Poetry Bus Poem - Across The Valley

Very interesting prompts for the bus this week from Danabug. I finally settled on the 2nd one because I consider myself lucky to live in a place that I love. 

'Write about the place you dream of living some day. Or if you're lucky enough to already live there write about home.'

http://danabugseyeview.blogspot.com/

 (photo of the hills and valley behind our home)

Across The Valley


Home for me is when I see the birds swoop across the valley,
Home for me is the change of seasons, surprise sunsets,
Home for me is time with family,
curled-up love that keeps us real,


The kind that feels tight deep to the core,
The kind that makes me brave, less afraid,
The kind that bring tears when pained,
that makes me whole for,


We are  there when we cherish those we love,
We are there when we support a friend in need,
We are  there when the world around us seems to fall,
when we stand tall,


And care,
And breath,
And help,
And share,


The many facets of ourselves,
The many troubles of those that touch our hearts,
The many tiny things that make us who we are,
The many birds that swoop across the valley.

Novel - Looking for Superpower

Okay for all those 2 people out there wanting an update on the novel front, here it is!!

Having walked away from my family at the kitchen table with the colander on my head the other evening, I set about the task in hand, or rather part of the task.

The filtering system of the colander did help greatly, and the holes ensured only limited erosion of what was left of my shrunken brain occurred.  I managed, (for their own safety you understand) to ignore my family for the entire weekend and got my 1,500 words done, made some alterations to the plot, got through another editing process on some early chapters, and despite not achieving all my goals, by Sunday night, I felt like a fighter, someone who did not quit!

Then I made the fatal mistake of taking the colander off my head before I went to sleep last night, and all the demons of self doubt came flooding back, because when I awoke this morning, the warrior/fighter part of me was no more.  I was like a wounded animal, a lost cause, when I looked at the novel, most of the good bits had disappeared and the bad bits were eating away whatever few good bits were left.  It took me a while before I understood the problem.

Thankfully the colander was not too far away, having only been discarded to the kitchen sink.  Once it was on my head again, I immediately looked up to the skies and knew my answer would be out there somewhere.  It was then that I contacted a superpower, their identity shall remain a secret for now.  But like all superpowers they gave me their words of wisdom in superpower time.  So thanks to them, and of course the colander, which was already setting me on a new positive path of discovery, I made the decision that the novel will continue anew tomorrow, that the house will remain untidy and without food, Christmas will get there whatever way it can, I will continue to ignore my family for just another little while, and pretty much everything else in my life and WRITE THE BLOODY STORY!

Thought for the Weekend - Shirley MacLaine

"Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power."

- Shirley MacLaine

I plan to hold this thought in my head for the entire weekend!!

Poetry Bus Poem - Existence

This week's wonderful poetry prompt by 'Enchanted Oak', asked us to think about our existence on earth, good, bad, or indifferent. Plenty to think about there!

See Link:    http://chrisalba-enchantedoak.blogspot.com

For what it's worth, here's my contribution this week.

Existence

Some people with more knowledge in these things,
have told me lots of reasons for living a good and healthy life.
I have heard all the usual soundbites,
even some strange ones like,

How the rings around my pupils,
(eye pupils that is) mean I am a woman with strong inclination.
That I am psychic,
and see lots of things,

Having 'fire in my soul',
keeping hubby well hooked,
and for the most part,
pretty nuts about me.

And not wanting to blow my own trumpet,
lots think, I am some woman, for one woman you see,
although others including yours truly,
have questioned the childhood in me.

Figuring something warp must have happened within it,
for what other reason could there be,
for wanting to be pretty great at blinkin' everything,
and failing, despite bloody-minded me!

For the most part, only those that really know me,
have ever seen, my strange other side,
the one lined in self-doubt and confusion,
and vulnerability roaring high through the ride.


Like most of us, I have my deep moments,
when it's just me and not anyone else,
when I wonder the reason for one's existence,
and stop being so caught up in other parts of self.


On philosophical days, I think it is all about just leaving,
more good than bad along your way,
or having one hell of a fantastic memory,
sure isn't life for the living, they say.

I scold myself for not having done more to help others,
for wasting too many hours in bed,
or thinking too much,
about things that don't really matter,

Like whether it rains or life will get any better,
or who'll gets kicked out of 'Xfactor' next week,
or what colour my hair might turn out to be next time,
or my son's penalty points on the jeep.

I guess of late I've just come to discover,
that little old me doesn't know what answer to call.
So like most, I'll just keep on trucking,
sure confusion isn't too bad after all.

Novel Madness

I know I'm going kinda crazy, when I find myself having family conversations about murder, fictional murder I hasten to add, of the novel variety!  'Novel' mind you, is no longer a word that I have a liken to, as my 'Novel' feels anything but novel to me!

With just about 1,500 words to go this week from my current target @ Week 7 of 70,000 words, and the rest of my life falling in around me, so too sadly, is the world of my novel. 

There seems to be as many unanswered questions as there are unwritten words. I have discovered that I have a problem with the plot, well actually more than one.  But before I give up all hope and accept entry into the world of absolute craziness, and I still hold on to some faint possibility that both the novel and I can be saved, I revert to the people that are always there for me, and no, I am not talking about friends (who are wonderful), I am talking about family, the people who have no choice but to stick with you even if you are completely nuts.

Now I figured in the earlier days, around the 20,000 word mark, that problems with the plot were things that I could work out as I went along, being someone with imagination and all.  To be fair, I did sort out a couple of things, and managed to throw in a few safely nets, with some subtle innuendos, that could prove to be something or nothing at all.

However, after nights spent without sleep solving nothing, and days/nights when I finally got to the keyboard and managed to write, after having some very long conversations with the dog (Benson is his name), and enjoying his many sympathetic looks, I finally had to revert to 'The Family'.

Not wanting to let me down, they came up with many suggestions the other night, one wasn't bad and kinda sorted half of a problem even though it meant a good many changes.  All members of said family wanted a dedication at the start of the book to them, especially my son, who was convinced of his genius by the end of night one!  So enthused by the wonder of my own family, I went at the 'Q & A' session again last night.

The ideas that came from the dinner table, with a feast I might add of spaghetti bolognese (using the last bit of pasta in the cupboard as I can't remember when I did a proper shop and I don't have time to cook anything these days that can't be done in a hurry), were so wild, wonderful and nuts, that I wondered why I had never tapped into this resource before (like before I started to write the blasted thing).

After a while though, they started to get ideas beyond their station in life. My daughter telling me about how JK plotted all the Harry Potter books before she attempted to write even the first novel, and that maybe I should consider learning from this exercise.  Sensing that the troops were getting a little bit uppity for my liking, having probably put in somewhere in the region of about 200 hours of hard work to date myself, and they on the other hand having only thought about my novel for about 20 minutes in between mouthfuls, I decided that unless I wanted a murder of the very real variety on my hands, I should take the colander that was used for the spaghetti, put it on my head and leave the table immediately.

So I finally sat at my keyboard and put some changes to part of yesterday's words, still with many unanswered questions and the prospect of a series of changes in an effort to solve at least some of the plot deficiencies, a 1,500 word target for the following day, a reread of 70,000 words with rewrites over the weekend, an ambition to work out how the next 25,000 words should unfold over the next 3 weeks, along with a prologue, a full reediting, and a pitch for the novel, so that I might actually feel mid December, that I have had a relatively worthwhile reason for having deserted my said family, paid more attention to the sympathetic dog than anyone else, ignored Christmas, food shopping, house cleaning and anything else for that mind, that might have normally been part of my existence, including walking, cooking, reading, etc etc, and that I can at the end of it, hold my head up with pride, without the colander still on it, and say," it was all worth it!"

(The above rant is a necessary component of any prospective return to NOVEL writing in the foreseeable future!) 

Carlo Gebler at the Centre

 The Peregrine Readings  

@ THE IRISH WRITERS CENTRE

A great night ahead this week at the Writers Centre Dublin 

 (Sponsored by the Arts Council under the Touring and Dissemination Scheme)
THURSDAY @7.30PM  (cost €5) Carlo Gébler, Lia Mills, June Considine

Carlo Gébler has written travel books, memoir, narrative history, as well as several plays for both radio and the stage, including 10 Rounds, which was short listed for the Ewart-Biggs Prize (2002).  In 2009 the Lagan press published his novel, A Good Day for a Dog and Fourth Estate the memoir, My Father’s Watch, co-written with Patrick Maguire, youngest of the Maguire Seven. 

Lia Mills is the author of two novels Another Alice and Nothing Simple and a memoir, In Your Face, which tells the story of a diagnosis of oral cancer and its treatment. She also writes short stories and literary non-fiction. An experienced facilitator of creative writing workshops, she has worked on several public art commission

June Considine is the author of sixteen novels for adults and children. Her most recent novel Stolen Child, published internationally by Avon/Harper Collins in July 2010, was written under her pen name Laura Elliot. Her short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies and featured on RTE’s Fiction 15 series.

All enquires to Irish Writers Centre, 19 Parnell Square N, Dublin 1.

 ( 01) 8721302 

Poetry Bus Poem - The One

THE ONE

Lately I’ve started to wonder,

what if life isn’t that complicated after all.

What if decisions just caused interesting scenery,

and the road itself was nothing at all?

Yes I know, if we were lucky we managed,

to pick up lots of love and wonder on our way,

and for all of that I'm eternally grateful,

but the road just a road all the same.

Actually when did the pathway become more than the person?

If it has, maybe we’ve lost more than ourselves on its path.

There’s no doubt that my road brought its pain and its passion,

but is it not just a road after that?

When I was little, I had big dreams filled with silly notions,

of all sorts of things that could never quite be.

When I was young and didn’t know any better,

and life’s lessons were all about being free.

I’ve thought long and hard about most of life’s key decisions,

although I’ve learned less than I might well have done.

Though I’ve noticed one thing very distinctive about them,

that ultimately, I am the one.

Thought for the Weekend - Jack Kerouac

This appeals to me for lots of reasons, not least of which is because so called

 'normal people' can scare me like hell!

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars."

- Jack Kerouac

Book Club

Armadale by Wilkie Collins

Book Club Review - 2nd December 2010

'Armadale' will be reviewed on the 2nd December, so get busy reading!!!

Yeats - November at the Abbey

All Yeats Fans out there, please see below: