Writing in the past….

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I’m watching a programme about the author George Eliot and I suddenly realised how different the world must have been then.

She took a man’s name so she could get her books published. She went from a deeply religious belief to someone who became strongly atheistic.

She lost her mother at age 16. She was self taught, and learnt a lot from being allowed free access to a local land owners library.

But apart from her history how was she influenced by the world? Modern history had  not happened yet. No Einstein, no Marie Curie, no first world war, no one knew about the Universe, the world was not fully explored. No TV, radio, computers, no electricity supplies. How did people communicate except by letters and books. No telegraph. Travel was by carriage, or horse. The trains were only just being thought of. How would she have described the modern world and how it affects the life you lead. She was living through a changing era. The chartist riots were happening.

Women were rarely published. The books by Jane Austin and the Bronte sisters were only ones of a few women authors. If she had lived now, she could have written under her own name, Mary Anne Evans, not a masculine pseudonym. She took the pen name George Eliot when she started to write fiction, not the romantic novels that other female writers were creating at the time. She wrote books like the Mill on the Floss and Adam Bede and Middlemarch. 

You’re welcome

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I love blogging. Its almost two years since I started and I’ve got a few followers now. Each day I think what can I write about, and most days I come up with something, whether it’s about art, design, poetry, short stories or about science. My mind jumps around to various subjects, but that’s what kers me going. Perhaps I’m a frustrated teacher? I don’t know.

So Thank you everyone for taking the time to read and look at this blog. I probably post too much. I might slow down a bit?

Anyway there will no doubt be more.

X

I don’t remember…

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I don’t remember it happening. It must have been long ago, before the sky fell, before the Mirohs arrived. When I was young?

The world had been burning, literally, fires everywhere. Ice melting. One day it was cold, the next boiling hot.

I don’t remember the day we reached 3..

Three degrees of global heating. They had said two was bad, but we got it even hotter. The seas won’t rise. My Mom told me that, it will never happen said Dad.

It’s all a blur. Running from the sea, trying to find homes in the hills. Millions crushed in the cities that were not on rivers…

They could have called it the great flood, but the papers said the sky was falling. What it meant was the rains and storms, so heavy they flattened towns in seconds, crops died. We started growing rice in paddy fields, it was the only way to get some sustenance in all the wet, dank weather.

Two years of hell passed. I was growing up and worked in the fields. All of the children worked. No schools, just back breaking work, bending and shoveling.

We hated it, but we were not  polluting anymore. Life seemed to pause and take a breath…

Then the Mirohs came, an alien race. We saw their ship, huge, like a great storm cloud. They looked down at us. Like bugs we were to them. Then the killing started. The message, you didn’t care for your precious planet. So we will take it. Humanity is a pestilence. They put something in the water. Now no one can have children. In a hundred years or so…. We will be gone.

Will anyone remember us?

Why do I write?

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I don’t think of myself as a writer. I love words, but mostly I’m more of a reader, and then as a dabbler at writing. I don’t really plot things, they generally fall out of my head and onto the paper or my mobile screen. I guess it’s just the way I am. I love being creative and since I finished work I’ve started to branch out. I feel like a little dabchick or duck. I paddle  away, my feet just gently moving the water of words around, breaking the surface tension but not going deep. And what for? I’ve been told my grammar is not as good as it could be. I don’t do this for likes and views, it’s all quite low key. I don’t expect to ever write a novel. I did once try and write a children’s book, so long ago it’s still stored on a floppy disk!

As long as I don’t bore you too much.

X

Snake

 

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Slither, slink, shuffle, slip, slide, glide, gliding, snaking along the ground, writhing, side to side. Your scales patterned like strange jewels. You sniff with your tongue, viper split, sensing the air.

A tube of muscle, constrictor or viper with poison bite. Fangs deep in my flesh pierce my heart. Cobra or mamba, rattler or adder. Bringer of fear to some.

Scales

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This dragon appeared from my garden hanging baskets photo. I liked the green so thought I would play around with the layout and sketch apps that I use.

I wrote a children’s story about a dragon once. It was a long time ago and I think I still have the floppy disc I saved it on. That was in the time of dial up modems when they used to make that funny dial up tone… Dah Di Dah Dah in a sort of metallic tune.

I never had the courage to send it in. It was too worthy I think. Not exciting enough. I asked a publisher to read it and also my friends daughter. I could tell the publisher wasn’t impressed and my friends daughter said I needed to make it funnier. Perhaps I also used too many long words.

Maybe one day I will edit it and try again. Is it sensible to try after twenty years? I’d like my dragon to go free…..