Owl eyes are the deepest. They draw you in, when you don't want to be drawn. When you want to sit still and mind your own business, stay lost in your own thoughts. This owl was curious. I saw it in his red-rust flecks. He wasn't about to blink. Then again, neither was I.
I'm taking a break from the novel this week. As I mentioned in my previous post, I have managed to fill a major gap, but when I started to look at a couple of other chapters that needed a reshape, I found myself getting a sinking, sludgy feeling that I didn't like one bit. So, I've decided to step back from my first draft and let it sit for a while before I look at it again.
I began a First Aid course last Saturday and was introduced to ABCs. 'A little late in life,' I hear you cry but in...
I've been working on some poetry, lately. I know this isn't a startling revelation, but I'm quite pleased with how these particular poems are shaping up. One was inspired by the memory of my first scan in pregnancy. I was struck by the sonographer's words 'everything you see on the screen is bone . . .' and this led me to my opening line: 'When they tell you, your baby is bone.'
The pale yellow, shell-like construction of a daffodil . . . My niece presents me with the flower, along with a handful of catkins. The catkins draw my senses with their animal texture and my heart twists. This pure gesture stands out as my world continues to revolve with change. I take a sheet of blank paper, arrange the flowers, like a sketch. Every element has a shadow. I note the light and the darkness, capture them with my camera.
In festive tale: 'Rewriting Christmas', a cynical writer (Bill) battles with his publisher and self appointed publicist Teri. Teri cracks the whip from behind a polished facade of vanilla lipgloss, spicy perfume and empty air kisses.
I love Christmas shopping. I start it early and I finish it late. Don't ask me how this happens. It's probably down to very...
The birds tick time outside my door. I count the seconds, the colours. Such small lives. The bluetits and coaltits are the everyday ordinaries. If they were human they would wear a suit and tie, hold on to their jobs for dear life.
As a starfish, I am pointy, shiny and spirited, with a zest for water. The tank allows me to see out into the world without taking part. I can float and watch and wait. The only problem occurs when a handler introduces me to a child.
I've been hastily putting together a cover for my festive themed short story these past few days. Initially, I struggled, chewed a few pens...
Licorice legs and a walnut shell. You could be a crab, tired of the grainy shore, the glucose whirl of a gluey sea.
I'm excited to share the news that 'Poetry at Christmas' will take place at Greyfriars Municipal Art Gallery, Waterford on Monday, 23rd December. Come and join the Christmas fun from 5.30 pm.
Fantasy’s stamp is upon this sky From the cloud dust remains of a quartet of ghosts, they grow, gather pace on the carousel,
The aunts never shaved their legs. They rolled up their trousers and ran into the sea.
The crowd surge forward. They all wear blue. Despite the uniformity, I pick out faces. Each expression is unique. I focus on a young man – his brown eyes are round and expectant. His childish complexion gives him a glow. I don't want to see him dashed.
I'm still buzzing from all the excitement of Waterford Writers' Weekend. For those that didn't make it to my reading, here is a video clip from the day. It features a poem called 'Waterford Waits', written in 2007 and inspired by Waterford Hurlers.
Why am I only now finding out that the traditional 2nd Wedding Anniversary gift is cotton? I could have got clothes, I need a...
'The Move' is about a bitter rivalry, brewing between two residents in a small Irish Town. Having lived in London for ten years, Tina has returned home to live in a remote cottage, left to her by a great Aunt.
My hands are imagining you, the cool pale, your shoulders, like hawk wing, I sculpt,
It's official! I'm branching out into Creative Writing tuition starting with a Short Story Workshop. For those of you still humming and hawing about whether to book a place here are a few 'Story Wise' secrets to give you a flavour of the workshop . . .