Monthly Archives: March 2012

Free Write Friday – In Pieces

I have just discovered Kellie Elmore’s blog, and her Free Write Friday prompts. I was in the mood for a writing exercise, and thought these prompts were a great idea! Kellie says you don’t need to do them in order, so I went for this visual prompt today. I swear I didn’t punctuate on purpose! Apart from the title, any punctuation you see is automatic for me, and as I wrote on my phone it automatically puts capitals in at the start of every line.

In Pieces

She stood, awkwardly
Wondered if this knot twisting in her stomach was a normal reaction
To the puzzle beneath her feet
She had wanted to finish it before he returned, show him how clever she was
But it was so hard!
The knot in her stomach twisted tighter, sat heavier
So many pieces – and half of them bloody sky! Just endless pieces of blue blue Blue
I hate blue, she thought
She liked the poppies though,
That bit wasn’t so bad
Her heart warmed a little
The knot loosened
They had talked about poppies before Christmas
She had worn hers proudly on her new coat as they walked hand in hand Through the snow covered park
She looked down at her feet
The endless pieces of blue
She could hear quiet sobbing in the next room
Her Auntie boiling the kettle
Making tea
Tea! Why do grown ups think tea is the answer to everything?
The knot in her stomach grew
Her face wet
Salty tears reached her tongue
She had wanted to finish it
Before he came home.

The right weather for writing

Earlier this month, Writer’s Relief posed the following question on Twitter.

‘Quick! Gut instinct. Better to write on a sunny day, or a rainy one?’

As requested, I went with my gut instinct and replied ‘A sunny one. Always.’ The fact that it happened to be a sunny day and I was writing at the time may have biased my response somewhat, as, later that week, I  realised that I have, at other times, been of the opinion that a rainy day is the best time to write.

So I got to thinking… Does it actually matter to me what the weather is like when I’m writing? I am just as happy sitting on the bedroom floor at home writing in my notebook while rain drums against the window, as on a park bench warmed by the afternoon the sun, using the notebook function on my mobile. The weather may feature in my writing if I am particularly inspired by it, but I have been equally inspired by a rainy day as by a sunny one.

So having given it some more thought, I’ve now come to the conclusion that there’s no ‘right,’ weather for writing… At least, not for me. I either feel like writing, or I don’t.  As you may know if you’ve been reading recently, I tend to write more from spring onwards but that’s not really about the weather. The weather may have a bearing on my mood and therefore the content of my writing, but otherwise the two are not necessarily connected.

What do you think? Do you prefer to write in certain types of weather?

Defiant Daffodils

Hello dear readers, good to ‘see’ you again. I hope you enjoyed this week of small stones. I really enjoyed writing them, both as a kickstart to my creativity, and as an exercise in mindfulness.

As a result of this week, I notice I have some new readers… Welcome! Do grab a cup of tea and toasted teacake. Glad you could join us.

Good Friday

So, I promised something different at the weekend didn’t I? Well, I have decided to stick with poetry this week so have written a poem for you – this started as a small stone on the day I wrote ‘Roadworks,’ but I decided to be a bit cheeky with it.

If you were here last year, you may remember that I talked about the poem that sums up my spring…? Well, here’s my version of that poem, with apologies to Wordsworth.

Defiant Daffodils

I wandered with baby from Leyton to Stratford
Both of us lost in daytime dreams
When, distracted from my reverie
I saw a flash of yellow and green

Between the empty bottles of Diamond White and Holsten Pils
Grew some ghetto strength daffodils
Golden streaks of sun among last nights debris
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


The sticky smell of fresh tar
Smacks my senses wide awake
Its pungent punch leaving me gasping
For the already less than fresh air
Of this high road of Olympic hope


A battered New Look bag
Lies on the pavement
Full to bursting
With black leather shoes

Among the overflow lies
A single studded boot.