Showing posts with label Festival Of Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Festival Of Words. Show all posts

Friday 29 June 2018

Dear Maud #WriteBravely #Day6




Dear Maud,

I know your full name is Lucy Maud Montgomery, but I'm of the understanding that you preferred to be called just Maud. Without an E. Which is interesting, given that your iconic and beloved character Anne Shirley always insisted upon Anne WITH an E.

I know you received millions of these gushing fan letters in your time, and even after your time. So what could I say that hasn't already been said? Most likely nothing. But I'll say it anyway.

Just like many of your other readers, I feel like we could have been kindred spirits. I love the way you wove warmth and humour into all of your stories. The way you described the setting of Prince Edward Island in such a poetic and evocative way.

It almost felt like I was there strolling through Lover's Lane, breathing in the majestic splendour of the White Way Of Delight.

I could taste the currant wine and plum pudding. I longed for a dress with puffed sleeves, even though puffed sleeves are quite ridiculous these days.

You made me fall in love with Gilbert Blythe. As well as girl crush on Anne Shirley. That's not weird at all, right?




Even many decades after I first read your books, I can still pick them up again and be enchanted. They're like familiar old friends. There is so much comfort and joy amongst their pages.

And Maud, I must confess, I love to dabble a little with writing. Tapping and scribbling away. For no other reason than it just makes me feel better. Just like your other heroine Emily Byrrd Starr, I need to 'write it out'.

As you wrote in Emily Of New Moon,
"Emily, in the delightful throes of literary composition, was lost to all worldly things." (p83).

YES.

But much to my chagrin, I lack your fire. Your fierce determination. Your drive and ambition. I read that you were so driven to write that you awoke early, even during frosty Canadian winters, and wrote. Myself, and many others are forever grateful that you did.

It haunted me to discover that ultimately you may have, in fact, taken your own life.

It pains me to think of someone who gave so many people so much joy, being in such distress and turmoil herself. I'm also reminded of one of my other hero's: the late great Karen Carpenter. And then I wonder why I seem to be drawn to such figures. Talented, humorous, kind but ultimately troubled.

I had always hoped that one day I may be able to visit Prince Edward Island and pay my respects. This possibility is becoming more remote, but I guess you never know.

In the meantime, I can revisit your wonderful words and characters.

Thank you, Maud, from a heartfelt fan and kindred. Thank you for the beautiful gift of your writing and imagination. 


I will remain yours respectfully,

Ness

Written for Festival Of Words 2018 Day 6, using the prompt:

Day 6 – 29 Jun – Write a letter to a person who supported your writing career, whether that be a friend, a family member, a teacher (even one that supported you at a very young age before you knew that it would blossom into a writing career), an author you’ve never met but have been inspired…

Linking up with Write Tribe for Festival Of Words.

Thursday 28 June 2018

The Call #WriteBravely #Day5



Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/search/telephone/


Catherine knew she had to make the call. As soon as she opened her eyes the thought pierced her brain. The surgery would be open at 8.30 so she could get it out of the way. She was due at her Weight Watchers meeting at 10. It was just a formality. She was sure it was nothing.

"This won't kill you," her GP had said. Dr  Fiona McAllister had a forthright but reassuring manner. She had guided Catherine's hand to her right breast where she'd found the small lump. Catherine had felt an odd sense of detachment as she lay there for the exam.

Slowly she got up, put her bra and top on, smoothed her crumpled hair. Maybe if she focused on these simple tasks she could pretend this wasn't happening.

"I don't think it's cancer," Fiona was saying. Her actions belied her words. She picked up the phone to book Catherine in for a mammogram. She'd only come in for a routine check up. There had been no inkling of any worrying lumps or symptoms. Besides, she was young, fit and healthy. Wasn't she? Her hard work at Weight Watchers had paid off. She'd never felt better.

"How's tomorrow?"
"Fine," Catherine's voice seemed to be coming from far away. If she doesn't think it's cancer, why the hurry? Another voice whispered ominously in the back of her mind.

Common sense clicked back into place the following morning. She remained calm as the imposing machine crushed her flesh. The imaging staff were encouraging. It seemed almost certain that it was something small and benign. The results confirmed it. There was no need for alarm.

Fiona insisted on sending Catherine for a biopsy anyway. That's the kind of doctor she was. Thorough, as well as kind. It was one of the reasons Catherine never put off her appointments. Checking in with Fiona was almost like chatting with a good friend.

Catherine uncurled her legs from the bed and padded to the bathroom. She went through her morning ritual as she reflected on the past few weeks. She brushed her teeth, put the coffee on. Carefully chose her clothes.

Soon she was dressed and caffeinated. Time to make the call. To cross it off her to-do list. It was just a formality. Then the eerie voice surfaced again.

"They don't send you for a biopsy unless they're worried there's a chance of finding something."

She placed the call with shaky hands and a thundering heart. A rush of dread threatened to engulf her. Fiona was with a patient but would ring her back immediately. Catherine waited for the phone to ring and her heart to slow.

Danny had taken the girls to school en route  to his office. They hadn't been expecting bad news. She picked up her mobile phone and began scrolling through social media to distract herself. Seconds later, the landline blared.

"Hello," she said.. Her equilibrium had returned. Soon she could get on with her day.

"Hi Catherine, it's Fiona," the doctor was her usual warm but professional self. She didn't waste any time.

"I'm sorry, but they did find something."

"Fuck," Catherine blurted.

Fiona didn't blanch.  "That was my reaction, too when I read it."

Catherine was instructed to get a pen. Writing the words would make it real. This can't be happening.

Infiltrating carcinoma insitzu.

Infiltrating? She didn't like the sound of this. Why?

She thought of Danny and the girls going about their day. Blissfully unaware that their whole world was currently being turned upside down. Fiona wanted them to come to the surgery as soon as possible to make a plan.

She called Danny and got his voice mail. She left a croaky message. The words couldn't quite come out. He called back five minutes later. Her panic had clearly been discernible through the croakyness.

"They found something," she told him.

"Shit. I'm sorry," She knew he would want to be as positive and proactive as possible.

"I'm going to call Fiona and then I'll be home to go with you," her husband said. 

She hung up and immediately picked up the phone again to call her mother.

The conversation was brief. Audrey drove straight over.  The two women embraced. Her mother was always a tower of strength, but this would be so difficult for her. She always hated to see Catherine suffer.

"I'm going to phone Penny," she said.

Catherine paced while her mother placed the call. Penny was a good friend of her parents who was in the medical field. She would be able to recommend a good surgeon.

Audrey passed her the phone, but Catherine wasn't capable of small talk at the best of times.

"Look, it's a journey," Penny told her. It wouldn't be the first time she would hear that word.

But she would face the journey and the fear. She knew she would.

"She's stronger than she thinks," Fiona remarked later, as they sat in her office preparing referrals and appointments. The first of many more to come.

Catherine was slowly accepting her new reality. Later, when she reflected upon her "journey", as she was loathe call it, she realised something. Fiona's words that day had been true.

Somehow she had made it through the long road of surgery, chemo and radiation.  She'd faced up to something she'd never believed she could.

"I don't run from anything anymore," she thought.

The End.

But only the beginning...

Side note: This is a fictionalised version of my own breast cancer diagnosis, with names and some other details changed. Inspired by the following quote:


“The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of them all.” – Mulan

Linking up with Write Tribe for Festival Of Words. 



Wednesday 27 June 2018

Ticked Off #WriteBravely #Day4




Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/



Diane Smith had been smug and self important all her life. The fact that her time on earth appeared to be drawing to end had done nothing to change this. She'd delighted in telling everyone who'd pissed her off exactly what she thought of them.

First, her obnoxious boss. He could stick his stupid job. Then her ungrateful daughter. She'd always been a disappointment.  Next on her list had been her pathetic sibling. How she'd loved telling her sister Mary about her husband's affairs, including the drunken one night stand he'd indulged in with her years ago. Let them work that one out!

Never one to be deterred, Diane had then moved on to her hapless, doddering parents. Spitefully she spat out every injustice of her fifty six years. They were responsible! They'd never really cared about her. Refusing to loan her money over the years when she had debts. Well, they could have her inheritance now. She didn't need it!

The cancer was aggressive, so she'd been told. Sure, she was bitter. But if she had to go, she was going to make damn sure she went with a bang. Always extravagant, she'd taken it to a whole new level, maxing out her credit cards. She'd ticked off every thing she'd wanted on her wish list. Then ticked off every human who'd ticked her off over the years. Screw them! 

"Here's to bucket lists! And fuck it lists, which are even better!" She laughed, pouring herself a celebratory glass of wine. The doctors had been non committal about exactly how much time she had left. But she wanted to make sure she had extracted her revenge before she couldn't. 

She was still chuckling to herself when she answered the phone. Her mirth gradually fading to mortification as she heard the doctor's words.

There was a buzzing in her ears. She took in certain phrases. Something about a mix up. "I'm terribly sorry," the doctor's voice was anxious.

She didn't have cancer after all. She wasn't dying. Another Diane Smith was. She didn't spend more than a nanosecond considering that other woman.

The stranger with the same name who was about to have a bombshell dropped in her life. This Diane only ever thought of herself. For once in her life she was actually speechless.

The wine glass slipped from her hand and shattered into a million pieces. 

The End. 

Written for Festival Of Words 2018 Day 4 using the prompt:

Day 4 – 27 Jun – Write a story about a character who finds out that he or she is dying and has been knocking things off his/her bucket list and has finally reached the last item.

Linking up with Write Tribe for Festival Of Words. 

Tuesday 26 June 2018

Little Lola #WriteBravely #Day3




Sleeping baby, comatose dad
Lola is lonely, woebegone, sad

Dad promised time to play
Silly old baby! Go away!

Now Lola has a tiny baby sister
She'd run away, they won't miss her!

Mum and dad are too tired, too busy
Two year old Lola is in a tizzy

A baby sister was supposed to be fun
But Lola thinks Ruby is kinda dumb

She cries and fusses, makes things smelly
Can't she go back in mommy's belly?

Lola ponders this with a pout
She isn't sure how the baby got out!

She tries to be nice, give Ruby her toys
But Mum says SHHH! Don't make noise!

She even sleeps in a big girl's bed
And Ruby has the cot instead

They could easily give Ruby away
An lady wanted her just yesterday!

She popped in from down the street
To coo at Ruby and say she's sweet

Yes! That's what she'd do!
Lola toddled off to number 22

Even on tiptoes she can't reach the bell
So she raps on the door, lets out a yell

Hey! She shouts, with a rat-a-tat-tat
But the only response is a fabulous cat

He must be the only creature at home
He's slinking around the garden alone

He slides up to Lola, lets out a purr
She squats to stroke his silky fur

Kitty cat curls up for a nap
Lola hugs him on her lap

Soon they are asleep in the sun
Lola's suddenly too drowsy for fun

She wakes up, magically in her bed!
Dad and Mum were filled with dread

Don't ever do that again! They implore
It's BOTH you and Ruby we adore!

They let her have chicken nuggets for dinner
Lola is happy, she feels like a winner

She'll learn to love her little sister
She peeks in the cot to sloppily kiss her.










Monday 25 June 2018

Finding Fun In Every Day #WriteBravely #Day2


It's a truth universally acknowledged that life is full of dreary tasks. Mundane, joyless days blend into each other. You trudge through your monotonous existence like an automaton. Your life is so devoid of anything thrilling you become excited at the sight of a new kitchen sponge. Or perhaps that's just me.





But it doesn't have to be that way. As a wise woman once said: "In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun - and - snap! - the job's a game."

That wise woman was Mary Poppins. Okay, she's a fictional character , so would what she know? You're just gonna have to work with me on this, okay? I'm trying to help you here. Who said my blog isn't useful?

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, making jobs fun. Here's a few ideas. Some sensible. Some silly. We are trying to have fun here, after all.



WAYS TO MAKE MUNDANE FUN



  • Put on some music. Preferably nothing weepy and melancholy. We're talking upbeat and inspiring. You could even make a playlist of housework music. Bonus points for pausing to warble into a hairbrush like the rock star you are.
  • Put on a timer and see how much you can get done before it beeps. You'll even get a workout at the same time by dashing about as if your butt is on fire. Let's call that multitasking! Sure, your work will likely be slap dash and sloppy, but we're trying to have fun here. Sacrifices must be made. 
  • Do the thing you detest the most. No, seriously, do it. Whether it be making a dreaded phone call, washing dishes or walking the dog. But do it wearing a tutu and a top hat. I dare you. Even if you don't have fun, your family/neighbours will have a great old time laughing at you, so somebody wins. 
  • Reward yourself with your favourite treat. I'm thinking chocolate or cakies. Pretty soon you'll be smashing that tedious to-do list. And smashing your scales with a sledgehammer in indignation. But let's not focus on the negative. 
  • Listen to podcasts. This is actually a sensible suggestion. It actually works to make something like folding laundry a little less sucky. Just be much more sensible about this than me and mix it up a bit from true crime podcasts. Those things are not exactly light entertainment. 
  • If you're at work, why not see how many people you piss off before knock off time. Try it at home, too. Don't let me stop you. 
  • Make a tally of how many times you hear certain jargon and buzzwords that set your teeth on edge. Reward yourself with the tallied number of glasses of wine when you get home. Cheers! 
  • Book your next vacation. Every time someone ticks you off just chant "Hawaii" (or insert any other location of your choice) under your breath. This will remind you of the reason for this bullshit: cash for vacations. 
  • When you are scrubbing your toilet, dress in head to toe latex to match your rubber gloves. On second thought, just pay someone else to do that. You may have to pay extra for the latex outfit however. 😉
  • If you usually cook dinner for your family, make it fun by trying new recipes. Drinking wine helps, too.

Thank you for reading. Now go and have fun!
How do you make mundane tasks fun?




Sunday 24 June 2018

Together Again #WriteBravely #Day 1


Welcome to the Festival of Words 2018! What on earth is that, you ask? Read about it here. I'm joining in for the first time, because I never really knew about it before. But better late than never, as the saying goes!

So let's get this party started, as P!nk says... Or something...

For day one, I chose the following creative writing prompt:

Day 1 – 24 Jun – Use this sentence in your post : You’d never believe me if I told you that I _____________, but it’s true and I can prove it.

Here's my story:

TOGETHER AGAIN



Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/




You'd never believe me if I told you that I'm a murderer. But it's true, and I can prove it. You see, everyone dies around me. You might meet me and think I'm a regular person. I'm witty, quirky and quick with a joke. Fun to be with. You may even want to be friends. I would advise you against it. It could be fatal.

"It's not your fault," my psychologist told me. Her eyes exuded kindness and warmth. Warmth I didn't deserve. The day they'd taken away Blake's lifeless body, all those years ago, I thought they'd take me, too. Mum was still slumped on the floor. Her guttural wails sliced through the unnerving stillness. I felt frozen in time. Floating. Surreal. How could this be happening again?

After the funeral, Mum didn't get out of bed for weeks. I made her bowls of cereal and cheese on toast which lay untouched. The only things I knew how to make at age ten. I became the mother to my mother. Tall and mature for my age, people said. They shouldn't trust me.

"Poor love," Auntie Lorraine said. "First her father, then her baby brother."
"So sad," sniffed cousin Sally. I didn't like her. She'd never visited before, why was she here now? Auntie Lorraine had always been in our lives. She was Mum's auntie really. My late Poppa's sister. I loved her. She wore brilliant coloured scarves and bustled about as she gossiped. She rarely mentioned my Dad though.

For years afterwards I replayed the accident in my mind. Dad's eager face when he saw me waving from the school gate. He stepped off the kirb onto the slippery wet road. I never knew if he saw the oncoming car. If his life flashed before his eyes in that instant. He bounced off the bonnet, hitting the ground with a sickening smack. My screams were swallowed by the clap of thunder as biting rain fell on the gruesome scene.

Six months later, Blake stopped breathing. They said it was SIDS. Sudden infant death syndrome. My already scarred ten year old psyche didn't understand. I'd been playing peek-a-boo with him. Maybe I'd left the blanket over his face when the phone rang and I rushed off to answer it. I'd murdered him, and I knew it. Could ten year olds go to prison?

Mum was never the same. She was there, but not really there. After a while I went to live with auntie Lorraine. Luckily she didn't have any children, or I may have killed them too.

"Your mum is sick, but in her mind, not her body," she explained. "Do you understand?"
I nodded. I'd made her that way. She'd probably die next. Because of me. She didn't. But she only made brief appearances in my life.

Months and years went by. I went to school, netball, piano practice. I was the good girl. I blended in, fooling everyone. Later, anger surfaced.  I became a bratty, belligerent teenager. This eventually morphed into a sarcastic, wisecracking twenty something. I was a chameleon, but drowning inside.

By now, Mum and I had an on again, off again relationship. She'd never remarried and moved around, living a nomadic life. I never knew when she'd flit through the periphery of my existence.

Somehow I'd survived university and established a career. Every day I expected someone to tap me on the shoulder. My secret discovered. I was a fraud. A freak. I didn't deserve a normal life.

Inevitably, Auntie Lorraine passed away suddenly. People I love always do. This time I planned the funeral. Mum turned up.

"Hello, Bethany," she gave me a wan smile. She'd put on weight, but it suited her. Her once coppery gold hair was streaked with grey, but her eyes were the same olive green flecked with hazel and underlying sorrow.

"Hi." I wanted to say so much more than that one innocuous word. Where have you been? I screamed internally. Then she surprised me by learning in to give me an awkward hug.

One by one, family, friends and strangers, paused to give me grave looks and platitudes, before leaving the wake.

"I'll help you clean up," Mum began clearing plates of half stale sandwiches cut in triangles.

"Leave it," I held up a bottle of wine from the fridge. Auntie Lorraine always had some on hand. She'd been fond of glass or two after a long day. "One for Auntie Lorraine?"

"Of course." Mum agreed. I poured and we clinked glasses.

"To auntie Lorraine," we both murmured. A few glasses later, we began to unwind. Or unravel. We were pouring out memories along with the wine. Laughter mingling with tears as we remembered what a remarkable woman auntie Lorraine was.

"I'm sorry, Bethie," Mum wiped the tears gently from my cheek.
"For what?"
"Everything. Especially not being there for you after Dad and Blake died."
I looked into her eyes and knew she meant it.

"You look so much like your Dad."
"It was my fault," I blurted.
"What?" Mum shook her head.
"Dad and Blake. I killed them."
Mum looked thunderstruck. Then everything came pouring out of me. I told her how Dad had stepped in front of the car because of me. About my game of peekaboo with Blake.

"I had no idea," Mum was sobbing now. "I thought you blamed me. You see, I blamed myself."

Then she explained how Dad had picked me up that day because she'd been unable to. She'd been suffering from post natal depression.

"And when Blake died, I felt so guilty. I felt like such a terrible mother, and that's why I was being punished. Why he was taken from me. You were only a child and it wasn't fair to you to be responsible for your baby brother. You did nothing wrong. You were only a girl. My beautiful girl."

She help me tight, snivelling into my shoulder. I tried to tell her I understood, that everything was okay, but the words were stuck in my own sobs. We had so much to say.  I knew I could never bring Dad and Blake back, but I finally had my mother back.

The next day we went to the cemetery together, armed with flowers. I finally felt a sense of peace as we placed them on Dad and Blake's crypt. Mum squeezed my hand. "We're all together again," she whispered.


THE END.

Linking with Write Tribe for Festival Of Words.