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My muse loves to surprise me! She won’t be wrangled or shoved in a slot for my writing needs. It was three in the morning, I was poked from behind closed eyelids, her pencil sharpened to the stabbiest point.

from Pixabay

Did she not hear me say, “I will write from 11/4 three days a week,” I had thought about it long and hard. Once I decided on the most beneficial time I began.

At this point I will admit that since stopping work, I never plan anything but medical appointments, and family visits.  I no longer wear a watch, except for my fitbit, again I admit, I never look at that, except to see if I actually got up from my desk in the last eight hours. I eat when hungry, or when the husband feeds me. I  get up when I need a pee, or the dog squeaks a toy at my feet and presses her nose into my knee.  Oh, and I prefer ‘pantsing’ when I write, which I know,  makes for a much more difficult editing process.

On days that I am unable to write, unwell, preoccupied, fatigued or just not in the space, I read. Scrabble, the word game is also my thing. But even, then my procrastination involves me writing on my blog. So what you have learnt, is that I write to rest, I read and blog and scrabble to procrastinate. There is a theme going here, I am just a wordy bird.

So, lets get back on point.  I made the decision to be,  … more organised. The Husband laughed raucously at that bit. I shaded sections of my spanking new planner, set reminders and post-it notes on the fridge, my phone and laptop. Dog walking poop picking (a fur mummies job) and feeding 6.30 /7.30 bin sorting, (eco freaking the husband calls it). Shower and clean myself and the bathroom and sort the washing and kitchen  by 10.30. Thirty minute catch up with ‘The Husband’ shared kisses and moans, laughter and news, then settle to write.

Well that was the plan. I think that word, … plan is what done it, scuppered the whole thing. 3 am poke poke, my muse awoke. At first, I ignored her mutterings, but she was persistent. It started with faint whispers, ones I had to listen to with great care. The next thing I knew, was that there was absolutely no use in staying in bed.

from Pixabay

So that was that, wrapped in pyjamas with my lucky pen, at my desk my day began. Before I knew it, it was dusk my mind was empty my muse asleep. So you see there is no use planning without the agreement of your muse. Mine refuses to comply or to enter into any discussion. I rise, when I am woke by the mutterings. I sleep when they sleep and then there is life.

Myself, Gardening, … along with my muse.

Are you a planner? or a seat of your pants type of person? Do you have a muse? answer please in the comments. I love to chat.

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Tell it to the muse, because she is not listening to me.

Our local Theatre put out a call for writers of stories. They were to be set in locations where people live in the town or surrounding villages. Stories that could be fact, fiction, historic or contemporary. The one proviso was they must invite the listener to walk the tale, like a tour you get in the grounds of a stately home, or a museum. To encourage people to take a journey to a place that may be new to them, and immerse themselves in to the experience.

I researched the historic facts for authenticity. The costume from the period it was to be set. My idea was coming together, to help me think it through, I ran myself a bath. It is a foible of mine, to soak in warm bubbly froth; to think, and probably why I am somewhat vertically challenged ( maybe I shrink).

The pen twitched in my hand, the bath grew tepid, the skin crinkled on my feet. My pen scratched for hours as a tale began to form on the page.

There was a time limit, and it had to fit with health and safety in mind. “Turn to the left and beware of traffic.” Over the next weeks it was pinched and squeezed. It was lengthened and shortened and tweaked. Next, it had to be recorded as I walked, we needed to see if It would fit in the allotted ten minute slot. Eventually I entered my piece.

My flushed, excited face spent days grinning after I was told my tale had been chosen. Things were happening, auditions for readers, music scores written and sound tracks found to enhance the world as I saw it. An artist drew a map so people could print it off and follow it as a guide. And this was done for each of the seven stories that were chosen. Please click on the link below to download any story that catches your eye.

Click here https://www.theatreroyal.org/walking-stories/

If you click but are too far away or just unable to walk the stories they are still good to listen to and follow on the individual maps.

Have you found something new? A new skill you never had before covid-19, another strand to the plait that is life? I would love to know what it is in the comments.

P.S. If you listen to any of the stories do tell me what you think.

Now I am writing for sound.

To make it through this year, as I am determined to do. I will strive to fight. The statement to show how I will get to the final day of this extraordinary year, Is “Ellen, Perseveres.” That is my intention.

Wearing an anti covid-19 mask,

I vow to set myself the task

that each day from now until then.

I will rise above the parapet

and repeat it time and again,

until it rings in my ears

and all can see,

she persevere’s.

The last few months I have folded myself into a the smallest space. Closed my eyes and hid, I have begun to surrender to the empty. I feel me fade away as if a smudged pencil sketch. My shape is real enough, my face still there. The essence of me is fading … it feels like whisps, or steam from a cup of tea on a cold day. Not quite sure you saw it slipping silently away. The person that is left is no longer curious enough to find out. So it will be a case of finding … me.

My intention is to learn something new. Today, I signed up to an online class. Together, we the group, will learn how to write and produce an audio play, with the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. I have also pledged to find myself within the words I write. To see it through, to excel the best way I can. Lock down and health issues have taken their toll, but not any more. Ellen will come through, As I Pledge to persevere.

I want to thank my blogging friend who encouraged me to set an intention and commit to it. https://youcanalwaysstartnow.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/setting-an-intention/

“If you were to chose a word to help you through the last four months, to inspire or motivate what would it be and why?” leave it in the comments I would love to chat.

Ellen’s intention is to Persevere.

Twisted sticks and grasses against a pinked Victorian wall.

No words were then needed, its simple shape said it all.

It’s weathered all the seasonal storms bashed against the brick,

Like our lives together, we hang on through thin and thick.

Our hearts won’t be weakened they will stay the test of time,

Joined in our forever, making our own sun, shine.

We are changing the colour of the house, and The husband got to the wall with my homemade heart and noticed, how bits and pieces had fared pretty well during this disheveled year.

Now, I am not a cutty sewy person, and the want to craft passed me by. So for me to put something together that he liked enough to still notice months later, is an exceptional feat. It is also our anniversary soon. These are the reasons for my poetic post. Sometimes it is the triffles that expresses our feelings the loudest.

Have you ever stepped out of the norm? to show how you feel. If so pop it in the comments, I would love to read and reply.

Thank you to Esme for sharing my link on her link sharing page press https://esmesalon.com/131-senior-salon/ the link to see many more or to join the fun and add yours

Valentines 2020 Still giving.

When I teach my daughter about Lemons. She’ll say, ‘they are sour, and need loads of sugar before you use them.’ I will pour her a homemade lemonade, sweetend with Agave. I’ll tell her how lemon juice can cure heartburn, it’s the only, citrus fruit that turns alkaline once joined with saliva. While passing her a slice of my lemon drizzle poppyseed cake, I clean my glass to a sparkle with a used lemon skin as we speak. We will chat about life and love as I slice lemon and freeze them, for days when there are no more.

 

Photo by PhotoMIX Company on Pexels.com

August 27, 2020, flash fiction prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that features Lemon Queens. Maybe it’s an ancient fairy tale or a modern brand name. What ideas seep into your imagination? Is there a character or place involved? Go where the prompt leads!

My response to Charli at the Carrot Ranch was a no brainer because Lemons are magic.

‘What do you use yours for?’ Answers in the comments please,  I hope to find some new things to do with the queen of fruits. 

Respond by September 1, 2020

Lemon The Queen Of Fruits.




What better way to call in the season than snuggled up in your favourite chair. Listen! ‘Shhhush’ is it the howl of the wind? A beastly growl, or the sound of conjured spells?
A book packed with writers imaginings, open the pages in this book to reveal the secret tales within. Your reading style will never be the same again as you delve into the minds of sixteen Authors and dare to read what it is they see.

Our pre-order price for this fabulous anthology is available for a limited time to grab yours while the price is low.

Spellbound: A horror anthology, with 27 stories from sixteen Authors (The Box Under The Bed book 4) eBook: Compiled by Dan Alatorre, USA today’s best selling Author, Robbie Cheadle, Ellen Best, Kaye Booth, Alana Turner, Geoff LePard, Christine Valentor, Nick Vossen, AM Andrus, Adele Marie Park, Daniel Alatorre, Victoria Clapton, MD Walker, Dabney Farmer, MJ Mallon, Ernesto San Giacomo, Betty Valentine, Frank Parker, Joanne Larner, Maribel Pagan. Each one an award winning author.

Pre-order Here

For a short time only, the previous ebooks in this set of anthologies will be free, in return, we ask you to review a story that gripped you; or the book as a whole.
Dark Visions, Nightmareland and the box under the bed. Get the set Here

Childs face on loan from pixabay.co.uk

Let me know your thoughts in the comments. My excitement is practically palpable the closer we get to release day. Thrilled again to have another of my tales in Dan Alatorre’s collection, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Time to dabble in a little spook. #HorrorAnthology

‘Anne, What if we chose not to feed that bird,’ Daddy pointed, ‘because it has a yellow beak? None with yellow beaks.’ Mummy joined in, ‘We could tell everyone how wicked the yellow beaked ones were, they would copy,and soon there would be nowhere for them to go.’ Tears welled in Anne’s eyes, her lip trembled. She stood, her eyes swollen with unshed tears. “No! Everybody needs kindness, you always tell me that. I will be very cross and sad if you do. Please don’t.’ They hugged her, assured her she was right not to discriminate.

Charli Mills set this challenge at the ranch as set out below. June 4, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about justice for all. It does not have to take place in America. Injustice exists anywhere. What is the story behind justice for all? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by June 9, 2020. To read or join in press the blue.

Press here

I believe tackling justice for all #BlackLivesMatter needs to begin at the knee of families. My response is, to show how we all can nurture our young to become a better race.

I am still unsure if my take on the prompt is worthy of such a profoundly emotional subject.

Please leave your thoughts in the comments below.

Here Ends The First Lesson.

Press the title for the whole post. 🧡

A snapshot of my garden 6th April.

Watch them unfurl in the fragileility of spring

Opening our eyes allowing us to dream.
Sun scoots low to expose streaked windows
and stained tablecloths that soap failled to clean.
Dust motes dance without rythm or beat,
As the light stings our eyes and warms our feet.
lettuce and sweatpeas sprout in soil filled pots,
With dafdodills normality comes in restless spots.
But do not be fooled enough to blink or sigh,
For Jack with pointy fingers and lazer eyes
Sends snapping frosts throughout night skies.
He burns lime green leaves until

they are as as black as Magpies eyes

Stomps on plants with leadend boots.

Its plan is clear to freeze the shoots.
Now our gardens spoilled
spring hadn’t sprung
So we begin again

with steaming pile

Of Pony
Dung.

Forget-me-not.

Which is your favourite season and why ? Let me know in a comment

Spring, It Is A lie.