Every great writer needs....

 

Every great writer needs....

An extensive library at his or Her (in my case,) fingertips, I have the good fortune to have a darling Husby whom is building me my very own. He is building me and actual library come study in a spare room next to our lounge. The thought of it is my retreat and my paradise although I still find myself enjoying the allure of public libraries. I go to extend my knowledge inside books I don't have but particularly if I need to shake myself out of a writing block I go for a fresh environment a change of pace, somewhere I need to get dressed and look presentable. This alone helps, staying in one's tartan embroidered pajamas doesn't do much to help you think of plot lines or characters if you yourself are hidden away from the world in one’s bed-clothes now does it?!

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This is also particularly useful should you find yourself with the dreaded writer's block or you are stuck in a mode or comfortableness that your work is becoming bland: my dear, take yourself for a walk- somewhere different to where you usually go- a long road or path a different park or canal towpath, explore and your creative juices will come flowing once again trust me. Should this not help you immerse yourself into a book any book just no one that you are currently reading it has to be a book that you can start at the first page and not be entirely familiar with this also will induce your creative-side!

You need a good place to sit and write or type if you prefer, (don't use a particular medium because you think you should, most writers feel the need to write on paper first before typing but you need to find what works for you.)

You also need two comfy chairs to sit at;

​One to sit in and write (something sturdy and supportive) and the other to relax and read through your work comfortably, so a nice big squashy chair with lots of comfy cushions. You need a good workspace, with plenty of room to spread your paper, stationery and books over, I like a wooden desk that’s ancient and I acquired from a thrift store some time ago but it is perfect and sturdy, I like to sit at it up to a large open window so I can stare out into the Yorkshire wiles.

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Good lighting is key to working comfortably. Sitting working in poor light or a space where the lighting is too bright can give you a headache and make you feel strained or achey, so make sure you have a suitable table lamp by your desk and during daylight hours open the curtains as wide as you can and let that natural light. ​

You need quiet to concentrate on a piece but you also need the hustle and bustle of a place such as a coffee shop or cafe to people watch; to create good characters and to study mannerisms and attitudes.

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A good writer needs a notebook or pad of paper with them always, in your bag, on the nightstand and most definitely on your desk, constant supplies of freshly sharpened pencils and pens in at least three colours,

-Black for writing:

Black is formal and presents your writing with a strong and serious image.

-Red for correcting:

Grammar, Punctuation & Spelling errors so it stands out and you learn from your mistakes in the future.

& Finally

-Blue for editing:

for adding a sentence, whole paragraph or even an entire chapter -so you can see where you have gone from first draft to second (I like to do further drafts in yet another colour so I can differentiate & show how I have improved.)

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You also need to immerse yourself into your writing, so if you have things on your mind or something worrying you, write them down onto a separate piece of paper and put it into a drawer or throw it away. This will help you to clear your mind and focus on your writing.

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Once you get into the zone hours can fly by unnoticed but you need to make sure you have regular breaks, preferably at hourly intervals with a short walk or at the very least movement on your feet. The risks of blood clotting and leading to major health failures are high in people who tend to sit for too many hours, so this is very important an something to remember!

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Discipline is key. All good writers have the discipline to write a certain amount of articles or spend a few hours a day writing. If you want to take taking writing to the next level, the discipline should be ingrained right from the start. Allotting a few hours a day, whether a good article comes out or not, is a good idea. Later, when there comes a time to work on major or multiple projects, the writer will not have a problem with having the mind spill out words that contribute to the making of a great article each and every time. In fact, even if you don’t have work to do, a writer should just sit and write about any topic.

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-Mrs. N x

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Poetry: The allure of the funfair.

Bubblegum prizes and tall fluted drinks,
Child and teenager alike attend for to get their kinks.

With bashed up old rides and their rusting red paint,
Each ride the waltzers until many could faint.

You play the penny shoot outs and water gun games,
Hour after hour until the goldfish run out of names.

Those fish from the fair they live for many a year,
Whilst those young gypsies tend the ticket box with a fistful of beer.

When the funfairs in town,
Be sure to come down.

Knick-Knacks, Bric-a-Brac. We give it all a home.

 

Knick-Knacks, Bric-a-Brac. We give it all a home.

Blog Post No.10

21/09/2012.

Even the most beautifully organised and minimalists among us all have precious knick-knacks hiding in cupboards, on shelves and stored in the loft and bric-a-brac items that really should have gone to a charity shop long ago.

After all however ruthless we like to be when doing that inevitable spring clean (not necessarily in spring might I add, I usually do a spring clean at the start of summer, autumn and winter too! But that’s because I have some defective gene from my paternal Grandmother which means I have to keep my home organised in a ridiculously scrupulous manner) there are just some things that you can’t help but tell yourself they will come in useful one day no matter how battered and worn. You also keep things because they remind you of something attached to a pleasant memory. I’m not talking your child or grandchild’s baby clothes or a greetings card but something less precious such as a mug that you bought when you were a student or a t-shirt that you wore to a party when you first drank something a little stronger than cherryade.

In the most recent of all mighty clear out’s Mr N and me found several unusual items that don’t even belong to us. Amongst the pile we found a five inch, yes I said five inch, black and white plug in television complete with reasonably non-tatty box. I know, I know I am usually a vintage-loving, retro hunting kinda-gal but on this occasion it was NOT something I had carefully collected at a thrift store but something we found in our loft shortly after moving in. I can just imagine Betty sat watching early episodes of Coronation Street at her ferule legged coffee table complete with formica top. Betty lived here before us and being the softy that I am when nearing exchange of contracts and they told us they would completely clear the house as soon as they could I said oh don’t worry whatever you don’t want just leave behind and we will rehouse. So alongside the teeny-tiny t.v there was a G-Plan record player in a teak sideboard style cabinet- so groovy but far too seventies for my taste (still going begging should anyone wish to collect!) Also a teak-ish wardrobe with the door in the middle and the clothes rails positioned each side going from front to back and a five hook claw in the middle, it sort of reminded me of something you would see in the art deco era in a Fred Astaire film. But being the crafty homemaker that I am I decided to up-cycle this vintage piece and I have transformed it into a shabby chic style armoire with just a lick of porcelain coloured paint and some stylish Mr and Mrs accessories. It now looks most at home in our master-bed.

As for bric-a-brac our homes are filled with them, giant stacks of jig-saws you’ve done that many times you could do with your eyes closed, endless boxes full of lego and building blocks that the kids don’t really play with anymore. Teddy bears and soft toys that the whole family have accumulated which let’s face it you only ever really have one teddy bear that you will treasure for ever. Mine being a green hippo my older sister brought me back from a school trip to Germany when I was only one. He has been stitched back together more times than I care to think of his eyes have rubbed off and my Grandmother has replaced various parts of him over the years in particular his label which I used to put my little finger through and would only go to sleep should I have him and a dodey, on the odd occasion he went missing I used to take one of my brothers vests with me for a nap- so I could put my finger through the label. Strange you might think…But having recently discovered a new baby/toddler toy strange I am not. What I am indeed referring to is Taggies®

I could have been a millionaire if I have thought about it!

Photo Credit : http://www.myblankets.com/Taggies.html

 

 

 

To be continued……

-Mrs N x

Rainy Day Re-decorating.

Blog Post No.9

Sunday 16/09/2012

Rainy Day Re-decorating.

Today has been a drizzly Sunday so Mr N and I decided to put on our D.I.Y. caps and get stuck into some well overdue jobs round the house.

We woke early so after breakfast together, we got stuck in. I have shabby chic-ified our chunky farmhouse antique pine coffee table and a nest of pine tables that I picked up recently for £4 (a real bargain!) that practically match our coffee table. I sanded the tops of each of the coffee tables and painted them in an antique cream matt finish paint. Whilst waiting for them to dry off I did a little mandatory housework whilst Mr N took down some shelves and storage in preparation for creating the room into a library.

Once the tables were touch-dry I finished them with some varnish to seal from stains and coffee rings, Mr N never uses our coasters! They now look really cool even if I do say so myself and completely suit our home.

We have also done some sorting out of things for our local charity shops in an attempt to de-clutter. Well I did some sorting out; Mr N on the other hand is loathed to part with anything he always says, “Oh that will come in use.” What he thinks he will do with an old school rucksack that has holes in and tons of odd and ends that have no real purpose but hey they are his bits and bobs.

As much as we had intended to spend the whole day finishing bits of decorating and finishing odd jobs around the house the lure of a lazy Sunday together soon became too much to resist. The rain was coming down fast and much noisier than earlier in the day and its hypnotic sound found us snuggled up on the sofa with Charliepuppy taking up most of the space. He is a smallish doggy but unfortunately for him, he is sporting one of those funny buster collars. He has to wear it for a few days to stop him licking his paw as he hurt it and then licked it unrelinquished and caused a tiny infection to which he has antibiotics. The poor pup. At first it was to our great amusement that he couldn’t climb the stairs or jump up on the sofa as he couldn’t gage the size of the collar but now we just feel sorry for the little mite as he does look incredibly depressed inside his lampshade.

We just sat there listening to the rain and enjoying the lazy Sunday. It was lovely. To keep with the lazy Sunday theme Mr N called at our local chippy for a Fish Supper and so we have spent the rest of the day watching things we have sky plussed and drinking cocoa.

What do you do with your lazy Sundays? Email me at: mrsn_slawit@hotmail.co.uk

-Mrs N x

 

Home all alone.

Flash fiction. 100 words exactly.

Home all alone.

 

Cheryl heard it again.

A noise was coming from downstairs. She hid behind the door grasping a coat hanger for defence and listened again for the noise.

 

There was definitely someone in the house.

She buried her face into the dressing-gown hanging on a hook on the back of the door, she shut her eyes suddenly remembering her mobile was charging on the hall table. What now?

 

The sound of footsteps appeared to be getting closer…

She peered through the crack in the old oak door…

 

Cheryl let out a sigh of relief… It was just Jasper the family dog.

 

The days are getting shorter.

 

Blog Post No. 8

04/09/2012

The days are getting shorter.

You know it’s that time of year when you need to start wearing thick socks and long legs of an evening just to stop spiders or more accurately, small dog eating tarantulas, crawling around your bare ankles and feet. Long gone are the days of flip flops, sandals and bare legs. From tomorrow no longer am I stepping out in my comfy and casual, yes I am going to admit it to you Croc despising people that, I love my Croc flip flops! They are so ergonomic and they are pretty and fairly plain light pink and white. I know, I know I hear endless scornful remarks about Crocs being a hideous fashion faux pas but I do not care, I am far from a chav and I don’t wear as a fashion statement but to give my feet the comfort they deserve. You see my Great-Great-Grandmother used to say and I quote; “If you only buy two good things in your life, buy a good bed and a good pair of comfortable shoes because if you’re not in one you’re bound to be in the other.” Due to last night’s spider incident I have opted to wear only toe covering footwear to avoid future spiders-on-steroids crossing my feet like they are a footbridge.

The days are getting shorter and the nights are drawing in. It’s getting darker earlier and earlier each day. I don’t know why we are shocked by this, as the same thing happens every year. I don’t know if it’s just me but each year at this time I always find it strange and ever so slightly unusual.

The evenings are also becoming ever cooler. During the day the sun is still bright and there is the last warmth of the summer sun drifting through the air but come evening when the sun has disappeared until the morrow it gets a little chilly. Large woven throws and fleece blankets are a must when sat in front of the box of an eve.

That eerie chill reminds us that winter is only around the corner and Christmas is just on the horizon. Aaaargh!

 Summer is but a fond memory and September 21^st brings with it the start of autumn is settling its boots by the fire. So here’s to welcoming autumn with open arms as it’s not all bad really. Autumn brings out my inner Betty Crocker and conjures up recipes of pumpkin pie, apple crumble and butternut squash and brown rice risotto.

 

I like to make autumn crafts with the kids, from collages made from leaves to handmade chocolate leaves to decorate home-baked cupcakes.

Autumn can be lovely, not just a stop-gap between a glorious summer and a festive winter. Embrace the autumn months and all it has to offer.

Bonfire night is awaited with eager anticipation and the excitement is set to simmer until ‘All Hallows Eve’ has come and gone again. No matter how old I get I will always enjoy Halloween. Dressing up in a ghastly way and decorating the house with plastic spiders and faux cobwebs, carving pumpkins into jack o’ lanterns and enough candy to fill a bouncy castle such fun.

Then comes Bonfire night arrives and you are filled to the brim with homemade treacle-toffee and potato-pie, toffee apples and baked potatoes, you all gather together as friends and family round a giant handmade fiery glow. You have your hats and scarves and have dug out your gloves and you are wrapped up warm to bare the cold night air to hoover round the bonfire. Fireworks are a treat and the little ones are supervised with sparklers all is brimming with excitement.

A final thought; get your conkers out! Recent press has reported on the banning of conkers in schools. When we were kids we played conkers it was a ritual at this time of year to go out conker hunting. No one I know, nor does anyone I’ve asked know anyone who has been harmed by a conker! I say playing conkers is part of growing up! Don’t you?!

-Mrs N x

Autumn reminds me of a popular poem by John Keats….

John Keats - To Autumn

I

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

 

II

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

 

III

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

 

'Charity Shop Chic.'

Blog Post No.7

29/08/2012

 

Up until a few years back I wouldn’t have been seen dead in a second hand shop or charity shop.

I used to have all the usual preconceptions that others alike shared. I thought only old biddies (I use the term with fondness not in the derogatory sense mind) with nothing better to do other than to spend their time perusing round each and every one buying out dated clothes, ancient home wares and endless jigsaws. But contrary to popular opinion or more accurately popular misconception, charity and second-hand shops are the place to shop!

  For a good while now I have been going in charity shops up and down the country, whenever we are away somewhere or happen to be in a different part of the country and come across a thrifty shop my feet just take me in there. I have bought allsorts from the weird to the wonderful and before shopping anywhere else I always scope out the local charity or second-hand shops.

Hardly ever have I seen any ladies with a blue rinse or solely gents old enough to be my Grandfather or Great-grandfather for that matter. My own Grandfather is actually a rather young sixty-six year old. He does at my recommendation of course shop at charity shops and second-hand stores.

He’s always on the lookout for a rare or unusual musical instrument to add to his ever expanding collection despite my Grandmother’s protests. He also is looking for a cheap pair of size tens clogs, preferably with a tap sole should anyone come across any!

When perusing these shops I regularly come across a whole array of different people from all walks of life, each of them buying something different which I find interesting and further adds to the charm of these fabulous thrift stores! So what I am trying to get at, is Charity Shops and Second-hand stores are for everyone not just the Silver-Foxes out there!

  My Aunty whom first got me into charity shop buying quite often comes across designer clothing and handbags. Personally I am always looking out for Chick-Lit novels, good DVDs, the odd item of clothing and vintage finds but mostly cute kitchenalia. These thrifty stores are filled with all sorts of brilliant finds. As for my Aunty she gets an array of things from toys for her children, fabulous clothes for her and the kids, things for their home. Much to her husband’s (my Uncle) dismay. You see he thinks as long as you have all the practical stuff and your home is clean and tidy you don’t really need all the extra bits and bobs that make a house a home, I think he’s a secret minimalist in denial. Don’t get me wrong their home is beautiful and decorated wonderfully but he likes things neat and incredibly non-cluttered. So my Aunt has to protest to get little knick-knacks and bits and pieces through their front door, I’m sure he likes these things really but men need to be men and they to like to protest a little about all the feminine touches when they feel their BBQ’s, tools and Topgear DVD's are being pushed out to make way for more candles and photo frames etc.

I have practically my own library at home (I wish- with chunky leather chesterfields, wingback chairs and dark book shelves filled from floor to ceiling with all sorts of books and light classical music playing in the background with cups of Earl Grey or iced tea on tap and a great big fat fluffy cat stat on a window-sill staring out into the countryside.) I do have the books for one, we are running out of shelf space and we occasionally buy Earl Grey, oh and I do own a wingback that I still haven’t gotten round to re-upholstering but as for the leather chesterfields and wall to wall bookshelves we don’t, as for the cat I’m working on it. It’s not our dog that would mind-he likes most animals –apart from horses and the occasional goose but it is Mr N I need to work on. He said maybe for Christmas …………. Note to self: add to Crimbo wish list and leave hints around the house nearer the time.

As well as buying from charity shops and thrift stores, I never throw anything away without first asking myself could my trash be someone else’s treasure?

 -Mrs N x

 

The Story of Grange Farm.

A Short Story.

The Story of Grange Farm.

 

  Near her betrayers door she lays her head. The wind was icy and shrill, it howled like the sound of rabid wolves as it tore through the hall and into each and every room, bursting to find its way out and back into the night. Tap, tap, tap. It pelted against the single pane windows, at the very top of the cottage. Usually the wind and rain were trying to get in but not now. Not here. Not even the cold and callas weather wanted to stay here a moment longer.

  Grange farm wasn’t always so feral and tormented. The barns were once filled with the sound of cow’s being happily milked. The fields were once fruitful with the season’s crops and accompanied by village shows. This had been the case for many a year.

  The people of Skelton knew the family who ran the farm well. They were just your usual farming folk. Although one day life appeared to seemingly carry on as normal. The family sat down to breakfast at the large oak dining table where they ate the eggs the girls had collected fresh from the hens that morning, the bread the mother had baked before sunrise and they topped up their tea and poured the fresh milk on their cereal  that the cows had given only an hour before. After breakfast they set to work, even the children mucked in. their day was blissfully average, it wasn’t until late afternoon when it happened.

  They were rounded up and hushed into the barn. General Shilmer did not give an explanation to them he just ordered his men to shoot each of them and leave their bodies to the pigs.

  The head of the family was shot first as he posed the largest threat to a possible orderly task. The eldest daughter was next then the son and then to the twins. The mother was out to market. She had to watch from the stile as her family were murdered. It took everything she had not to scream, she stood there helpless and motionless. A farm hand from the next farm saw her and rushed her away; he knew he had to get them both away without being seen otherwise they too would meet their fate. She had dropped her basket of groceries and the contents began to roll down the road. He frantically collected them. If the Germans found the items he feared they would realise that they had been seen and surely come looking for them.

  Their bodies lied there amongst the hay and dirt. The men dragged the bodies into one of the stalls. The barn was closed and they joined the General at the cottage table.

  The orders had come from a higher place, to secure the farm and to use it as a standing base for German troops entering from the east coast. It was as simple as the farm being hidden far from anything in between two valleys.

  It was a cold November in 1944 and Frieda had decided to return from Vienna, where she was discovering the art of ballet to help her family through the winter months. Her conscience had plagued her from sometime. It had been four months since she last heard anything by letter. So she decided now was the time to come back.

  She arrived to discover the devastating events before her. She tried to run but she too suffered the same fate. The only difference being that she suffered a fatal blow to the head as she walked into her once familiar family home. Her head lay in the doorway.

  A buzzing of plane engines sounded as a large cluster of Lancashire Bombers flew overhead. Each of the soldiers rushed outdoor in an attempt to stop their position being discovered but they were too little too late. Each lost their lives. Our men defended their country well.

  The locals knew now what had happened. The mother must be sitting on the porch filled with sickness and sorrow they told themselves but a dull and lifeless body hung in the barn.

The End

 

Ignorant or just Uneducated?

Blog post No.6

24/08/2012

Ignorant or just Uneducated?

When we get to a certain age, do we suddenly become less aware of our behaviour, namely in public places but in general also?

Are we aware that we offend people whom we think haven’t noticed we exist?
 

  The other day I happened to be sitting in my local library typing up a short story the computer and perusing blogs I'm particularly fond of when I couldn’t help but find myself listening into a conversation a group of ladies where having. The ladies mostly appeared to be above the age of retirement and were sat in a cluster around a table provided for coffee mornings and as quiet reading space. These ladies were enjoying afternoon refreshments but they were neither quiet nor socially aware of their surroundings.

They discussed everything from the dismal weather to politics but what caught my attention more than anything is that they were discussing immigration and in a non -too favourable manner might I add. I found a lot of there conversing controversial and at times a little uncomfortable. A different person to me may have asked them to keep their voices down on particular subjects but I found their ignorance and opinions both interesting and entertaining to an extent. Not in a way that I agreed with them entirely but I found their lack of knowledge and understanding to be something to think about. You would think in this day and age that each and everyone of us would have all the facts and be able to make a proper judgement on things but these ladies were stuck in the wrong decade of thinking. I found myself sat there wondering if the other library patrons were too listening to them howling with laughter and talking without a second thought for anyone that could hear them.

In some ways they seemed really rather ‘hip’ and up to date with things. I heard them have a conversation about using the internet and one even said she owned a laptop. I wondered how a group of clearly intelligent ladies could be so ignorant and socially unaware of their own behaviour.

My Great Grandmother can be similar sometimes, she was brought up in the twenties and those were different times life was incredibly different back then but is this just an excuse that we today use? She too knows about the internet. She asks me about facebook and eBay, not that she uses it but she is aware that it is there. She watches the news religiously. She listens to the radio each night before she goes to bed or the wireless as she still calls it. I find myself regularly impressed by her ability to have adapted to modern life and everything it has brought with it over the years but one thing that hasn’t transpired is her attitude towards people in this world. She occasionally says things in the company of the family that shock us and we worry she would offend. Sure at the time we laugh, not because we necessarily find it funny what she comes out with but at her brash and boldness to say something in today’s world that you yourself wouldn’t dream of thinking to be the case let alone say something aloud as plain as day. Don’t get me wrong she is a very caring and generous person and the most wonderful Grandmother; I love her to the ends of the earth. It’s just she was brought up in a very different way to us, along time ago.

 

As for the ladies in my library they collectively packed up the remnants of their refreshments and seemingly morphed back into the extremely polite and graceful women I assumed they were from their appearances and demeanour before I heard their opulent opinions just seconds before. They were approximately twenty or so years younger than my Gran but I assume they too were brought up differently. They say ignorance is bliss it certainly is for these women as they chatted and drank their tea, blissfully unaware they had said anything out of the ordinary or obtuse.

Attitudes change, they always will but will there always be some of us that speak our mind no matter how shocking and often incorrect?

-Mrs N x