Ellie to Sandra – The first part

“Under the soil, there’s something there

And In the water, there’s something,

An oil slick, or something, but watch close

Coz it’s quick and it slips down the river and suddenly it’s not our problem, so peel those eyes,

Something happened, I’m just not sure what –

But I’ve seen something from a different time,

Just in bits, never all together

Never all at once, but I’ve noticed,

(And I’d never lie)

Something.

One day, my dad said, when he was burying Grandad’s dog – you know Toby,

Poor lad, well he was moving back the soil,

And he told me, he said he saw a glint,

And it reminded him of a different time, in his youth,

But he was scared so he covered it over.

But I remember how he looked, when he let it out of his mouth and into my ear,

When I was privvy to the confession that he witnessed it.

So maybe, I’m thinking, we should go to the creek,

Where no one can see, and just dig around a bit.

It can be our coming of age story, we can tell our kids about it and one day maybe they’ll investigate, but they’ll have our added knowledge,

We can help them, even if we’re dead,

With a secret clue, that other parents were too scared to look into when they were younger.”

It’s been nearly 6 months

It’s been almost 6 months since I started posting on here – and I just thought I’d do a little post to mark it.

I still love doing this – it’s one of the only things I genuinely enjoy, as bleak as that sounds, haha.

But, I’m still amazed about how different the writing experience can be day to day and post to post.

Sometimes I write so much in a day, that I feel awkward posting everything I’ve written and have to let them bleed out gently over the next few days or weeks, and other days the mine is empty and I either don’t touch this at all, or I edit something I’ve done previously.

I wrote a 100 and odd word poem in about 15 minutes this afternoon (it is a bit of a silly one mind, just something sort of playing with rhyme, with a nursery rhyme sort of rhythm), but this morning I was thinking today was gonna be one of those days where I just feel like the blankest blank as soon as I open my laptop. I also had an idea for a (very) short story, that I wrote the first part of whilst squeezed in the dusty crevice between my bed and the wall.

Part of me feels like I should go back and attend to previous work, I’ve started that I intended to follow up, but haven’t quite got round to. (e.g. https://headdome.wordpress.com/2017/04/28/experience-what-ive-learnt/)

I’m not entirely sure what’s stopping me. I feel like I’m always lured in by the freshness of starting something new and clicking on that “Write” button.

(NB – I’ve just followed that link and realised part of what might be stopping me – just the fact that I’m mildly embarrassed by what past me has written/ how I’ve worded certain things. I don’t think that’s helping, because I feel reluctant to go back to something that makes me cringe even the tiniest bit.)

Maybe it would help if I found the previous parts, printed them off and bashed down some ideas by hand, instead of relying so comfortably on my laptop and what I can pull out of my head. I definitely feel like editing and annotating comes more naturally when I can scribble all over the page in different colours and things.

The other post that I feel has slightly got away from me is “NPC” – which was supposed to be a short story, but, at the moment, is just in the form of one actual post and one sort of side post which is a poem of a few of my notes on it compiled. I also have a couple of locked essays in my Drafts folder: one’s an unfinished reading of one of my favourite musicals and the others have escaped my memory at the moment, haha – must be good then, eh?

I feel like I’m learning all the time and I love the pool of work I’m exposed to here, if you’re reading this, thanks for your time :). Again, as with most of my prose posts/ notes on my poems, I’m not entirely sure of the purpose of this, except for a bit of a record of my thinking I suppose. Not everything has to have a proper purpose, right? And this is my space to write, so I should probably stop second-guessing myself, as I come to the close of the final paragraph liiiike this. (full stop.)

I’m off to sleep now :). Night :).

H

Spike I

At half ten at night while he was flicking through the pages of his girlfriend’s novel, a spike went through David Lyndhurst. Not a spike of pain, not a spike of inadequacy. A spike. The spike pierced him like a skewer through a kumquat at a middle class barbecue.

NPC – Part 1

My legs swung forward from the hip. I was agile. I didn’t feel the familiar and expected groaning of my calves, instead I felt happily strong and capable. I flew across the landscape without tortured breath or heaviness and I felt free.

I crawled round the house in the semi-darkness, resting often from the labour. I sighed as I plugged back in.

Looking around with alert bright eyes, I clenched my fists as I looked over across the small settlement. I climbed down from my vantage point.

Shanty buildings with a shiny sheen greeted my eye. A cliché in a chequered dress swept up pointlessly outside the cartoonish inn doors. A wind passed through as if to better animate the scene for my benefit and it tousled the cliché’s hair and gently parted the doors to the saloon. A ridiculous tumble weed crept just past her feet and she looked up to give me an empty smile.

I looked around to see if any other characters populated the area. There were none, so I walked my ridiculous cowboy walk over to the chequered caricature. Before she or I could speak I unwillingly tipped my ridiculous hat.

The sun beat down on my dirty face and it was the first time I’d felt truly uncomfortable there, as I prepared myself for speech. I wished her a good afternoon without incident and she gave me a “Howdy stranger, welcome to The Slanted Gran” in return. The name of the place appeared in my view and I felt an endorphin boost as if I’d achieved something, simply by “discovering” this new territory. Her mouth shaped the words so distinctly, with such purpose. Her eyes remained dim. She smiled at me blankly while I chose what to say.

She didn’t seem to notice I was a woman in typically masculine attire, despite the apparent time period, she didn’t seem to notice a lot. She just goofily grinned at me, her windswept hair moving in unnatural, lagging fragments.