relationships

Jaye’s Journal ~25-31 July

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I listened to the thunder approaching as I caught up with writing the next chapter of my WIP. It sounded slightly ominous, but in a half-hearted way, if you know what I mean. We seem to get a lot of this half-hearted weather down here in Hampshire. They say it has something to do with being so close to the South Downs. It kind of messes with the wind currents or something.

At this stage, there was no way of knowing if it the storm would ever reach us, or veer off somewhere else. In the end, we had a few more rumbles and that was it.

On to the next disappointment. The eclipse.

Wall to wall cloud made sure we didn’t see anything, either the moon or the eclipse. We had been watching the moon all week as it slowly became full, only to have nothing at all to see on the night in question. We were in good company, for no one else in the UK saw it either, but the awful sticky heat had gone, and I could really concentrate on my writing. Word count has gone up by nearly 5000 words this week!

They promised rain, which would be more than welcome, as I could hear the garden screaming for moisture all way inside my office.

But when it did rain, it wasn’t the deluge they promised, just a quick half-hearted shower, but better than nothing, I suppose.

After a damp and slightly chilly weekend, I had the opportunity to play truant, and I didn’t hesitate. It was like the Prisoner of Zenda escaping, as I ran and jumped in the car, ready for the off. An afternoon walking around The New Forest? What’s not to like?

There will be lots of pictures and post to follow!

 A Surprise and Unwelcome Visitor

During the heatwave, we had an unwanted disturbance late one night.

We had not long been in bed and couldn’t sleep as the heat was stifling. We heard a commotion downstairs and thought we were being burgled. We were about to investigate when we heard bottles clinking. A thirsty burglar? What was going on?

The culprit turned out to be Merlin, our beloved black and white cat. He tried to look innocent, but we knew what was going on. Somewhere in our house was a very small but unwelcome visitor. After crawling around on my hands and knees, looking in all his favourite places, I managed to track it down to the dining room, where Merlin had the tiny mouse cornered under the table. I managed to grab it with an old tea towel and take it out to the garden.

It was while I was out there, I decided it was the perfect place to sit and enjoy a coffee, even though it was two in the morning. I wasn’t having any luck sleeping anyway…

#Flash Fiction ‘Footsteps’ #romance

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image by Pixabay.com

 

Footsteps

My grandmother’s diary took Frank and me to Paris for the first time.

I wanted to walk on the West Bank where she had fallen in love and had that wonderful sketch done of her and my grandfather.

Hoping to get Frank to sit still long enough, I approached one of the artists, a young woman and asked if she was working today.

Surprised, she pulled a sheet of paper from her folder, handed it to me, and said, ‘I knew you would be back for this.’

The half-finished sketch showed Frank on his knees, holding an engagement ring towards me. Confused, I said this was our first time in Paris.

‘In this lifetime, maybe…’ she said, looking past me to Frank.

He had dropped to one knee and was holding out a small red box, the same box as the one in the sketch.

‘I wanted to ask you to marry me…’

I swear I heard my grandmother laugh…

 

#Jaye’s Journal (or how to Juggle a Couch!)

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image by Pixabay.com

 

Most weeks in our house are usually a mishmash of incidents, some good and a few of the other kind. But whatever happens there is never a dull moment around here!

This past week has excelled itself, hurtling from one mini-disaster to another. At one point, I contemplated staying in bed, just to break the cycle, but as I am the nosiest person for miles, I couldn’t bear to think of anything happening without me. Seeing as how I was born with a sword in one hand and cleaning mop in the other, I could usually cope with anything!

It all started to go wrong when we spotted a fantastic bargain in our local charity shop, a two-seater couch in black leather. It was in perfect condition and a price that would n’t bring our bank account to its knees. So without thinking things through, we bought it, to be delivered the following day.

But what to do with the dilapidated broken down couch in our living room?

The local council have a collection service, so all we had to do was get it out of the house. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? In case you were wondering, it definitely wasn’t.

We are both in our 70’s and not the fittest people on the block, but we were determined. We would do this, even if it meant dragging the couch out of the house in pieces. A not so small nightmare later, two broken and bad-tempered women sat on the old couch in the front garden, swearing never again. We didn’t understand why it had been so difficult, it was a two-seater after all. We clearly remembered the day years before when it was first delivered, so either the couch had grown, or the house had shrunk.

The next day, tempers and difficulty forgot, the new couch was delivered and peace reigned once more. How I wish the story ended there.

At this point in the story, I can blame Anita for what happened next. She had seen (and fallen in love with) another couch in the charity shop, which she assured me, would be far more comfortable than our old three seater. You couldn’t make up what happened next.

To cut a long and painful story short, we bought the three seater and managed to drag the old one out. Slightly easier this time as it could be dismantled. Shame it was so bloody heavy though!

Shortly after the new three-seater was delivered, it became obvious that the blessed thing wasn’t comfortable at all, and had to go. By this time we were exhausted,  unhappy and tempers were flaring. Again!

After three days of juggling large, heavy and unresponsive pieces of furniture, I have banned the word ‘couch’ from ever being spoken of in my hearing again. The furniture we have will just have to last, for there is no way I am going to lift anything heavier than the kettle for the foreseeable future!

 

 

Guest Posting…

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One of the first things I learnt when we started blogging, was the importance of sharing, for although the blogosphere is a crowded and busy place, it can feel like the loneliest place in the world.

That first year, before I learnt the finer points of internet communication (it was so complicated and confusing at first, with all the technical stuff you need to know, like all the linking and tags) we didn’t get many visitors.

We were adrift in a tiny boat, fumbling about in the dark. The thought of actually talking to complete strangers all over the world was both exciting and terrifying.

Gradually, we have become a part of this worldwide community and the support and generosity have been amazing. In turn, we like to support our fellow writers and bloggers, helping to promote their work, so all of you writers, poets and photographers, if you would like to have a guest post featured on our blog/website, you can contact us in the comments below this post.

We are happy to promote your work, as long as it is original, family-friendly material that is all your own work.

The average guest post is between 500 – 1000 words long. Please submit your article as a Word Document and images as email attachments.

We will also need a brief personal bio and links to your website/blog, along with links to your social media/Amazon/Goodreads Accounts.

We will…  create and schedule your post, letting you know the time and date of the post. We will also send you a link when it is published and post links to the article across all of our social media accounts, including our blog feed on Goodreads.

Our Caveat: We reserve the right to refuse any submission we feel unsuitable for our blog/website…

 

Anita is in charge today!

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Anita has volunteered to take charge today, as my head still feels as if it is full of porridge…

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A Pane of Glass…

Through my window, I watch the three hazelnut trees across the road from my house. In the autumn, the leaves change colour and fall and the old bird’s nest comes into view. In the spring, the pigeons fight over it, bringing new twigs. Soon the green leaves will cover it over, but I can still see the pigeons sitting on the nest waiting for their young.

Magpies love to walk along the wall behind them and sparrows cling to the wall, searching for insects. Starlings dance in the sky in front of my window in a murmuration of joy.

Along the road to my right are two almond trees. I cannot see them from my window until the blossoms begin to fall, blowing past my window. Nature’s own wedding confetti.

It is peaceful until school starts again and hundreds of children pass by, laughing and playing, pushing each other into the bush by my tree.

I watch the planes and helicopters on their way to mysterious places, along with the ducks that fly over on their way to the pond.

I watch neighbours awaiting the birth of a child, seen the new pram, watched the child toddling, and then wearing a school uniform for the first time.

The postman who always waves to me on his way past… all life lives outside my window…

© Anita Dawes 2018

Brainstorming Sisters!

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Have you ever noticed that when something stalls in one area of your life, it affects everything else?

This was what had been happening in our house for over a week, so my sister, Anita decided that we should have one of our brainstorming sessions this morning. Something we do now and then which usually benefits either my book or hers.

Only this time, it was me, the writer, that was being brainstormed because I was on the verge of a major meltdown over my current WIP.

Somehow, the conversation became all about how I write. The genre, the characters and the way I think about everything. She knew I had been having trouble and had some definite ideas about improving it.

Now, although I usually hate my work being criticised, I have to bow to her greater ability as a writer. She never struggles with plots or character problems, just gets on with it. Her characters don’t argue with her either, and I have always considered that a good sign! She can write more in one day than I can in a week.

So I allow her to say what’s on her mind, not that I have ever been able to stop her! But, all joking aside, she has been a great help to me over the years. The reason I can call myself a writer has a lot to do with the example she sets.

I think she is a natural writer. She doesn’t have to think about it or worry constantly about the plot. Whereas I do. I don’t find the writing process easy at all and this morning I may have discovered why.

I hadn’t really thought about my protagonist at all, thinking the antagonist, or serial killer was all important. That somehow everything would simply revolve around him, which I now realise is not the way to go about it.

I had been digging myself into a dark hole, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, so I needed to sort the problem out, and fast!

Brainstorming with Anita can be a dangerous venture, as neither of us accepts criticism well. But when you are wedged between the proverbial rock and a hard place, you have to do something about it…

Sometime later, after harsh words, temper, tears and finally realisation, (all from me, BTW ) it was agreed that I hadn’t lost the magic, it was a temporary lapse, something that could be fixed. Finding another way of approaching the problem may be the way to go, and maybe a rewrite. Or another story all together…

 

If you don’t hear from me again, it means I have walked into the sea…

 

The Final Straw…

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The bay windows in our living room have long been a source of annoyance. Over the years, we have had an assortment of curtains and blinds, but none were good enough to pass muster. Every time we walk into the room, our eyes are drawn to the awfulness of it all and the long-standing conversation argument begins again.

Every now and then, we try something new, desperately hoping that this time we will love the result. Personally, I have long given up hoping for a miracle, but have to at least appear enthusiastic and go along with whatever is suggested. After all, I share this house, so don’t always get what I want, even if this is just the semblance of a quiet life!

The first experiment was Venetian blinds in a lovely turquoise colour. As I seem to be the only one in our house that knows which end of a screwdriver to use, it fell to me to install them. This was reasonably difficult and took a while, but eventually, the blinds were installed and in working order.

Trouble was, no one liked them.

It was discovered that an unpleasant optical effect occurred every time you tried to look through them, this effect caused nausea and giddiness so they had to be removed, and in a hurry!

The next exercise in futility was roller blinds. The windows are an odd shape, so buying ready- made blinds were out of the question, and suitable kits were purchased from Amazon, along with spray stiffener for the fabric. We used an old pair of expensive curtains to create the blinds and eventually, after much swearing by yours truly, we had a set of blinds to install.

They had barely been up to the window when we knew we hated them. Probably because I have a wonky eye and can’t cut straight to save my life!

Our next idea involved installing these curtain poles, so we could have eyelet curtains. These always hang so well, so we thought we were on to a winner this time.

I quite liked the first pair we bought, but Anita didn’t. She complained bitterly about the colour/pattern for weeks until I gave in an ordered another pair. When they arrived they were approved of, but the trouble started when I hung them up. One curtain was several inches longer than the other!

If this wasn’t so funny, I would have screamed.

Not a problem, I said… the shop will change them.

But they were temporarily out of stock. We waited patiently, but they didn’t get any more. We talked about lengthening one and shortening the other. Guess who gets that job!

Then I had an idea. I would look elsewhere. And I did. Found a lovely pair online, had them sanctioned by Anita and sent for.

The day they arrived, I carefully ironed them, ready to hang, confident that we had finally nailed the curtain problem. Seconds later, an ear-piercing shriek rents the air, and Anita pointed at the bottom of the curtain, which was floating a good four inches above the window ledge.

My temper lets go and I wanted to rip them to bits. Why was it so ********* difficult to buy a pair of curtains that actually fit?

To cut a long story short, our money was refunded and we could keep the curtains…

Not sure what they thought we could do with them!

I have a feeling that this story will go on forever, or until I lose my mind or move house…

Only you have no idea how hard THAT is!

Release day for Lazy Days is nearly here!

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The nerves are setting in and I will probably be a wreck by Monday.

I just hope I have done this amazing (and illustrated) little book justice and that I haven’t forgotten anything crucial!

Have I mentioned that we are having a party over on Facebook for the length of the tour?

There will be all the usual refreshments for our visitors, plenty of free books and a book quiz to test your memory. Finishing up with a £5 gift voucher for the best participant!

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A quote every day, both on Facebookand this blog… get it right and win a digital copy of Lazy Days!

Book Description

This travelogue is the true story of our family’s first proper holiday back in the Seventies. Looking back, I wonder what made us think it was a good idea, but despite all the things that could have gone wrong, we had a fantastic time. I was the Skipper most of the time, and for some reason decided to record our adventures in a small notebook. We were young and without husbands, Anita was a widow, and I was glad to be rid of mine. (and that is another story) Money was precious and scarce back then, but all the saving and sacrifice turned out to be worth every single memory we all cherish.

This notebook has been treasured and kept safe, despite numerous house moves and family disasters, as a symbol of our courage and determination. Renting a boat on the Norfolk Broads could so easily have been one of the stupidest things we had ever done, but even after 40 years, we have such good memories of that time.

Over the years, we often thought of making it into a proper book, but along with everything else in our often-complicated family life, it was something we never got around to. Until just recently, when I was looking for some old photographs, found the now fragile notebook and knew it was time.

It wasn’t as easy as we imagined it would be either, for our logbook writing skills left a lot to be desired, but there was just enough information entered on those pages to get us started.

Hope to see you all on Monday!

Remembering…

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This is the time of year when I remember my father, thinking of what could have been if the second World War hadn’t taken him from me.

I pay tribute to the man who gave me my height, my patience, my creative streak and my weird sense of humour all the time, but especially on Remembrance Sunday.

I know all of these things about him because people have told me what he was like. How he looked and sounded when he sat at the piano, belting out popular ragtime melodies.

They laugh when they tell me how funny he looked, stomping out the beat in his huge army boots.

I have lived all my life with these images, but have no way of knowing if they are true because I never met him. He didn’t return from the war and never met me.

I like to think that my life would have been so much better if he had come home, for my mother never got over losing him.

People say I shouldn’t feel sad for someone I didn’t know, but in a way, I do know him. He is a part of me and it certainly feels as though I knew him well. As well as I know myself.

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I wrote a post last year about these ice soldiers, and you can read it here.

 

When we moved to Hampshire, one of the first things I wanted to do was visit the coast. Something I have done many times since, but on that very first time, we walked past the D-day Museum on the seafront. There was a huge tank outside and this bronze statue of the Unknown Soldier. As I studied the soldier, something about his posture and bearing had me imagining that this is what my father would have looked like.

To me, my father is the Unknown Soldier, and I like to think I will get to meet him, one of these days…