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For the avoidance of doubt... Yes... I definitely have an opinion... |
 Welcome to my Blog!! Having an opinion is better than not having a thought of your own. I have many of both.... Pull up a pew and grab a hot, steaming mug of your choice. |
| Prompts - Maps. With all the latest technological advances, maps are becoming something of the past, since we have other types of navigational tools in our cars. With that in mind, do you still use a map, and do you think maps can still be of use to us? *** Whether they are virtual or not, maps are just maps. It's just a different medium that is used now. And maps have always evolved - my road atlas looked nothing like those used by sailors. My little satnav on my phone looks nothing like the once on ships, or planes. There will always be a place for a hardcopy/paper map. Especially if the Zombie Apocalypse happens - which judging from the state of the world, will be ANY day now. Fun story - My husband and I were once traveling back from Manchester (UK) to Bath. I was driving and decided to take a detour through Wales and around the Brecon Beacons - it was a LARGE detour (several hours). It was made worse by the facts that our phones died, and we didn't have charging cables in the car. We had to stop at a service station to buy cables and a map - it was a while ago when phones didn't like to be used and charged at the same time. We navigated across Wales, down the very many twisty lanes with nothing but a map. What made it funnier was that in North Wales it's pretty much just the Welsh town names on the signs - which sound nothing like how they are written - Blaenau Ffestiniog anyone.... My husband, who is Australia, didn't even know Wales had its own language until he moved to the UK. So, me pronouncing town/village names as we passed, while he tried to find those places on the map did not work very well. I mean it was hilarious, but also a nightmare. I constantly had to stop to read the map and point out the places to him - to which he would proclaim - "that looks nothing like what you just said!!!" We would have been completely lost if it were not for the map. |
| Prompt - What comes to your mind when someone mentions monsters? In other words, what is a monster to you? *** Most of the monsters in literature and the movies are derived from the fear of the unknown, from the things that we, as a society, weren't able/ready/in a position to explain or except. They are often based on myths and folklore and evolved through whispers around campfires; stories told to keep children from doing what they shouldn't, or to strike fear into people. Dracula didn't really drink blood, but Vlad certainly hung people on spikes in a truly gruesome way to strike fear into his opposition. He was bloodthirsty and brutal, and the legend was born - add Gary Oldman to the mix and well... I wish someone would cross oceans of time for me.... My husband just crossed oceans lol. It was also a time where education was only accessible to a few and science - as we know it - wasn't really a thing, and fables were able to become real. Those cages were to stop the dead rising, not to stop grave robbers... Those doctors that dug up bodies to practice surgery, could only be doing so to "play god" and piece body parts together like a patch work quilt. Frankenstein, Dracula, Wolfman - the classic monsters that have set the standard of what monster should be. But they aren't that scary. They are exhilarating and adrenaline inducing, but we all know they are only fantasy. We can turn of the movie, leave the cinema or close the book and poof they disappear. Most of them have been turned into a wide variety of (dark) romantasy... Twilight, Trueblood, Interview with the vampire, Vampire diaries, teen wolf... it's never ending. In my personal opinion, the real monsters are the ones that we can't see or spot. The ones that pretend and present like safe havens when they are anything but. The biggest and scariest monsters is man. It's why I find psychological thrillers scary. They are based on the very worst of human nature. Things that could and sometimes have happened. Unfortunately, like many, I have experienced what monsters' man can be. And if you are fortunate enough not to have experience the horrors of the real world, you only have to put on "Why Women Snap" or Americas most wanted to see the faces that monster actually take. They look like our next-door neighbours, and the person down the street. I would much rather deal with an alien or predator. I think I stand more of chance of survival against and xenomorph - I said what I said. It's the whole bear v man debate - a bear will always be a bear. They are easy to predict. They are not going to trick you into a false sense of security, or expect something in turn, like you owe them. Nine times out of ten they aren't going to hunt you down - unless they are white of course. Whereas man, we are capable of so many cruel acts and not for those primal needs for food or safety. It's for fun. For power. That is far more monstruous. |
| Prompt - What comes to mind when you hear "Waiting for Godot"? *** Not a lot. I had never heard of it until I googled it for this post. Don't judge me... I'm not sure if this fact will come as a shock to people who know me. But you cannot know what you don't know and having an opinion on something you know nothing about it just stupid. Up until now the only Godot I knew of was the one who played Wonder Woman on the silver screen. However, I was aware of the play that Ian Mckellen and Patrick Stewart did together - two of my favourite actors - which turns out to be this play. It's apparently considered "the most significant English-language play of the 20th century" which means I should probably have a gander at it at some point. Other than that, I have no thoughts, though perhaps I should occasionally venture out of the sci-fi and fantasy isle in a bookstore. Unlikely to happen, as I prefer spaceships, vampires and dragons to anything remotely resembling the real world. |
| Prompt - I'm setting the scene and giving you the opening line and you're writing what happens next: It's evening and there's a mist rolling in this small town. Begin your entry with-- I've never felt so alone. *** I've never felt so alone, or perhaps that's a lie. I'm not a social butterfly like my sister. I don't surround myself with others. I don't like people. I do not have friends - a completely useless social endeavour. I'm certainly not the type of girl... woman... to giggle over gossip and spill secrets while sipping tea and delicately biting into cucumber sandwiches. However, I confess that at this precise moment in time I can see the benefits of not being alone - if only so I could trip someone up and outrun them. Does that make me a bad person - perhaps. It also makes me honest, which is a rarity around here. I have no hope of out running the beast before me. It looks like it's built for running. Powerful hind quarters designed for quick acceleration. It would be on me instantly. But a person. Another human being. I'd definitely have a chance then. It's a pointless thought. There is no one else here. Just me and the giant, bear-like creature that's currently stalking me like I'm its next meal, which is a very high probability all things considered. It's not a bear. I’ve seen bears. It’s not a wolf either. It’s too small. And the cats – all the big ones died out long ago. Though there is something definitively feline about it. Its muscular shoulders twitch and ripple under its black, dense fur as it bears down to a pounce. Its paws are hidden by the thick fog that’s rolled in from the across the lake, but even I can guess that its claws probably resemble a fist full of knives. Sharp, piecing, the type that can easily strip the flesh from my bones. I doubt I’d be difficult for it to unwrap. Its eyes watch me to track my every movement – or they would if I were stupid enough to move. I’m not stupid, nor am I brave enough to chance it and make a run for the rowdy tavern across the shingle beach. It's a stalemate. The beast is waiting for me to break. To run. To become its prey. I’m waiting for a miracle or a magical intervention. I’d settle for a drunken one – where are those blithering, mead filled idiots when you need them. Surely one of them could stumble out to take a piss and divert the creatures attention. A small fishing boat beaches on the shore. The fishermen are loud, barking orders to each other as they unpack their catch. It’s enough to break the creature’s focus. On my own, I’m an easy target. A convenient walking, talking happy meal. But the arrival of my saviours makes me more hassle than I’m worth. The beast turns and runs. The small pebbles under its feet flick up like the sprays of the sea as it bounds back into the forest and melts into the shadows of the trees. |
| Prompt: What do you want to let go of? *** When I first thought about this, I thought about regret and guilt. I only have one and that's around my father not meeting my daughter. It is something that haunts me to this day. It probably always will. I'd had a stressful pregnancy and had been hospitalised for the last 6 weeks of it. The doctors brought the delivery date forward to 37 weeks instead of 40 and I'd been given steroid injection at 31 weeks to bring on her lungs in case things took a turn for the worst. They didn't, we were both fine. When we were released from hospital I wanted a few days with just me, my husband, and my new baby. I wanted to settle back into the house. My mum and dad really wanted to see us. I'd asked them to wait until the weekend (about 3/4 days). This wasn't new information - I'd said similar things in the lead up to the birth. I think my mum would have been in the room with me if I'd let her. My mum pushed and planned to come up the next day. My dad even polished his shoes to look smart. It was important to him, and he was excited. But my mum and I had an argument about me needing space and time, and they didn't come up. I asked if they wanted to come up during the week or the following weekend, and was told "No" in very short, sharp text. My mum was NOT happy. Eventually my mum came up two weeks later (mostly because my mother-in-law was scheduled to come over from Australia and my mum wanted to meet the baby first). We said we would travel down to see everyone instead and were told no, my mum would come up. My dad didn't come up with her. He died the following weekend. I have a huge amount of guilt and regret over not allowing him up to see us all. He just wanted to see us. In hindsight, I wish I'd just caved and let them come up. I don't think I was in the wrong for wanting space and time to breath, but it was also a really tough lesson in the fact that there isn't always more time. It is the only decision I wish I could turn the clock back on. It's the one regret that eats me up still to this day. Theia wouldn't have remembered meeting him. But he would have held her in his arms. There would have been pictures. Maybe I'm just clutching at straws for anything to make losing him less painful. I wish I could let that go. To forgive myself, because I know I should. I just haven't worked out how to yet - it's been nine year. |
| Prompt: How does the sky look today? How does it make you feel? *** I live in Australia. In Melbourne. A city that has four seasons in a single day - sometimes more. The sky seems to change on a whim. At the moment the sky is light (sky) blue. There are some fairly heavy clouds rolling in to smother it. Off-white, slightly grey - the kind of white that annoys my mother whenever a black sock finds its way into the wash with the whites. It's the hint of rain later in the day - that MAY come. It's best to take a brolly just in case. It looks cold. It looks winterish - which it should. It's winter here. The trees are bare. Most of the flowers have turned in for the rest of the year and won't be seen until Spring. The winter blooms are only just starting to peek through. It looks bleak if you only cast your eyes over the landscape. If you don't pay attention. Winter in Australia reminds me of the end of Autumn in the UK - the end of November when the whole country is starting to ramp up for Christmas. It's cold. The wind has a bite to it that cuts through fabric and burrows deep into your bones. The type that tingles the tip of your nose. It's an excuse to bundle up in jumpers and scarfs and colourful bobble-hats and sip hot chocolate and copious mugs of tea. The slight discomfort when you take a deep breath in the morning air and your lungs crackle as the cold expands into them - like a balloon that's skin is stuck together; all while marvelling at the water vapour we exhale like mythical dragons. Good Times!! Winter in Australia is a bit like summer in the UK - technically it's here, though it feels fleeting, and it never really seems to get its act together long enough stick around more than a few days - but if it does... it's national news. The Big Chill - note it's never the Big Freeze. It's my favourite time of year. |
| Prompt: Typos - Does a typo annoy you? And can a typo ever lead to a misunderstanding or maybe even to an idea for a story or poem? *** Yes - typos affect the quality and readability of any piece of writing whether it's a short story, novel, or poem. And because I haven't written it - they are extremely obvious. The level of annoyance or drift (taking the reader out of the moment) depends on the context: Is it published? Is it an indie writer? Is it on a writing platform? Is it a competition with a 24-hour turnaround? How many typos are we talking about? I'm much more critical on work from a publishing house than anything on here for example, because we (me included) are still learning and evolving. I'm also less critical with an indie author - especially if the vibes (character and plot) are good. In a published piece of work, where I have had to pay for the privilege, it can be annoying. Published work needs to have more scrutiny. It's why copywriting and editors are so important. There are books I have read where I wonder how they ever got published. But again, there is a tiered system - indie author, new author, experience/seasoned author. The level of leeway diminishes the further up the pyramid we go. However, I know from experience how easily typos can slip into writing and because when I am neck deep in the storyline and characters etc... I become word blind - I read what I want/think it should say rather than the actual words - it's a psychological phenomenon around skim reading. There will be typos in this post. If you haven't found any, it's because I have already gone through it - twice since I posted it - though I may not just to prove a point. I frequently change sentences around, sometimes I decide I want a different tense or POV for more impact, I type too fast and miss the "n't" at the end of "can't", my fingers have muscles memory and decide to type "someone" instead of "something", or damn autocorrect gets it wrong! Suddenly the whole sentence changes. Luckily the context around the typo usually provides the clues as to what it should say, but still, I know all too well that typos are somewhat inevitably in early drafts. If my reader has to figure out what I'm trying to say, then they aren't going to enjoy it as much as I want them to. It's why reviews are so important. I'm lucky to have found some great reviewers on here who provide honest feedback, who are also tactful and encouraging; Aubreywrites   and Billytj . I try my best - I have to step away (sometimes for several days) in order to review it from a cold perspective. I like using audio programs to read back my work (something I have only just started to do). I read and re-read my work. And then I'll ask the people I trust to give me their honest opinion and I'm always the better for it. Yes, typos can be annoying. Too many of them can affect the enjoyment of reading a piece of work, but they are also not the be all or end all of a great story - they are a stepping stone. Sometimes it's more about the vibes, than being a masterpiece - we can't all be Jane Austen. |
| Prompt: Getting Along - What do you think can be done to help people, groups, or countries with different opinions get along better? *** Drink more tea. I know this is a very tongue in cheek, British answer, but tea really does solve so many issues. Mostly because if one is drinking it, then one it not running their mouth. If it is drank from a cup in the correct manner, it also stops one's nose going into other people’s business where it doesn’t belong… Let's be honest most conflicts and disagreements are over religion, politics, power and greed. This is compounded by our inability to have a healthy debate and discussion. People don’t like to be challenged, and often people do not know how to challenge in a respectful way. And it seems to have got worse in recent times. In short people are idiots… If we stopped being opinionated idiots the world would be a happier place. The key word here is opinion. We all have them. I have SO many. But opinions are not facts. And my opinion or perspective isn’t any more valid than anyone else’s. It is based on my experience and knowledge – and since I am not all-knowing (shocking I know), my opinions can be flawed, incomplete, or wacky. They don’t make me better or worse, or right or wrong. They are not set in stone – I have the ability to change my opinion (again, shocking I know). I also possess the uncanny ability not to be affected by someone else’s apposing opinion or beliefs – because largely they do not affect me. Don’t get me wrong I will hold people accountable and I don’t agree with saying nothing in the face of unfairness and discrimination – but as a sweeping statement, your political view, sexuality, religion and creed are not going to affect whether I like you as a person, or on whether we can be friends – your behaviour and character however are. If we teach our children this ability, maybe they will have a chance. |
| Prompt: Father's Day. Why should Father's Day be celebrated? And who is or was the most impactful father figure in your life? What has he taught you? *** Father's Day falls on a different day in Australia than it does in the US or the UK. We don't celebrate it until September. It's the same with Mother's Day - it causes all sorts of confusion, and I am constantly wishing my mother a belated UK Mother's Day. I have to rely on the Book of Face and my UK friends to remind me. I believe fathers (and mothers) should be celebrated and appreciated far more than once a year, same as I don't think you should wait until Valentines Day until you show love and affection to someone. If they matter, you should show in your actions all the time - not once a year. However, I don't oppose a day dedicated to it - I'm just not overly fond of how commercial things tend to get. My kids will of course get their dad at least one present each. There is a stall at school where they can buy a variety of Father's Day wares... drinking glasses with tools on them, "Man Cave" signs, worlds best BBQer aprons – you know the things you really want to clutter up your house. I will probably cook whatever Guy wants for dinner (I prefer this to sub-par restaurant fare even with the washing up). And we'll go bowling or crazy golf – something fun as a family. Thats our routine. It's a family day, but Guy gets to choose. My father died nine years ago. I miss him very much. I'm always surprised how greatly his absence still affects me. I can still get choked up. Tears never seem to run dry - they will no doubt appear at some point while I write this. My kids never got to meet him, and it makes me sad that they missed out on his sense of humour, his silliness, and just how much of an amazing "Grumps" he would have been. I tell them stories and photos, but it's not the same - I can never seem to do him justice (tears have appeared). He is without doubt the most impactful father figure in my life. He taught me everything. Things I don't even realise half the time. I get my logical, calculating brain from him. I get my sense of humour from him. We have the same brown eyes. He spent a lot of my childhood working away (overseas) and then I went to boarding school, so he never taught me to ride a bike, or tie my shoes (that was my mother and siblings), I used to watch my mother cook... though he did teach me how to make a fry-up breakfast and Yorkshire puddings. He taught me the importance of working hard and providing for your family. Inadvertently he taught me how important it is to show appreciation for my husband because sometimes I don't think my dad realised how much we all loved, adored, and appreciated everything he did. |
| Prompt: Have fun with these words- subitaneous, reflect, address, wave, fuss, restrict, key, waist, and chronography *** WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! The tsunami alarm rang out in a deafening tone to reflect the seriousness of this subitaneous situation. It was the third alarm sounded in the last twenty-four hours. It was no longer just another precautionary measure, but earthquakes and the subsequent threat of tsunamis were a regular occurrence, and the island had response chronography in place to deal with it. Rachel turned on the emergency radio to hear the latest broadcast and to listen to the key messages from Chief Beaumont, the head of the emergency response team. “The wave approaching Port Harbour is expected to reach fifteen-foot when it hits landfall, and excess flooding will continue for the coming days.” Beaumont’s gruff, baritone voice rumbled through the speaker. “We have chosen to evacuate and restrict access to the harbour area. This is effective immediately and will remain in place until the immediate threat has passed. If you have not already done so, it is advised that you leave the area, taking only those items that are essential. “Four relief and evacuation hubs are now up and running at Morant, Dupluis, Fairemont, and Graigar Mt. The staff at these facilities are available to address any concerns you may have,” He continued. It was a repeated message and had been playing on a loop for the past twelve hours. The truth was that those that hadn’t already left were now on their own. Rachel picked up Luca, who has started to fuss at the noise, and gently wrapped him around her waist, patting his back to sooth the toddler. From the cabin they could see the whole eastern side of the Island. The people below, who had decided to remain and defend their homes and livelihoods, scurried around like ants; boarding up windows and doors and scrambling to roof tops. There was a few who had finally decided to run for the cover of the mountains. Their taillights wound around the mountain road like a red, glowing snake. Rachel wondered if those in the cars had left it too late. If the wave did come, like Beaumont had said, how far up the mountain would it reach. She had no doubt that her and Luca would be safe. The cabin was well about sea-level, and she had packed enough provisions to last several weeks; add that to the cabin’s stores and they would be fine. Temporarily at least. From the window, she watched in awe as the sea began to react. Exposed sandscapes usually hidden beneath metres of salted water. A wall of water loomed large on the horizon. A dark mass of certain death for anyone caught in its wake. She held her breath. Nature was indeed terrifying when it cast it’s full force against those in it path. The wave it hard. Devouring the pier and boardwalk and drowning the cafes and tourist shops in seconds. The water ran riot through the streets. Crashing over roofs and washing everything not firmly tethered away, including her neighbours. Tomorrow they would start the clean-up, and in turn the healing, but today they focus would remain on surviving. |
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