We all live with the objective of being happy;
our lives are all different and yet the same.

~ Anne Frank ~
_________

That is all. Recovering files from last novel and setting up for next one. Maybe a lot more than editing. At least I’m not freaking out about a lost book like I have been since my computer crashed. The light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train of doom.

That is all. Just checking in.

It was a few weeks ago now… Well, as we couldn’t set off for Scotland, thanks to ‘stuff’ showing up on the scans the day I was meant to leave for the north, Stuart came down here. Perhaps we could, at least, touch base with some of our favourite places. After being unable to enter our little rainbow chapel, thanks to the Covid restrictions, we probably ought to have checked whether Rollright would be accessible… but instead, off we went, determined to have at least one decent day of our holiday!

And, as always, Rollright opened its arms to us. It is one of the friendliest of stone circles. Possibly that may be just because it is so accessible and easily visited, although I think there is more to it than that. It is a place of welcome. It likes people… their presence and joy… Call that daft, if you…

Each morning a zombie rises, moaning, and groaning it stumbles downstairs to its laboratory. The zombie staggers to the coffeepot. Flailing arms create splashing water, and coffee grounds litter the countertop like confetti on New Year’s Eve. It grumbles and waits, then fills a cup with wake-up juice.

A sip of the black witch’s brew and the transformation begins. My eyelids separate, the world comes into focus, and I see my goals on the horizon.

I consider my options. I could swim, build a boat, rent a wave runner, find a ferry, or book a seat on a private jet. The exact method is whichever one moves me forward, advancing me closer to my goal. I know I must act because I am not content to stand on the shore and dream.

How will you cross the sea?

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Time for me to take some time out.
Don’t worry, I’m just going to take a step or two back and have a breather.
These past few days have been draining, my concentration has gone for a bucket of chalk, and my mind is so weary, I just can’t get my act together.
The Three Things Challenge is scheduled for the rest of the week, but I doubt if there’ll be a Take Seven this week.
I’ll still access my blog for pingbacks and comments but probably won’t be doing so many challenges or posts for a while.

Thanks for all your support. I’m not going anywhere, I just need to regroup.
As always, take care, and keep safe.

Hard to believe I’ve already been a member here at Story Empire for seven months! Seems like just yesterday I joined the group.

Funny, though. It’s also been seven months since I got put on house arrest by my doctor. One of these scenarios has passed by a lot more quickly than the other! 😀 Huh. Perspective is everything, isn’t it? 😀

Today, I’m continuing with my #WhyWriteWrong? series. This is the eighth one I’ve shared, and I wish I could find a way to connect that to my opening comments, but alas. I’m not coming up with a thing. 😦 Therefore, I’ll just jump right into today’s trio of words that sound alike, but are spelled differently, and mean very different things. In other words, these three words are homophones.

BRACE YOURSELVES. I’M GOING TO BEGIN WITH A LITTLE STORY!

Ahem. Way, way back, when I was a child…

A milk-pale rain fell from a blurred black sky. It tingled softly on my exposed arms. Behind me stood a lake of shimmer. My birthplace, perhaps. I could not remember how I’d gotten here.

I walked, not looking at the path my feet trod. Instead, I stared into the sky, which gradually cleared until I could see a myriad of stars, an entire alien milky way in the shape of a blunt-winged moth. In the aftermath of the rain, peacefulness steamed like humidity on my skin.

I came to an arch so old that plants grew from the soil accumulated in the cracks of the stone. I passed beneath it into an abandoned field grown wild. “I am disembodied,” I said. “I am dreaming.” And I knew what that meant; the rules of normal physics no longer applied to me.

Flight is a blessing for lucid dreamers. I lifted my…