You Know The Way…ll

…after you’ve

already written something

and think

that’s it

I can go to sleep now

I’m done

only you can’t

because

after you’ve navigated

your way into bed

in the darkness

and he’s already snoring

but not quite sleeping

and your warmth

suggests

you might be Michael McIntyre’s dishwasher

but all you can think about is

the next in a possible series

but shit

know

you’ll forget

if you don’t get back up

or sneak the kindle under the bedclothes

and he’s still snuggling in

not quite snoring

and going

mmmm

and I go

sorry

need to get up

I’ll forget

and he goes

you owe me

and I say

I know

big time

and I do

because

how many

don’t get it

but accept it

that you write

even

in the night

after Drambuie

and giggles

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You Know The Way…

…your husband’s gone to bed before you and you’ve stayed up

for hours

writing

or whatever

and now you have the issue

of trying to figure a way into bed

without disturbing him

round the obstacles

or

like tonight

you’ve both watched Michael McIntyre together with a wee

Drambuie

or two

and pissed yourselves laughing

and ideas come for a blog post

and he’s already brushed his teeth

and you’re still writing

so you take your kindle

and your fag

to the bathroom

to have a quick wizz

a toothbrush

and maybe

jot down

that wee idea

because you’ll surely not remember it

in the morning

and do you know the way

sometimes

one of your kids comes out of their room

just as you’re

fag in mouth

kindle in hand

heading to the ladies’

and the fag drops

out of your mouth

onto the floor

and you laugh

because hubs

who’d

already put the feckin’ light out

bastard

says

by light of son’s room

you’re away to write

aren’t you

and I go

yeah

pick my fag up

laugh at my son

with a wink

who laughs back

because

youth

remember my idea

and write

this

thinking

I’m gonna do more

of humour

it’s a laugh

think I might

entitle it

you know the way

‘cos most of us do

Blogs Reunited

To make up for the fact that I might be a bit of a plank, I’m issuing an invitation.

You see, I quite frequently do my blog reading in bed with my Kindle. It’s less cumbersome than my laptop and I can pretend that I’m going to sleep when really I’m catching up and promising myself five more minutes. And, if it falls on the floor when I drift over, I haven’t ruined a laptop – done that one before. Drambuie. Hell of a mess.

Now, if any of you use a Kindle Fire for bloggy business you may be aware that the buttons for follow and pressing send on a comment are gie close together. This may have resulted in me unfollowing some people almost immediately after making a comment. Yeah, I always make a habit of commenting then unfollowing. Good practice. Not.

It may, however, be down to the WP gods, as some people I refollowed commented that the same thing had happened to them. And, right enough, I’ve been surprised, a few times lately when folk followed me – what, again? I thought. I don’t want to make false accusations and my Kindle is a bugger, at times, what with predicting my text wrongly and making me look like a moron. Of course, I know how to spell luvverly poest. I just don’t know how to turn off the suggestions that keep coming up. Also, it has this nasty habit of making whole other words up which would be fine if I lived in Gobbledygook but I don’t. Just talk it sometimes.

Anyway, I was on Donna’s Always On My Mind Blog Party. Don’t you just love a good party? And I kept seeing people’s names and going, I haven’t seen you around in ages in my reader or emails. Then I clicked on their blog and the little follow button, down there at the right hand side – why did they move it, I liked it where it was, up there, ^^^ – showed up and I had the red neck of refollowing people I didn’t know I’d unfollowed.

I could go into that dohickey page where all the blogs you follow are listed and check each one but that doesn’t help me know who’s not there. Only who is. And those ones show up in my reader and emails.

Do you see what I mean?

Well, the long and the short of it is that I thought I’d open this here page up to all who read my scribblings and any who do not, (if you happen upon here, welcome!)

Please feel free to link a post below and take the opportunity to make new bloggy friends. I will also do my utmost to read each and every one. And, if I come across another blog that I have inadvertently unfollowed, I’ll just quietly click follow without any further explanation. Deal?

Now, I was going to turn off comments on this so’s people would go to comment on other people’s sites and not here (watch out for that follow button, though, if you’re on a Kindle) but then realised that you wouldn’t be able to post a link to your blog post.

Tech, eh?

I hope you meet new people through this and that I get to catch up with those I’ve lost track of.

Bring your own booze. I don’t drink on school nights – well, not often. So, I can’t call it a party. More a reunion, I guess.

Oh, apparently, you’re better to just post one at a time so, if you want to link more than one, best do each separately. I don’t know why either. Maybe a favourite of yours or your most recent? Whatever you like. I follow lots of different types of blogs because I love lots of different types of things – photography, art, poetry, politics, cooking, crafts, travel, science, you name it, – so don’t be shy. You’re more than welcome.

Happy 1st February (when it comes, 42 minutes and counting). That has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that Spring is getting closer and January is a bitch. I’ll be glad to see the back of her. But very happy to see you here.x

Great Escape

(source: Anna Banana Hurley)

no imprisonment

solitary confinement

writer’s great escape

*****

Lock me in a tower, where a door was never found,

Suspend it high from clouds above the ground,

Shear my hair and cast the strands as confetti all around,

Imprison me where there is not a sound.

*****

Break the tethers tying, the ribbons that would bind,

Permit its soaring licence of the skies that it may find

A merging with the moments that are lost inside my mind,

In a tower built to wander unassigned.

*****

Give me books and paper and a fountain full of ink,

Let me loose alone without a link,

Lose me on the radar of a world upon the brink,

Hide me in holes in space so I can think.

*****

Let the words and pictures be my nectar, nourishment,

May I pass through times wherever I am sent,

Keep a window clear so I can see where lives are spent

While my tower gives me strength when it needs lent.

*****

Shelter me in shadows that the tower never casts,

Let me lease it for the silence while it lasts,

Keep it from the eyes of those forbidden to trespass,

Confinement solitary, unsurpassed.

*****

Birthing Words

I feel obliged to write you with my reasons,

though they wane and wax with time, there’s constancy,

nothing can surpass the words 

if, even sleeping,

they drift and drone and beg, oh, please, choose me!

I shush them when, in real-life mode, I’m enacting

fulfillment of the roles I must obey,

I try to shun them, tell them, wheesht! I’m working

Do they listen? Not a word that I can say.

They tease, torment and test me with their pullings,

This way, that, o’er here, oh, Anne-Marie, please look at me.

Dismissal doesn’t work, I’ve tried, they never listen,

I jot them down for my posterity.

I’ll come to you, I say, when I have finished, 

the workload that demands so much of my time,

I’ll hear you better when the pressure’s off me,

Like children, they just sulk then whine on constantly.

I must admit, I’d miss them if they left me,

They start my day and end it with their charm

And even though they tug, torment and taunt me,

They never really do me any harm.

I love them, they’re my children, 

Add to seven,

the words that birth themselves and beg me, please,

feed me, fill me, love me, never leave me.

I resign myself to mother of all these.

You’ve got to love this place. Even when I’m ignoring it as much as I can to do what I have to, it sneaks in. Checking through a bunch of emails that I’m also trying to ignore till I’ve, at least, wrapped the feckin’ presents, I come across this one, leading to this one that takes me back to this one and spawns this one.

I can be accused of many things – a tendency to leaving things to the last minute being chiefly noticeable at this particular time – next year I’ll start in September, like some of the folks in my school. Who wraps Christmas presents in October? Does this mean that they have Easter sorted too? Booked their summer holiday?

I seem to remember that my essays always got in on time. But usually after an all-nighter. Each to their own comes to mind. But this might be why I’m still shopping, haven’t wrapped a single present other than the lucky dip for school, will hit some stores tomorrow, god-help-me, and enlist the help of my fourteen-year-old wrapping elf.

I can’t, however, be accused of being short on words – check my posts. Haiku? I wish. I’m missing my writing time so badly that I’m dreaming the bloody words again. Noted for future reference. Driving to work has become a memory test. Repeat, repeat, repeat till I can note.

Ain’t it great though, that words demand of us? That’s kind of what Charles was talking about, I think. It’s like words are truly born – and I know what that’s like! Including one emergency caesarian with the last. Some are easy, some not so much so, some require intervention. But, after the birth, you look and say, I know you. I’ve always known you.

My kids – my real babes – are sorted for Christmas. I just have to make sure to take time to tend to the ones that keep on crying. Love takes many forms.

Merry Christmas all you lovely folk. I may be back before you know it. Or I might be burning the venison, cursing the carols (don’t you just get sick of the same ones?!)

Feck it! When my crew are all sated, from too much of me, I’ll be loving my orphans.

Won’t we all! Mothers and fathers to words.

Your words are a gift. I thank you for them.

They’re also your gift to yourself. Open them every day.

Words are made flesh and live among us.

Toot! Toot!

I promise I don’t do it often but I’m doing it tonight.

(source)

Because of this!

How I’m feeling.

(source)

Go meee! Go meee!

OK.

I’m done.

Well, not really. Most of the work is ahead but, hey, sod it, I did the bizness. 🙂

Err, Ere, Er

Err in life to consummate its knowing,

Hello to all mistakes that guide the way,

Adieu to all perfection, we’re still growing,

I know, I’ve made and learned a few today.

To criticism, ere your learning’s over,

Debunk the myth that says that we should know,

Er, I think not, else I’d be a corpse here,

I’ll f*** up everyday so I can grow.

On it as we speak.  😉

Silver Turrets, Glacial Pillars

silver turrets

glacial pillars

mist around

a castle barely there

whispered voices

disembodied

elusive valley

lost in mountains bare

enchanted hillsides

clouded rivers

vague departed

souls in coves and glens

tinkled laughter

those in knowing

dispatched from here

pale figures lived again

he and she there

those and them found

poor and paltry

rich and in between

past and present

glimpse of future

‘mid turrets, pillars

lives of all who’ve been

time entrapment

rooms revisited

sepulchre of spectres

seen before

craggy mansions

fog enshrouded

silver turrets

glacial pillars, evermore

vapour’d currents

earth, wind and fire

electrified in fields

still disbelieved

sparked by life-force

charged with purpose

redolent with birth and death

awake to unconceived

murdered, muted

self-inflicted

battle-wearied, shunned

the exodus

fled and fleeing

faith and courage

surrendered souls

in sickness and mistrust

silver turrets, glacial pillars

lost and found 

the almost

nearly there

heaths, lush landscapes

hearts hardened, frozen

hope harkens 

in the dale beyond despair 

 

silver turrets

glacial pillars

whispered voices soothe

from castles, truths compare

Thinking November

I have the absolute cheek to have just signed up for National Novel Writing Month 2015. With last year’s novel still incomplete in edit, what exactly am I thinking?

Truthfully, I’m thinking that I am a great procrastinator, that I would be awful in the military life because I can’t take orders – even from myself, apparently.

However, I’m also thinking that this time last year I hadn’t even signed up to commit to 50,000 words in a month but I did it in the end.

I’m thinking that I knew the first book had a sequel as I was writing it and it seems daft not to get that down, considering it’s been mulling away in the background.

I’m thinking that I may be sorry to commit to this once again, especially as I obviously hate editing – unless it’s other people’s – just like the writing it down part.

I’m thinking, though, that I have nothing to lose and that I might even manage more of the edit on the first while working on the second because I’ll be so immersed in it again.

I’m thinking that I’m about to move school again in a couple of weeks and that could mean more or less work. And I don’t know which.

I’m thinking, ‘Oh,shit, why am I even letting others know?’

And, mostly, I’m thinking, blogging is one thing, Anne-Marie, but why exactly did you start that in the first place if not to actually gain the confidence to write that book you always knew you would.

Right now, I’m thinking why am I talking about myself in the third person? I hate that.

Frankly, I don’t really know what I’m thinking.

But I’m inclined to share my thoughts, sure or otherwise. So here you have them.

Last year, I swore off blogging during the week to make sure I focused on Nano. It was hard to let go of the reins. Your blog’s like your baby. Well, I think it is. You kind of nurture it along and watch it grow.

Last year, I had tremendous help from guest bloggers who made sure my baby was fed and watered. You know who you are. I don’t know if I’ll be able to let the reins go so completely this time – I’m a born mum – but I would be grateful for offers.

I spoke this over with my family last night. Mixed reception.

‘You haven’t finished editing the first one!’ D’uhh, I know.

‘Does that mean you’ll be holed up in your office again for a whole month?’ Thought that was a bonus for them, myself.

‘Do it, Mum!’ I think I’m gonna.

‘Whatever makes you happy.’ Thanks, hon.

So, I’ve registered. Another one of my not-thought-this-through-type-of-plans-that-I-don’t-make.

I might even try to plan this time – I’ve got nearly two whole weeks before it begins. Loadsa time.

So, this is by way of being my notification that I’ve enlisted. About to take orders from myself again. Someone has to keep me in check in the absence of a sergeant-major, I’m thinking.

Household Tips #5 – The War Gene – it’s a thing

Why is it that the second most expensive item I own sits in the driveway next to the first? If I could put the car in the house I’d do some weather damage limitation and combine the value. But I can’t get the car up four steps. Or through the door. It’s a thing cars won’t do.

So it sits out there wondering why I don’t value it enough to give it shelter. I let the dog and the cat in. The weans all have a place to rest their wearies. But, poor car, despite faithful service and being one of my best friends – we go everywhere together – languishes in the great outdoors like an abandoned pet. I talk to him. Usually, it’s, ‘Don’t you dare make that noise!’ and ‘ Come on, boy, you can make it.’ Kinda the conversation I have with my husband from time to time. And I let hubs in the house.

The reason I am a wanton mistress to Ford is because my garage is full of stuff. Stuff it should not be full of. Some of that stuff doesn’t even belong to me or anyone else who now lives here.

There are china dolls with creepy faces.

No way are they getting back inside. Eldest daughter left them here when she moved out. Along with a collection of other dolls from far flung parts. It was a thing she did at one point. Years ago. So why are they still there?

That’s down to a thing I do. I’m sure I inherited what I like to call ‘the war gene’. My parents were both ten when WWll began. They lived through the bombs and evacuation, the rationing and the make do and mend years.  Couldn’t get bananas till the banana boats made their way back up The Clyde. Powdered eggs. Wtf! 

So they were raised to cut cuffs, turn collars and stitch repairs. Make your own. Reuse buttons and bits and bobs. Value everything. Waste nothing.

I’ve got that gene.

I recycle everything I can. Want to weep when I visit the recycling plant and see all the TV’s and fridges that have been discarded. I want to find out if they died or if they just became obsolete to a better model. They never answer when I ask.

Part of recycling involves not throwing things away if I think a) I might use that later b) that’s a bloody shame, what a waste c) that’s too good to get rid of d) that stuff’s not mine e) I’m so ashamed, I’ve hardly used that.

When my mum died my siblings and I had quite a time of what to keep and what not to keep. She had the war gene. Everything seemed to have sentimental value or intrinsic value. After attempting to go through them I stored them in the cellar. I now have a cellar with books and papers belonging to my mum and not the heart to go through them again. Still. Six years come St. Andrew’s Day.

Add into the mix two other kids who have flown the coop, left gear, come home again, left more gear. And, in the case of one, is still here because a) she really can’t afford it while at college b) thinks she can but is actually quite enjoying having all facilities for her and her cat c) can’t quite make up her mind. It’s a Mary thing.

The other one is definitely out but is currently in a furnished flat so we’ve got his shit too, including a) a microwave b) bits of furniture c) umpteen boxes d) fishing rods and equipment because he doesn’t want to get rid of them but isn’t fishing for fish at the moment. Bigger fish to fry. That’s a Joe thing.

Further to the mix, add my husband’s tools/gardening equipment/wood that he can’t bring himself to part with because a) he might use it b) he’s a dab hand at making and repairing c) it’s all perfectly good wood d) it’s my bolthole and I keep what I want here. Wood. It’s a Frank thing.

And, that’s a scooter hanging from the rafters. Because, maximise space. Clever, eh?

Into the cauldron, add all my paper work from schools (because, yeah, I’ll use that again), years of writing, household crapamailia that has to be kept in case one day I need to prove that, ‘I did so bloody pay that!’, books of mine, more books of mine, a wide variety of craft materials that I’ll definitely get back to using when I have time and little trinkets bought/made by offspring. Why is keeping that tat a thing?

University/college stuff that my kids want to hold onto but don’t want messing up their flats.

A pram. Yup. Beautiful pram that was Anna’s, in the cellar, waiting. I’m not having any more! But, seems a shame to get rid when I have daughters at that sort of age. I know!

Guitars that have been replaced with better models but I feel sorry for.

Poor buggers. They need to go. Nothing can save them now. Wonder if guitar heaven is a thing. They did nought wrong.

Um, what else?

Chairs – because we need extra ones for occasions. But not all the time. Why buy more every time? Common sense thing.

Bikes. Fair enough, they get used.

Clothes. Fecking clothes. Do you have any idea how much room (not to mention washing) clothes for a big household take up? Fortunately, hubs used those tools and wood and screws and savvy to build custom-made wardrobes in every bedroom. Begs the question why one or two of my crew still hang their clothes on the floor. That’s a thing I hate.

I’m also really good at recycling clothes and fill up bags on a regular basis. Put them in the garage till I’m ready to take them for recycling. Then my eldest daughter brings more in that she’s getting shot of, we all have a rummage and snaffle the ones we like. And I send the rest away. To the garage. Pending. It’s an Anne-Marie thing.

With determination, black bin bags and a hardened heart I’m back to asking, ‘Does this give me joy?’ If it doesn’t, it’s going. Apart obviously from the crap I have to keep for the purposes of a) I’ll definitely, maybe use that at some point, b) that’s not mine to decide on, c) aww! my mum/dad/weans/memories.

I don’t see the car having a place to shelter any time soon. What am I, Superwoman? But, I might manage to shift things around a bit, make a few phone calls threatening decapitation of creepy china dolls and I’m definitely throwing out all my school crap. That’s what the internet is for.

Well, that and telling you all about how I propose to spend my Saturday – opting to streamline my life. Again.

It’s a thing I do. From time to time. Genes, got a lot to answer for. Been proven. Real thing.

Another thing. Procratination. Not started yet. Thought I’d blog about it first. It’s a WordPress thing.

And the sun’s shining. Ford is calling to me – take me some place, far from this driveway. Leave all this behind. They do so talk!

Aye, ah wish. I’d make houseroom. Not the Hoff, bleugh! Here Kitty, Kitty.  Weird thing, saying that. I’m not even a cat lover. More genetically programmed for dogs.