Jan 19, 2013

18 Things




A blogfest to encourage reflection and maybe a little recklessness, Jamie Ayres has challenged us to record our own 18 Things bucket list for her upcoming book;


  1. Buy my own house, with my own garden and furniture and memories.
  2. Go backpacking again, probably Asia this time.
  3. Work and live in London.
  4. Always read, and always enjoy it.
  5. Set aside time for artistic endeavours, sketching, painting, mosaics.
  6. Be a photographer, travel to amazing places, get those amazing shots that never seem to work on a digital camera.
  7. Always find my way back to those true mates, you know who.
  8. Write that WIP, because I love reading what there is of it, and I never want it to stop.
  9. Tell myself I can.
  10. Keep trying to find that peace.
  11. Think about opening up.  But not too much.  Maybe just a little.
  12. Drive a Porsche 911 GT3 or Turbo, black with a red spoiler.
  13. See The Grates live, because Patience is an amazing front woman.
  14. Never stop loving Triple J.
  15. Make my career worth it.
  16. Actually learn how to play guitar and piano, because I am not a reliable teacher.
  17. Buy a motorbike.
  18. Dont kill my family, and maybe run less.  Or more.

Check out her book, other lists, and sign up yourself.
And keep up what I have so far,
I wouldnt change it.
from sjp

Jan 18, 2013

Forgotten


How could it be that its come to this
I really thought that it would last.


I don't know where to start; my heart feels trapped, hyperventilating like a kid with asthma, while my fingers search for some preoccupation, tugging at my hair as it twists and knots, feeling it pull at my scalp.  I dangle my legs and watch them sway in the dusk air, his words still ringing in my ears.  A smile almost turns the corner of my mouth at the memory, but it falls to a sneer soon enough as I feel the warm tears drip from my chin.

Staring at your shoes like you know everything, a face like some contrite bitch.

I just want to forget the past.


then maybe it will forget me,
Jaq xx

Jan 7, 2013

1918

Entrenched



The thundering of shells erupts through the night, sprinkling cursed sods of dirt tainted with the blood of hundreds into the air like a geyser.  The cold seeps through the skin as the heavens spew forth a monsoon as merciless as the enemy, to hide the tears of boys as their heroic dreams are drowned.  Yet all I can hear is that infernal scratching, that constant ever-present torturous scratching as I cradle this demonic metal box beside me.  Its contents was classified yet I know there is something living within its confines, some spawn of hell raking the inside as I clutch it close, trying to force my body into the trench walls.  Not even the bursting of machine gun fire that tears my heart from its breast bone can distract me from this frightening foreboding that taunts me.  The eternal scratching echoes against me, like a rusted razor dragging across my skin, distorting my mind like a twitch.  I pray for my commander to relieve me of this insanity bearing burden, but I know that would be the kindest of miracles as his quarters lay in the next trench, and I can still see smoke rising from its smouldering ruin.  So I am left in this tumultuous purgatory, to breathe the burning sulfur of men with only this beastly box as my companion.

Jaq xx

Jan 2, 2013

Absentee

Apologies for such an extensive absence,
but this Wednesday surely snuck up on me...




Well during such a hiatus I have not put much thought to the stressful undercurrents that accompany writing, and therefore have not overly succumbed to any insecurities in particular.  However I have been wondering.  While I am experiencing favourable productivity in the way of brainstorming and working beyond the line of flash fiction as aforementioned, will I ever be able to do so on such a phenomenal scale as required for a novel?

I am forever in awe of you all, every day finds a new success story with a post on self publishing or completing a final draft or scoring an agent.  Yet I find that horizon to be so far in the distance I cannot imagine actually approaching it in any near future.

So promptly I open this thought for pondering before I rush off to more adventure; am I fooling myself with the possibility of a future in writing, or am I holding myself back?

ps: I promise to make it to other entries by next week but I really must run :)

ever the underachiever,
from sjp.
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