, so tired. No. No swings."
And though her face, for the briefest of moments, showed disappointment, that was fleeting. It passed, and again she was off on her way, chasing after a butterfly. A red-yellow-black burst of summer.
These are the things that I remember. The sunshine, the laughter, the way that I said "no". But how was I to know what would come next? Life changes in the flash of an instant, in the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
This is Sophie. On the fifteenth of September it will be her fourth birthday. I see her now, sitting on the floor, in front of the television, drawing pictures of flowers, faces, spiraling circles again and again.
"Mummy, draw with me?" she asks.
And I am busy, I am working. I have invoices to send, emails to answer, and that important deadline ticking ever close. But I stop.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, Sophie. Of course."
And we sit on the rug, while Peppa Pig jumps up and down in muddy puddles behind us.
"Draw me a dinosaur. Draw me a dog. Draw me the World."
And I do. I do all of this. The clock ticks, the computer switches itself to the screensaver. The family photographs play out on the monitor in a looping cycle. The emails are ignored and the deadline is put off. Because what matters is Sophie.
On her piece of paper, Sophie has drawn us. Mummy, Daddy, Sophie and Kiera. Kiera has wings, like a butterfly.
Like an angel.
And that picture, well, you know, I want to take hold of Sophie and hug her and kiss her and never let go of her. Because life changes in the blink of an eye. It can go from a girl chasing a butterfly to a girl disappearing. From laughter to tears to sobbing that you feel will never ever stop. To pain that you know will never end.
"Kiera's my angel, Mummy."
"Your big sister," I say, and it hits me. Sophie is older now than the girl in the photograph. The last picture that I ever took of Kiera. Sophie is the big girl now.
As the years have gone by, I have gauged Sophie's progress against what I knew from Kiera. Sophie spoke sooner, Kiera walked sooner. But now - what? What did I know about being a mother of a four year old?
Only to never, never let her out of my sight.
On the fireplace are photographs. Mummy, Daddy and Kiera together. Smiling, happy, together. Then Sophie, Mummy and Daddy, but never Sophie and Kiera. Never. My two children will never meet.
"Read to me, Mummy," Sophie says, but I am looking at her drawing and I have to bury my face into her soft hair to hide my tears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)