In which we come across a quote about being yourself that makes complete sense and makes us nod very wisely. Thank you, Bernadette.
In which we come across a quote about being yourself that makes complete sense and makes us nod very wisely. Thank you, Bernadette.
In which the derelict farmhouse that sparked my historical fantasy, ‘Foxfires’, on a wintery walk many years ago suddenly appears online for sale, and I spend the day wishing it was mine, all mine!
The jars of pickle were kept at the back of the cellar. Of course. They wouldn’t be conveniently positioned at the bottom of the stairs. That would be far too easy. I’d already heard the jokes about the ghost. The one nobody ever saw, but everyone had heard…
The moon finally peeked from behind the clouds as the dogs trotted on across the dark, windswept moorland, scattering powdery snow with their tails. The pilot (perhaps called ‘Jack’, but he wasn’t entirely sure) limped along, looking up every so often and cursing the white disc above him. His memory had deserted him, he was frozen to the core, rigid with pain, and beholden to the silent, dour giant of a man beside him. The crash would never have happened on a clear night. He would have made it to wherever the hell he was meant to be…
We do not know why the king went into the cave. Was he hiding? Seeking solitude? Was he meeting a lover? Or an envoy of his neighbour to negotiate a transfer of power? Was he fed up of being a king? I once asked my nursemaid and she told me it was better not to know. I disagreed with her. It’s always better to know…
Good advice new writers should already know if they’re worth their salt – but putting it all into practise is the hard part so it’s good to have a reminder. Especially true of Fiona Barton’s advice : “Every new writer should just get on with it.” 😀
A little message for the New Year ahead …. https://videopress.com/v/81iofoaJ?autoPlay=true&posterUrl=https%3A%2F%2Ftinyracinghearts.files.wordpress.com%2F2020%2F01%2Fstories-matter.jpg&preloadContent=metadata Happy New Year! Make every day count xxx Video adapted from Pexels
His moustache wriggled like a caterpillar when he laughed. Florence hated it. She hated the moustache, she hated the high waistband of his tweed trousers, the way George cleared his throat all the time – huh-hummm. The protruding mole by his ear, the smell of stale pipe tobacco, the way he kept his fingernails so long that they cut into the skin of her arm now as he gripped her. She shook her arm, but he held it all the tighter. And while his mouth smiled, she saw anger in his eyes…
Aah, a nice, warm breeze, a beautiful view and starlings swooping up to their annual nest in the corner. Perfect. Cheers Australia!
With the right music playing, it’s far easier to slip back into the mood of your work at the drop of a hat.
