Pic of the Week . . . The Boys

It's been a sad few days here. My parents had to say goodbye to one of their K9 best friends, Molly. She was a 12 year old yorkshire terrier. Even though she wasn't my dog, she was still very much part of the family, and I remember watching her grow from an adorable little puppy to the lovely lady that she became. She had three beautiful litters of puppies that flew the nest, all but one who remained with my sister, and another K9 companion and father of those litters, Toby, who will sorely miss her.

She was such a sweet girl. She did have a tumor which lead to other complications, but in the end it was heart failure that got her. My old cat, Daisy, had heart failure, and watching her go was heart breaking. But no matter how hard it is, we move on and find new companions, and when something like this happens, it just makes you feel blessed and grateful for the time you get to spend together.

So, raise a glass in honour to our pets, past and present. Below is a picture of my boys, Bodie and Doyle. I'd like to say they are writing companions, but to be honest they're more of a distraction...but we wouldn't have it any other way...

A Front Cover Of Inspiration . . .

Where has 2015 gone! One month left and I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I've blogged.

A lot has happened since I last visited - some good, some bad. The worse? My feline friend, Daisy, passed away. To say I was heart broken is an understatement. I was ridiculously attached to that cat so it's no surprise I took it hard. BUT, I now have not four, but eight little paws pattering around here now.

Meet Doyle and Bodie, two of the most handsome brothers I know. They're 5 months old now and such joys to have. And I'm now lucky enough to be working full time form home so I'm thoroughly enjoying their kittenhood - even if I do have to battle for rights over the laptop.

The flow of creativity is still strangely slow. I really need to buck my ideas up to get over this lull. I'm not sure what it is - a mixture of laziness coupled with anxiety maybe. Who knows. But it has to come to an end sometime. So here's a short piece I wrote the other night for a small exercise in hope that it would get those juices flowing again.

A Front Cover of Inspiration

Writing Exercise: We took a random book cover and let the inspiration flow, to see what it spoke to us. The Book? Under the Dome by Stephen King.

Out of everything, the one thing I wish for most is for the heat to go. The sun bears down on me continuously. I see clouds but they provide no shade, and the more I look at the them, the more I'm convinced they're not moving. 

I don't know where I am. I know I've been here for a long time though. The straight road runs for miles ahead of me, and as I turn, it runs for equal miles behind, splitting though the mountain range on the horizon. The hills in front aren't as severe in sight as the mountains, but they're still menacing. 

I honestly don't know how long I've been standing on this road. Definitely not days or weeks. Years? I can't tell how many. It feels like an eternity. I feel I should be old now, but I'm still the same twenty-four year old I was when it happened. I'm talking about the accident. Memories of it are few and far between but I do know that it happened quick. One minute I was reaching for a bottle of water sitting on the passenger seat of my car, the next I'm peering into the piercing eyes of a wild dog, followed by the sound of shattering glass, crunching metal and a blinding white light. That was it. Now I'm standing in the middle of this road, in the middle of nowhere - alone.

Everyday I walk. I walk for miles. I look at the hills ahead of me and walk towards them. Maybe civilisation lies beyond those peaks, people who can help me, hot food I can eat and cold drinks - not that I feel hungry or thirsty any more. I long to see what lies over the horizon and I walk all day but it never gets any closer. And as if in mockery, the mountain range behind follows me, stalking me and matching my every step. They never shrink in size, never grow any further away, yet I walk from them every day.

I have even ventured off the road. I look to the flat horizons either side, littered with half dead bushes and dry, cracked dirt, but no matter how long or how far I stray, the tarmac road follows. It's never further than twenty feet behind me. 

I don't know where I am. I don't know how long I've been here, and I don't know why I can't leave. In frustration, I yell at the sun above me, always glowing and never giving in to night. The days are one, the stars extinct. I hate it. Did I die in that accident? Is this purgatory or hell? Will I ever be able to leave?

But then as I walk the same tarmac I've trodden for what feels like an eternity, a strange feeling comes over me. Something feels different. As I turn back towards the imprisoning mountains, I see it, a ghost emerging from the heat waves off the road. A car, speeding along towards me, ever closer. After spending so long on my own, with not one living thing scampering my path, I begin to feel something I haven't felt for a long time. Fear... 

The Perfect Writing Companion . . .

When you settle down to write, is there something that you always have to have with you? Like when students go for an test, they take in their lucky charm?

Ok, that may have been a bad example. You don't really need a lucky charm to just sit down and write. You just need your writer's brain and imagination. But you know what I mean.

When I sit down to write, besides having the appropriate music on (after spending hours of wasting time and trying to decide what to actually listen to) I have to have a drink - mainly a cup of tea. But it can't be just any cup of tea. It has to be made to a specific standard. It has to be strong but milky so that it has the perfect consistency. I can't look into it and see the remains of the water, but yet it shouldn't look like a mug of milk, either. It has to be just right. And I NEVER leave the tea bag in to stew (yes, I use teabags, not tea leaves. I is common.) I find when you do this the tea creates a film on top, and when I drink it, I imagine it to be lining my insides. (Random Fact: Did you know, if you have heart problems the doctors prefer you not to drink too much tea as the film does just that. It's not good.)

But this doesn't say I'm fussy when it comes to tea - oh Lord no. If someone offers me a cuppa, I'll happily accept and drink it with out worrying. But coffee, however, is a different matter. I rarely have coffee when I'm out because if it's not made to my standards I don't enjoy it. I like a heaped teaspoon of coffee, followed by a substantial amount of milk to compensate with the amount of coffee, and then followed by the water. If you pour the boiling water straight onto the coffee before adding the milk, it scolds the coffee and gives it a bitter taste. I don't know about anyone else, but I can taste it.

Anyway, another of my 'must-have-with-me's' is my cat. I find it comforting having her with me. If I'm curled up on the sofa with my laptop on my lap, she curls up next to me and purrs away while I type, and if I'm on my computer - which I am most of the day seeing as I work from home - then she sits either on the back of my chair or the computer desk between me and the monitor. Yes, she gets in the way sitting here, and I often struggle to see the tabs at the bottom of the screen, but again I like it so I work round her.

I do have to wonder though, whether she's jealous of the fact I sometimes pay the computer more attention than her and she just has to flaunt herself to remind me that she's there and needs some loving. Hmmm . . . jealous puddy cat . . .

Anyway, so these are just a few of my writing companions, and I tell you this because I can't think of anything else to blog. So what about you guys? Is there something that you have to have with you when writing?