Tag Archives: bonfire

Wandering in my mind (Wimm) 1

I am watching the mass of people that have gathered here today expecting something new and unique to show them.  They are watching me with patient curiosity as to where I will take them today, the man who is slightly balding in his mid-forties is grinning with anticipation and scratching gently his wrist around his watch and the beautiful auburn young lady in her early twenties beams at me and clasps her hands in front of her.  I shan’t disappoint them, or the many others besides.

There is an icy chill in the air, a large bonfire crackles in the moonlight behind me and I turn to it to add another log to the fire, a scent of lavender fills the air as a beautiful blond lady in blue silks and a medieval gown throws a large bundle of lavender into the fire.  We sit down, this lady and I, upon felled wood and I play upon a pear wood recorder as she begins to recite a poem sang in beautiful Latin about the coming of snow, it is a haunting piece which fills the gathered audience with solemn peace and nostalgia, though they don’t audibly understand the words she is singing, they can understand it by the lilt and chill of her voice along with the biting of the air around them.  The young lady with auburn hair is almost overcome by the power of the ladies voice and others take in deep sighs and close their eyes as they soak in the night air.

Men dressed in blue velvet and silver medieval court clothes pass around toasted vanilla flavoured marshmallows to the audience, a taste of warm sweet snow, a great paradox to the subject of the song.  The marshmallows fill the audience with hope of warmer climes to come, a glimpse that it shan’t be forever cold, that tonight is just an interim and those come and go quickly.

 

 

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My work thinks I’m scary!

I have this problem where I believe that most of the things I’ve put on my blog is worthy of deletion.  I have very little confidence that it’s anything interesting, and I am pleasantly surprised at how many people like the posts and are following me.

I find it very hard to not delete posts, I feel very tempted to delete one or two poems and the Kithara story because I don’t think Kithara is going anywhere, even though I do have a game plan for her.

I also feel that some of my personal stuff should also be deleted, yet, I feel that my readers should know me.

This has been my problem my whole life.  I’ve never approached a publisher because I don’t feel I am any good; also I never wanted fame, I am not saying I am fame reaching nowadays, not at all, but I am more comfortable in people knowing me now, because I am more confident in myself generally.

I know a lot of writers aren’t famous, yet they’ve probably done more work than the big pots.  I am also smart enough to realize that writing and being published doesn’t mean you’ll have a stable income, I write for pleasure, I want people to read my stuff, I want people to enjoy my stuff and if I am going to be completely honest with you – I write what I want to read and what I would like to see on the television.  Silly I know, but that’s my fuel.

Now you’re probably thinking that there isn’t much need for televised poetry, well, I know this blog concentrates mostly on my poetry, but, as a rule, I write epic sized novels and series type books because I never know when to shut up, basically.

In the past I’ve been known to write a lot, and I mean a lot!  I used to write enough to pile up knee high every three months on average, the amount of work I wrote, but – because I don’t feel I am good enough, I used to have regular bonfires!  SHOCK HORROR!

That depresses me, because there’s many stories I flung into the flames of hell, that I wished I kept, because actually, thinking back, they were quite good.  Thing is, I forgot most of what I wrote, ha-ha.

I’m a nightmare.

Thing is, I am in the situation of having very supportive friends and family these days, family as in my husband’s side of the family, not my own.  So, instead of having my regular bonfires, I am now considered a paper hoarder and it’s driving me nuts.

I have an old cot that used to belong to my son, it is the paper holder these days, in a disorganized filing system (if that’s what I can call it) it’s overflowing, I promised myself to sort through it all and try filing it properly, but to be honest, that will take me a few years.  Gosh, I can’t believe I am admitting this so publicly.  Well anyway, I am in the terrible situation that I’ve been told at the end of July one of my husband’s nieces need to move in with us and needs that room, so GAH!

I feel tempted to light the flames of hell again, but my husband is the knight on guard duty for my work, so it seems.

Anyway, I decided that I will try and squeeze all of that work onto the computer somehow and whatever I write from now onwards will be stored on memory sticks and only printed when I need to read it out loud to someone.  The idea is giving me headaches.

So that is a little journey into my never-so-spotless-mind.

Scary, huh?

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