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….

Bluebells work in progress

DSC_1976I saw bluebells in the wood and wanted to paint them.

I saw bluebells in the wood and wanted to hold them.

I saw bluebells in the wood and wanted to smell their scent.

The bluebells were so intense in colour.

They were so bright, like a cloudless day.

Shimmering like a Mediterranean sea.

Blue of intense hues

Blue of fairytale dresses and butterfly wings.

Blue sparkling under tall trees.

I saw bluebells in the wood and felt free.

The old wood

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Step over into the wood and you will be lost forever. Keep this side of the fence. That was what she was always warned as she grew up. There are wolves, bears, screech owls. Spiders big as dinner plates. The boogy man lives there.

For twenty years she kept out. But she knew one day she would have to climb the fence and go and look.

She was twenty one today, she had been to a birthday party at the village hall. Now she was walking home along the lane. The sun was setting and the wood loomed up above her rising up the hill, shutting off the sunlight.

One step led to another. Pine needles softened her footsteps, tree roots started to tangle round her ankles. She looked back to check where the path was, but could not see it through the trees. She tried to retrace her steps, but could not find the fence. Fear crept into her, she trembled as the cool night air touched her skin.

The night was darker and a cold rain fell, still she walked, tripping and falling into bushes, scratched from thorns.

It was early morning when the ranger found her wandering. She could not speak. Her eyes were staring into space, out of focus. No one ever found out what happened to her that night. But the Green man of the woods smiled to himself as she was taken away in an ambulance.

What is in my head?

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There’s a lump of stuff like blancmange or jelly inside my head, your head, and anyone who has lived on the planet.

This soggy lump controls your life, your heart, your breathing, movement, and other functions.

It also helps control the world, either personally or by electing or following what other brains think. No telepathy exists, so we only know what a brain is thinking by communication on TV, with books, in newspapers, social media and miriad ways of talking.

My pink jelly brain is mostly water. It’s surrounded by layers of protection to stop it being damaged. The pia mater and dura mater are two of these layers. It’s split into a hind brain, the most primitive part, the mid brain and two halves split between the right and left hemispheres that make up the main part of the brain. It is supplied by a ring of arteries and veins and oxygen and fluid pass from these into the brain through the blood brain barrier. Veins take away waste products back to the heart and lungs and lymphatic system.

Your brain is a tangle of synapses and neurones, nerve cells that use electrical signals to make your body move, allow you to see, talk, feel, eat. Control subconscious activities, control your organs and muscles (although research has shown that the gastric system including the stomach has its own system of nerves equivalent to the brain capacity of a rabbit).

Brains are weird. The left side of your brain controls the right side of your head and body, and vice versa. By the time you notice something has happened, it’s too late to do anything so your brain has to be able to react or predict what is happening before you even realise it.

This pinkish yellowish lump has taken us under the sea or to the top of everest. It has allowed us to go to the Moon, send probes to Mars and the planets and explore the universe with immense telescopes. It has also let us build microscopes to see microbes and even Atoms. It has even given us the skills to build machines to see inside our own brains!

Pink blobs rule! Let us just hope that people start to use them to try and bring peace and sense to the world.

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Waiting

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Waiting, it’s like watching paint dry.

The time goes on and the paint shrinks slightly, maybe wrinkles as the water evaporates.

I’m sitting with my phone waiting for a call, hoping that it will ring soon….

Still waiting, another hour gone.

Still waiting, the paint is half dried, now it’s tacky…

Oh what can I do while I’m waiting? I can’t go out, because I need to be here when it happens. I will ring the number….

Oh no! No answer! Are they on their way? Not answering because they are driving? Where are they coming from. Is there traffic? Are there traffic jams?

Waiting…. Time trickles through the hourglass faster and slower. The paint is almost dry. The fine grain of the brush strokes smoothing out.

A call! We are on our way, but, (there is always a ‘but’) there is a major accident….. On the motorway….. Grid lock….. Have to change our eta…. Etc….

The paint is cracking and peeling…. They never arrived. Now I’m waiting again for someone new 😕

Remembering Mothers

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It’s mother’s day here on 31st of March but I won’t be celebrating it as both my mom and mother in law passed away a few years ago.

What I do have is these two paintings of them to remember them by.

They both had their troubles and difficulties but they were both strong women and I loved them both.

Instead of going to a mothers day lunch or tea I’m going to a theatrical event called Titchy theatre.

I’ve written a couple of small conversations for two or three voices and the people running the theatre event will be reading them out. The Titchy theatre started at Penkhull Mysteries but is expanding to two performances a year. People were asked to write something for the performance. If you are free on Sunday the 31st and want to come up to Penkhull Village Hall please do. Please get there for 2.30pm. The show starts at 3pm. Spaces are limited.

Spelling?

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Can you spot the mistake? It’s funny how the brain works – writing the word “buidling” instead of “building” is just an example. Apparently if you have all the right letters and the correct first and last letter of the word, your brain can unscramble it. For instance if I write :

The qcuik bowrn fox jmpus oevr the lzay dog?

You should still be able to read it.

Spelling only became regularised when the dictionary arrived. Once the spelling of words was written down with a definition the spelling was more fixed. But spelling is still quite phonetic, based on sound sometimes. For, four, fore all sound the same but have different spellings and meanings.

The example above is more likely to have occurred because of a computer mistake when the author or designer did not proof read the art work.

I guess I make a lot of mistakes too. I do rely on spellchecker but even that gets it wrong sometimes.

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