March Writing Challenge | Day 2

This is my first attempt at a haiku since being a school child in a stuffy classroom. I have used the word sakura which is Japanese for cherry blossom as a nod to the Japanese origin of haikus, but I think sakura is a commonly known word in English nowadays too.

Find full details of the challenge here.

I took his wisdom
I blossom as sakura
“Stolen wealth” I muse

Prompt of the Week | That Lonely Feeling

Prompt of the Week (& Photo) by Lady Jabberwocky
My heartbeat, my only company
I sit in my swivel chair
In my office
Full of stares
That aren’t really there

Frantic chatting, too loud laughter
Plans for the evening
All this surrounds me but never permeates my atmosphere
A lone star burning bright, troglodyte
Too hot for anyone to come close to

“She’s quiet.”
“She’s weird.”
“She’s disagreeable.”
“She always looks sad.”
Is this office gossip real
Or am I going mad?

Either way it creates a table for one that I can’t fight
I go deeper inside
My world a deserted night
Because the worst place I create is imaginary yet real
Forsaken, abandoned, alone, estranged
No happiness left to feel

Because the worst place I can be
Is the place I create just for me
A busy, thriving world of community
But I’m a lone boat on this overflowing sea.

This poem came straight to me from a place of deep feeling. I have struggled with depression for most of my life and one of the biggest triggers for me is feeling lonely; especially feeling left out and isolated. I used to work in a company where for a time I felt so unhappy and alone at work, I felt like I really didn’t fit in. It caused my depression to flare up and spiral down. This is a snippet of how I might feel; surrounded by people yet completely deserted.

Just a reminder that if someone seems unapproachable or aloof, they likely just don’t have the confidence to include themselves. It’s up to us to create an inclusive welcoming environment for everyone around us.

March Writing Challenge | Day 1

So today was the first day of my March writing challenge. It’s the 1st of March (duh) getting closer to spring! Me and my husband had last week off which was a blessing of a coincidence as the weather was fantastic. It was a beautiful week of sunshine and warmth, pretending it’s summer, picnics and walks. Summer meadows, along with the prompt, were my main inspirations for this writing. Find full details of the challenge here.

Blush blades of lengthy green. I float in the fluffy grass. Splattered paint of pink and blue and orange flowers transform the field into artwork.

Rivers of turquoise flow overhead, the clearest skies. I put down my book and gaze into the meadow. Bumbles and blustering, a low hum of dancing bees. I watch, immersed in their world, where the strands of grass are skyscrapers and the flowers organic supermarkets. They go shopping, a one item list of nectar, an impulse buy of pollen. Our ecosystem in their sticky hands.

I pick up my rose lemonade, my nectar. And without intent I disturb theirs. No malice in my actions and no malice in theirs as they swarm to protect the gatherer I threatened. I fumble to move away and fall back onto my elbow. My elbow onto a bee. Its last action is to protect its family, it stings me, warding me off, warning me.

Deep pangs swell my skin, my first ever bee sting. It leaves a scar that I can only see in a mirror. No matter which way I twist or turn my scarred elbow eludes me. Another scar I can only feel forms in my heart, a memory of this summer day, the peace and community and spirit of the bees.

How beautiful it would be to belong like a bee.

Weekend Writing Prompt | Kitsch

#Basic Bitch

Her tanned arms stretch
Above her head
And down they flow
To meet her toes

Sun salutation
Brings peace
And patience

Deep breath
Breath out
Her mind a clear cloud
Colourless in a pretty way
Bow head, “Namaste”

Cutesy top, cropped
Kawai avocados dance
Slogan: #basicbitch
How very kitsch

High waisted leggings
Walk her from the studio floor
To the Starbucks next door
Oat milk chai latte to go
Challenge Details

I had to look up what kitsch meant, and when I did the examples were lava lamp and that dogs playing poker picture. I thought I would go for something super modern, so enjoy my stereotype of a millennial’s yoga morning. I actually think #basicbitch could almost be a synonym for kitsch.

March Writing Challenge

I was Pinterest scrolling for monthly writing challenges and this is an interesting one I found for March. I’m going to try and attempt to post either a short story or poem each day.

If this looks interesting to you I’d love to see what other people come up with for the prompts as well. Please feel free to link/post in the comments of this or the daily posts. And thank you to NerdKnowsLife for making this 2 years ago!

Now I hope you enjoy the rest of Feb, I know I will be making the most of each day. ☺️

Prompt of the Week | What does Anger feel like?

Prompt of the Week (& photo) from Lady Jabberwocky
I live in a constant state of huffing and puffing, I feel like I'm a big bad wolf with a factory line of houses to blow down.
I am the heat that traverses necks and cheeks and turns them violent red. I am passion without reason or desire.
Deserts of foul sands, my home is the ugliness in others. A torrent of complex tornadoes carries me to and fro.

Destination unknown.

Yet back here I am again with you. Why you?
Calm down for I cannot.
I see the light before I come and the release when I have left. I long to be precisely where I am not.

I am a huge sun of molten emotion that so many fear and hate.
But to me I’m merely Anger, the only one who can't escape.

Fairy Lights Float

Fairy lights float
Guiding no fairies
But instead my dreams
To come to life

Each lantern a beacon
Of hope
Of opportunity
Of an idea yet to be written

If I were so small
That I could flutter along their path
I would skip lightly
And believe wholly
In the world that was to be illuminated
By my own imagination

I’m hoping poetry is accepted in any form, even one written by a scientist masquerading as a poet. I hope my mask hasn’t fallen to the floor; trampled.

The Fog of his Mind

I am five weeks deep into my creative writing course, this is a character sketch assignment and the first time I am sharing a piece on my blog. Any feedback/critique is welcome.

Trigger Warning: topics include mental health and eating disorders.

His knees folded up to his chest. Rough skinny jeans bristled the rough of his stubble and a few meandering rays of sun lingered on the wall above him. Night time slowly pulled the sun down, bloated and swollen as his mind. He pushed his hand through his hair, black strands tugged on his unkempt nails. Cracked lips heavily took a breath in, his body shaking it back out. Slow and deep.
Maths textbooks piled on the shelf of his campus dorm room, a layer of dust resting on them as a bed. Some of the dust had now also settled on a food diary, open on a spread that was two weeks old. Photos tacked to a corkboard showed late teens in various costumes in various clubs. Each photo held a slim youth, no, a bone thin youth, with a black side fringe and a huge grin. His arms around friends or ‘cheersing’ his drink to someone behind the camera. The most recent had only been two weeks ago but he hadn’t left his flat since. He’d gone to bed happy that night, drunk and content. When he’d finally woken at 1pm the next afternoon he even felt hungry. Two of his flatmates were ordering pizza and he settled in to watch Zombieland with them.
‘One slice of mushroom pizza’ was the last thing recorded in his food journal. But Sara hadn’t replied to his message by the time the movie had finished. She hadn’t replied by dinner time either, which meant he didn’t eat dinner. He checked his phone every 5 minutes, every 3 minutes. He turned it off and on to check it was working. He text his Mum who responded quickly with a bright reply which he didn’t even read. He checked Sara’s Facebook, ‘active 12 minutes ago’. Well she was alive… At 10:34pm his phone finally flashed; ‘soz missed your message, off to bed, speak later x’.
What did that mean? Only one kiss? When is later? Did she really miss his message or was she lying? She never normally goes to bed this early. How could she have been on Facebook and missed his message. Was she still on Facebook now?
His friends would tell him to stop overthinking, to stop getting attached to girls so quickly, that he needed to eat. They would tell him this with sympathy, with empathy and with love. But he wouldn’t be able to hear them even if they were here now, shouting comfort at him.
He waited until the morning to reply to Sara, to try and start a longer conversation with her. He spent two weeks living for her messages. He ate nibbles of cereal bars when the pain in his stomach became too much. He drank only water and weighed him self hourly, purging for the decreases on the scale. He ignored all the knocks on his door, all the voices asking after him, he knew they didn’t really care. If they cared they would never give up and leave, they would sit forever outside his door.
He looked up at the last rays of the sun, his eyes wet with an ocean of fear and loneliness. The voice came again, this time firmer. “Your flatmates said you haven’t left your room in two weeks, they’re so worried about you, we all are. I mean it, I’m not leaving until you let me in.” His Mum’s voice brought a key of familiarity that started to unlock the fog of his mind.

03 Jan 2021 – What blog?

So… it never took off did it, that blog I wanted to start midway through last year. I wrote half of a second post and a whole list of ideas of things I wanted to write about that seemed “bloggy”, yet never wrote them. Why is that though? And why am I writing something now?

I’ve learnt we spend time on things we love and enjoy, or things easy or addictive. Well turns out those list of “bloggy” titles were things I didn’t want to write about. Nor did I feel inspired to write about them for an audience I didn’t have. I spent my summer wfh like the fortunate half of the population and the rest of my time reading in the sun drinking cocktails. I also got married for the second time this year (something I would consider blogging about if I had an audience that was interested), and went on a couple of English countryside holidays. In conclusion, writing real life posts wasn’t near the top of things I wanted to do.

So why am I writing a post now that still no one will read? Well, I was inspired to pick up WordPress, as I have signed up for a creative writing course starting this January, and wanted to see if I ever did publish anything on that blog o mine. Reading was another hobby I picked up in the last quarter of this year, starting to read on a average a book a week. That may seem incredibly slow to some people, or extremely ambitious like it does to me, but considering I couldn’t even spend an hour writing a blog post, it shows how important reading has become to me.

Along with reading, I reinvoked my love of writing. I’ve always been creative, putting my energy into a plethora of crafts and never finding my one. Or at least I never thought I found my one, but looking back, subconsciously I think I did.

When I was 5 years old I won a Blue Peter badge for sending in a poem about my favourite food, and dotted throughout my life I have memories of writing poems, song lyrics and short stories. I’ve never had a dream job (except to be a pop star at 9 years old, which if you ever hear me sing, will know would NEVER happen), I’ve always just fallen into jobs. I’m very lucky to have some sort of career and enjoy my work, but at the same time, I know it’s not my DREAM job. But maybe being a creative writer or an author would be. At the very minimum, it’s something I’m choosing to investigate, and on the off chance I’ve written a book in 20 years time, this is where it all began…