The Life of a Writer… with advice from @AriMeghlen




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The life of a writer is not what I thought it would be in the beginning.

Maybe years ago it was what I imagined, but in these digital times, it has changed so radically from that idyllic, if rather a romantic notion of what being a writer would be like.

These days, we all wear so many different hats, it’s a wonder we get around to writing anything.

What with the constant struggle to come up with interesting posts; reviewing all the books we read; trying to find new and effective promotional ideas.

Not to mention all the thinking, worrying, emails and planning, there are not enough hours in the day!

So when I read Ari Meghlen’s post on organising your life better, my interest was aroused! In this post, she recommends assigning different days for specific jobs and not deviating from this agenda. This could work, but not sure about using an alarm clock to keep me on track!

I have long attempted to devise a routine that would help me to get more done, but the harder I try, the more complicated and slower I seem to get.

I have always had a problem with rules and restrictions. Or rather, fate seems to have on my behalf. The minute I decide on a certain idea, a timetable or schedule, you can just bet something or someone will come along and wreck it!

I try to be more productive, especially with my writing, and one of the ways I have found that actually works is to try and write 1000 words every day. As I am up long before anyone else in my family, I can usually manage this with ease. So in one area at least, I have it covered!

Ari has some good ideas HERE on her post; does anyone else have anything to suggest that would improve the lives of us desperate to be better organised writers?

#Poetry: Empty



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No child at play, the swing stands still

This hallowed ground of childhood

A vacant lot, no entry here

Tomorrow’s sale board will soon appear

How can danger be imagined

When laughter still lingers here?

The voice inside screams

Let the children play once more…

©Anita Dawes

#Wordle 370




The cat- o’- nine– tails flashing through the night

A distant memory, a crime, yet not mine

Are the Gods telling me of a time long ago?

Or one yet to come?

What crime holds my mind in thought?

I cannot change what has been done

Still, I fear it is yet to come.

Silver chains bind me

To something yet unseen

My back aches with memories long forgotten

Its root grown back in time, a cosmic hand

Some strange design, are they my thoughts

Or from another’s mind?

How many lives do I get, is it nine?

Some back in time

How many left, no one can tell

I fear strange magic is afoot

99 Word Challenge forThe Carrot Ranch Literary Community





The birth of a Nation is hard, as any mother will tell you.

It’s new, shiny and fragile.

It must be nurtured, fed at regular intervals

Like a garden, it needs water, love and guidance.

All easy to say.

You let it grow, wait for the day it can stand

Take the rain. Will it weather the storms?

Yes, if it was built on firm ground

Strength comes with unity

Invisible hands holding everything together

A strong chain will let no rust in

You know what is said about one weak link

Never take your eye off the ball…

©Anita Dawes

#Poetry: Light




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Starlight from so long ago

For whom did they shine?

The ancient Egyptians, the Greeks, the dinosaurs

Their footprints in the sand

Did anyone beneath those stars

Wonder where the light shines from?

A gift from the creator to paint the night sky

To let us wonder, to make us think

To bring us here to create for ourselves…

©Anita Dawes

#Poetry: Wonder




I wonder who I am

My feet have no direction

I don’t know where to go

I turn. I see no signs, no help

Lost, my strings have no glow

I fall like a puppet made of straw

Rain washing me away along the gutter

I know where it goes.

From the world I knew, then out to sea

Parts of me lost forever

Yet a spark that still remains

Will make it to the shore…

©Anita Dawes



The wishing tree stood alone by the still, white water,

Festooned with ribbons of every colour

A fallen rainbow reflected there.

I could see one scarlet ribbon hanging low

Its ragged edge touching the water

As if wanting to be washed clean.

I run my fingers down this lonely ribbon

Feeling the weight of sadness

Within the strand of red.

My tears fall, tiny ripples spread across the water

My tears mingled with those of the child

Who had placed the scarlet ribbon here?

My fingers are numb from having touched it

I left, feeling as if someone had touched me

Calling for help…

©Anita Dawes




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Snow lay crisp, while I lay frozen

The world spinning without me

No voice recalled, my name forgot

A life lead in darkness, no light do I see.

No hand to hold, to stop me leaving

All memories held within this box.

The lid so tight above my head

Entombed within earths frozen womb

My soul released, to wander forth…

©Anita Dawes