seize the day
easier said than done
you can’t always seize
the one thing you truly want…
seize the day
easier said than done
you can’t always seize
the one thing you truly want…
My invite read, don’t past go, don’t collect 500 pounds
Go straight to the Pearly gates and have a word with St Peter
Start with the fact he is not doing his job well
The gates are open, any fool can walk in
What would God have to say about that?
I wanted to ask where my invitation had come from
Was he hiding some joker behind a cloud?
How come this piece of fancy card
became my passport through the Pearly Gates?
After I awoke from what I can only describe
as a mind meld, my dentist looked at me strangely
Apparently, while I was coming too, I said,
“You can’t kick me out, I have too many questions for St Peter.”
I do have a few thoughts I would like to discuss with him
What can I say; maybe I need more gas and air
Take another trip…
This week the weather has been the least of our worries.
We were all too busy worrying about the imminent arrival of our new baby.
Tension had built to breaking point and all of our stress levels were on overload.
We knew the date he/she was expected to arrive, but it was beginning to look as though baby had other ideas. It became impossible to concentrate on anything else.
Somehow, the days passed but no work was being done. Nothing creative anyway. We busied ourselves with chores we could do with our eyes shut, trying so hard not to give voice to our concerns.
The day baby chose to arrive seemed surreal. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, but finally, she was here. Perfectly beautiful and content to sleep through the constant stream of family members, all eager to see her.
The release of tension left me drained, and instead of picking up my WIP to resume editing, I wanted to run and shout, go somewhere or do something to replenish my mojo. It was a sunny day, the wind was chilly, but I didn’t care. I needed to be near the sea, as nothing else has ever soothed my soul like the ocean.
For once I didn’t get an argument and we piled into the car and took off. Half an hour later, I stood on the shingle. The tide was in and a strong wind was creating dramatic waves that crashed on to the beach. My eyes filled with tears at the sight and sound of it, and I relaxed for the first time in days.
I had my camera with me and tried to capture the majesty of the moment. The wind had turned icy, and by the time I had finished, my hands were almost blue with the cold. But my mojo felt as if it had been born again.
Altogether, a very special day if you ask me…
I was held in silence by the sound of a heartbeat
Until my own beat in time with the other
Her voice caressed my inner senses
awakening thoughts, memories.
I should know the face, the body
that belongs to the heartbeat.
But the memory would not come,
I need to hear her voice again.
The only sound I heard was a bell
chiming, a soft metallic sound
My legs began moving of their own
accord towards a tall tower.
The stained glass window lit from within
reflecting rainbow colours across the land before me
The window opened, her face appeared
My very own Rapunzel, made from silver dancing lights
Was she real, trapped by some spell
waiting for someone to touch to bring her into form.
Could I climb the tower, claim my prize?
Would her heart beat in time with mine?
My body is home to another
It speaks to me at night
of things I don’t want to hear
of a third inhabitant here.
They want to destroy my mind
they fight to take control.
My mind is broken
with the constant
sound of their voices.
How do I kill
something inside, unseen?
Michael Barratt was having trouble believing just how stupid he had been. After all this time, after all his searching, what had possessed him to come on so strong and ruin whatever slim chance he had with Kate. He might have known time and distance would not mellow her in the slightest, that she would be as stubborn as ever.
It was always the way he was with her, never thinking before he spoke, always rushing headlong into stupidity. And the worst of it was he couldn’t think of a single way to improve matters between them. She was right to be angry after the way he had behaved. Again.
To this day, he still didn’t know why he had run away the minute he knew about the baby. Enough time had passed for him to try and figure out what he had obviously thought was wrong, and he was no smarter now than he was then, as only an idiot would have risked his one chance by behaving so stupidly.
Why did he think time might have changed things? It had probably made it more of a mess if anything.
There was a moment when the Kate he knew so well had surfaced. Not for long though, she had pulled back into her shell in a flash, but not before he glimpsed how she felt about him.
That tiny spark, that glimpse of what could be, gave him hope. More hope than I deserve, he thought wryly. He thought he had lost Kate forever when she had suddenly vanished from his father’s house all those years ago. He had the gall to ask him where she had gone, that’s how desperate he was. His father must have sensed it too, for he was uncharacteristically civil towards him, although he didn’t know where she had gone either.
The old boy had looked so lonely and sad, Michael almost felt sorry for him, but something kept the normal father and son relationship at bay, and he walked away without once looking back.
When he found out she had married Jack Holland he became badly depressed, feeling all hope was gone. He had hidden away believing there was no point in anything anymore. He couldn’t remember how long that state of mind had lasted and it seemed like a long lonely time, where all he could think of was losing the one good thing he had ever found.
Gradually, he remembered starting to worry about Kate. Was she happy? Did this Jack Holland treat her right? This made Michael feel worse, for if this man was hurting her there was nothing he could do about any of it, as he didn’t have a clue where she was.
Eventually, he managed to pull himself out of his depression and started to look for her. He had no other clue than the surname and this turned out to be no help at all. It was almost as though this Jack Holland didn’t exist and the fact he obviously did, meant he must have changed his name and at that realisation, the alarm bells started clanging.
His job as an estate agent came in handy, as he could move around to different areas quite easily. It also gave him access to property records, although they turned out to be no help either. He started systematically travelling around the south of England, giving himself six months in each location to check out every living soul in the neighbourhood.
He thought he caught glimpses of Kate as he made his rounds, but it was never her. He found himself looking at children, wondering if one of them was his son.
Sometimes women would mistake his interest for something more, and no matter how attractive they were, or how accommodating, he always politely declined their offers. Kate had become an obsession, one he would live with in the absence of the real thing. The thought of what he had thrown away still cut deep like a knife.
The day she walked into the estate office in Guildford, his heart seemed to stop beating. It was all he could do to breathe and appear normal when he felt like shouting the place down with all the joy he felt at the sight of her. He never doubted it was she; it couldn’t possibly be anyone else. The proud way she held herself, the uncontrollable hair still wild although now streaked with silver. The way she looked at him, daring him to speak to her.
She gave herself away with all the hesitations and awkward pauses, could it be she had missed him? Against all hope, he wondered if she could possibly still love him?
Their meeting was short-lived and Kate ran away from him again. She said she would come back the next day but he had no intention of waiting that long. He found her address easily enough when he realised she was probably using her maiden name and when he later turned up at her flat, flowers in hand, he knew his suspicions were right. She was nervous, trying desperately to keep him at arm’s length, but the chemistry was still there. He could feel it crackling in the air like electricity between them…
It is the beginning of the week, the sun is shining and it seems warmer. Optimism had lifted its head and was smiling at me.
Then I heard a load of noise outside my house.
Close inspection from the front room window revealed a horde of workmen, clad in bright yellow reflective jackets. All busy moving heavy machinery and what seemed like miles of orange barriers right outside my front door. We would be drowning in noise at any minute.
They say there is no peace for the wicked, but I couldn’t possibly have been bad enough to warrant so many roadworks. This is the third time they have dug up the road outside my house!
Luckily, my office is at the back of the house, reducing the noise to an annoying buzz that I can almost ignore.
As I make a conscious effort to slow down, I have discovered that I am actually noticing so much more these days. Before, in the daily struggle to get more done, I think I was starting to lose sight of the trees.
This week, while editing the first twelve chapters of PayBack, my WIP, I found not one colossal error but two.
The first stopped me my tracks. How many times had I been going over these chapters? I had already rewritten and restructured them and yet I had my protagonist driving to work several times, and in the same chapters, he was catching a train!
Finding this mistake almost floored me, but I tackled it and moved on.
The next error I found was a plot hole. Not a very big one, but a hole nonetheless.
When I edit, I keep a running storyboard, listing events as they happen. This is so important in a mystery thriller novel and usually avoids plot holes. For the first time ever, my system had let me down.
I decided to edit these first chapters again after correcting the first mistake. My writing senses must have been working overtime, for I could feel something was missing. I kept checking my storyboard but it seemed okay.
I never like to ignore my brain when it tries to tell me something, so I decided to compile a new storyboard just for my protagonist (the detective), as I had a feeling this would be where I would find the problem.
And I discovered a missing chapter.
Now, whether this happened during the rewrite, I couldn’t say, but it looked pretty obvious to me that I will need a few good Beta readers when I have finished.
Therefore, I have an important message to anyone who loves reading mystery thrillers. If you could read PayBack for me sometime in March, I will love you forever!