Why do I write and what am I writing?

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It struck me that my writing is as mixed up as my painting and art. I’m interested in poetry and short stories, documenting life and writing about esoteric stuff like why the earth isn’t flat.

I sometimes ramble on around similar subjects, then get bored and throw something else into the mix – like writing about bread making, or my cats and garden.

I have a lot of thoughts flowing round in my head. I didn’t ask for them to be there.  I’m irritated when Sci-fi shows have sound in the vacuum of space, or someone tells a lie about something that is clearly not true.

I was talking to my hubby about this earlier. I do not want to be different, I was going to write “normal” but perhaps I am. Maybe writers are those people that stick to a specific narrative or genre? Or maybe not. I know I don’t do much research about things, most of my writing is imagined or recollected from books and TV programmes.

I started out thinking it would be purely an art blog, a way of selling my paintings, but it’s morphed. I write mors here than anywhere else and I hope it doesn’t get snatched away. I never check how much content I’m creating. It just flows….. And I was once asked why I don’t have adverts… I don’t like them! I keep seeing photos of lemons, or some green gunk that clears up skin problems…. No, sorry, I’m not happy to sell it….

Tranquil – from Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt.

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Funny how the light shines in this glade she thought. The trees and the beach look pink and purple. It must be the weather. Then she looked up to where the sun should be, but the star she saw  was red, like the sun when you see it through thick clouds on the horizon. But this star was small and high up in the sky. She could tell it wasn’t her sun. You could actually look at it without being blinded.

She tried to remember how she had got here, what had happened to her? All she could think of was the lights in the sky the night before. Not meteors but green flashes, like falling fireworks. Yes, then something had lifted her up and everything had gone dark and silent….

Where am I? Where have I been brought to? she thought, this place is so peaceful, so quiet. Then she realised what was missing, birdsong, insects churring, the everyday sound of traffic… Wherever she was she knew now it was alien. It could not be Earth.

Written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto prompt here

Blue show

Blue has been chosen as a theme for an exhibition at Spode in the new year. The plans are only just in the pipeline. But the theme means that artists will only be using a true blue, no turquoise or violet.

Other colours allowed are white, grey and black.

I have plans, I have an image in mind. Possibly two, and in totally different directions. I’m also thinking of going large.

I think it will be fun and challenging. Once I find out more I will post more information.