#writephoto – Mine

Sue's Mine photo

Sue’s chosen another great shot for her #writephoto challenge this week, and here’s my take on ‘Mine’:

‘Funny place for three holes. D’you think that’s where they hung the prisoners?’ His voice echoed up through the topless tower as though we were at the bottom of a well. I tilted my head, wanting to show him how much I knew about this stuff. Still not quite at ease with him, our relationship something new.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘the big hole – there could have been something there. Like a display of weapons, or something. The two smaller holes, I don’t know-‘

I felt his hand push hard on my shoulder, then he was up on the old wooden platform, the timber creaking alarmingly under his weight as he made his way, sure-footed, to the holes. He turned, winking at me, whisky brown eyes crinkling.

‘Only one way to find out,’ he said. Then he placed both hands inside the smaller holes, putting his face up against the larger one.

Then he jerked, screaming. I screamed too, the sound sending pigeons flying up, flap of wings against ancient stone. I scrambled to get on the platform, my hiking boot catching on the edge, banging my knee in my haste to get to him.

Then he started laughing.

‘Ass!’ I laughed, too, though more out of relief than anything else, sitting back and rubbing my knee. He jumped down, still chuckling.

‘Come on.’ He held out his hand. I took it, feeling that connection, the electricity I got from him and no-one else. He pulled me to my feet, then into his arms.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Then he kissed me, and I knew.

He was mine.

For more entries, or to add one of your own, head on over to Sue’s blog 🙂

Old Meets New (With Bonus Orb)

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The infamous ‘walkie-talkie’ building

I was in London this past Saturday, catching up with one of my oldest friends. She’s lived in London for many years, so whenever we get together we like to explore places she’s never been to before. This trip was especially poignant, as she is moving back to her native Canada shortly, so will likely be our last adventure for a little while.

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A glimpse of The Shard

So where did we go? We ended up taking a detour from our planned route to visit a building that encompasses the history of London almost in its entirety, from the Roman tiles underground to the modern ceiling, put in after an almost direct hit during the Blitz rendered it a shell. So that was kind of cool (and will be the subject of a post later this week). But one thing we both remarked on, as we wandered around, was the interesting juxtaposition you get in London of very modern buildings against very old (we both took the same History Of Design and Architecture class at university, so have a long history of wandering around together looking at buildings). And I think these photos, which have not been digitally altered, seem to convey that point quite well.

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Oh, and just to add a little icing on the cake, I also managed to capture this weird orb thing at St Paul’s. As you can see, it’s in one shot but not the next, and if you zoom in seems to have depth and its own little halo around it. So that’s weird, right? In case you’re wondering why I took those shots, it was because the sky had become quite dramatic, and I liked the way it looked against the famous dome. I took some shots around the other side as well:

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Then, in counterpoint to all this architecture, we came across a group of fur-clad individuals about to wander the streets. They are the Londonfurs, and are a private group, so I won’t post more information about them – google them if you’re interested. But really, they were fab.

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I love London, I really do 🙂

It’s A Hot One

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Well, it’s not exactly England… but it could be

It’s hot.

It’s wonderfully, sunnily, bees-buzzing-mightily, hot. Get-your-sunglasses, tie-a-hankie-on-your-head, hot.

This is an unusual thing for the UK, in case you’re wondering. It’s an opportunity to be grabbed by both hands and enjoyed, as it may be taken from us without warning, not to return until July, or even August, of next year. There is plenty of joking about it, that this week is all the summer we are going to have, even though certain of the papers, as they do every year, are predicting a six-week ‘heatwave.’  Who knows? This time next week I could be back in my winter coat, as I was three weeks ago. The vagaries of weather on this small green island have made us a nation hopeful and resolute: ‘It’ll clear later,’ ‘blue sky over there,’ ‘mustn’t grumble‘.

So on days like this, when the scent of rose and hawthorn and honeysuckle fill the air, when bare arms and legs are kissed with Riviera-like heat, we enjoy. When it’s warm enough to walk up to school in the morning without a jacket, to sit outside for an evening meal, to keep the blinds closed in an effort to keep the heat out, we revel.

And a few months from now when the nights draw in, cold with frost, we’ll remember. And we’ll hope once more, looking forward to when summer comes again.

Another Day…

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Sometimes I struggle to make sense of this world. Lately, this seems to be happening more and more often. As a writer, it’s part of my job to get inside people’s heads, to figure out their motivations and tell their story. Yet I cannot for the life of me imagine the depth of pain and disconnection required to seek out your fellow humans and kill them, indiscriminately, and en masse. To deliberately target places where people meet, play, holiday, learn, work, dance and celebrate, and destroy them.

It goes beyond any ideology I’ve ever heard of, to a place of utter nihilism. It is neither confined nor defined by any particular religion, because it happens everywhere and to all people. And it’s just about the saddest thing, in a world full of miracles, that it continues to happen.

Seriously, 2016. We can be better than this, surely.

#orlando #baghdad #paris #nice #telaviv #istanbul

Thursday Doors – Along the Canal

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I had a different door in mind for today’s post, but, on a walk with a friend past the nearby canal boat mooring, found the combination of tiny doors, sunshine and colourful boats too hard to resist.

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I live near to the Grand Union Canal, which links London with Birmingham. The longest canal in the UK, it runs for 137 miles through 166 locks. Canals are a feature of the British countryside, once the highways of the industrial revolution and many of them feats of engineering in themselves. There are more canals in Birmingham than there are in Venice, if you can believe it.

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Nowadays, canals are used mainly for recreational purposes, with day trips, weekenders or longer voyages available for those who want to give canal living a try.

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There are many people living full time on the canals, travelling the length and breadth of the country without having to leave the comforts of home.

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Not such a bad way to live, I think…

This is my entry for Norm 2.0’s Thursday Doors challenge. For more doors, or to add one of your own, visit Norm’s site and click the link.

Wednesday Wander – Breakfast on the Beach

It’s been a busy week. Lots of different things going on at home, at work and in the dojo. All good things, just things that took preparation and focus and time. So I haven’t really done much writing at all these past few days, other than a few blog comments here and there. Today is the first time in a while I’ve sat down with the express purpose of writing.

And I need to write. Because I, in a moment of masochism, signed up once more to do Camp NaNoWriMo. I’m back in the world of Silver and Black, working on fleshing out more of my vampire novel. And it’s turning out to be an interesting world. Set very slightly in the future, and quite different than the one we have now. Different for humans, that is. So I’m keen to head back there and get some more words on the page.

But, as I say, it’s been a busy week. So, for my Wednesday Wander, I’m going to take a very short vacation, and invite you all to join me for breakfast on the beach in Bali. I took this photo the last time I was there, while sitting on our hotel terrace eating breakfast. To me, it seems to sum up all that is wonderful about a holiday. I can hear the ocean and feel the warm breeze every time I look at it. So please, won’t you join me? Pull up a chair, place your order, and relax.

Breakfast in Bali

What more is there to say, really?

Thank you for joining me on a slightly different Wednesday Wander this week – see you next time!

 

Oak and Mist (The Ambeth Chronicles, #1) by Helen Jones

A lovely review of Oak and Mist from Karen at My Train Of Thoughts. Thanks, Karen!

Karen's avatarMy train of thoughts on...

The_Ambeth_Chronicles_1The author sent me an ARC of this book (mobi format) in exchange for an honest review.

My rating:  ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Plot
(by Goodreads)

“The end of everything? Great, no pressure then.”

Pushed between two trees at her local park, Alma never expected to find another world. But Ambeth, where a palace gleams in green gardens by a wild sea, has been expecting her.

Now she has to find a lost sword or the consequences for humanity will be dire. With no idea where to look, despite help from her new friend Caleb, things get even more complicated when a handsome prince of the Dark seems to be interested in her. Add in some time-twisting, concerned parents and a battle between Light and Dark for control of a lost sword, and it’s enough to make any fifteen-year-old want to give up. But then she wouldn’t see…

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Found Objects – Horseshoe

A few months ago, I mentioned in a post that we were digging out an old raised vegetable bed at the end of our garden, in preparation for a new garden room/shed and decked area. In the course of the excavation our daughter was pottering around, poking through the piles of earth and rubble for items of interest – coloured stones, bits of old pottery, a small plastic teacup all taking her interest. Then, more recently, she found this:

IMG_2311 It’s a horseshoe, obviously. At least, I think it is. Rusty, with most of the nails still in place, and surprisingly light. But it seems a bit smaller than the average horseshoe:

IMG_2315 As you can see, it would easily sit on the palm of my hand, and I’m not a woman with freakishly large hands or anything. So now it’s got me thinking. Our house was built in the 1930s, but before that this area was all forest, running along the valley to what was then a small village about two miles away.

I wonder whether it came from a small pony, perhaps belonging to a child. Or a dainty palfrey, mount of a lady. Or something else altogether. Potential stories abound. Whoever the mysterious rider was, it must have been annoying to have their horse lose a shoe in the middle of the woods.

And now, however many years later, it’s turned up again. So, horse-y bloggers out there, what do you think? Is this a rather small horseshoe? Or is it normal size? While I love horses, I’ve never spent any great amount of time with them, so would love to know more.

 

Stuff And Nonsense

They're called storage boxes because they're for storing stuff, right?
They’re called storage boxes because they’re for storing stuff, right?

It may surprise you to know that I can be a bit of a hoarder. Even with all the moving I’ve done, there are still things that move from house to house in boxes and tubs then head straight into the loft or cupboards, unopened. Sure, some of them are sentimental items that I don’t want to get rid of, but there are plenty of boxes of other things that have no rhyme or reason as to why I need to keep them. Over the years I’ve become better at letting things go, and Marie Kondo’s Magic of Tidying inspired me to clear out a whole load more, but there is still enough in our attic to provide a whole layer of extra insulation for our house.

Because I might need it all one day, you see. I’m not sure where this sense of a potential post-apocalyptic world where I can no longer get linen napkins or random boxes of books has come from, but there it is. And I have, on occasion, been proven right. Many years ago, at a jumble sale in Sydney, I bought three decorative pierced wall plaques, obviously taken from an old home. I think I had an idea of hanging them on the wall as art, but it never happened. So they stayed wrapped in a box through subsequent moves back to Melbourne, to the South coast, and then to the UK. When we bought our most recent house, we redecorated and renovated it top to bottom (a process that’s still ongoing). A couple of the wall vents upstairs needed new covers – hey presto, my decorative panels finally found a use, fifteen years later.

I do wonder if my propensity to hang onto things is an extension of how I work creatively. I saw an interview with the late great David Bowie where he stated he was ‘a collector.’ That is, he collected ideas and images and details, which he then used as a starting point to create his own unique style. This was something that resonated with me. While I am by no means an artist of the stature of Bowie, I can relate to the idea of collecting. My Ambeth stories were inspired by a single incident that happened to me when I was a child, then embellished with other details drawn from my life, as well as drawing on the influence of fantasy writers before me, of places I’ve visited and things that I’ve done, living on as fragments of memory and dream. Other stories I have underway also draw on places and people and things that I’ve seen and done and held – collected imagery inserted into a whole new picture, held together with a new idea.

None of us create in a vacuum. We are all part of the same world, with access to the same ideas and images and places to visit. Yet each of us has our own vision of how we choose to interpret the things we encounter. It’s why some people are passionate about collecting thimbles, for example, while others search out concert wristbands, or eccentric hats. It is what speaks to us at our creative core.

So you see, all this stuff gathering dust in my attic isn’t junk. It’s art, right? At least, that’s what I’m going to tell my husband next time he asks…

Thursday Doors – Great West Doors, St Albans Cathedral

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This is one of the Great West Doors at St Albans Cathedral, St Albans, England. There are two doors but my other shot was hopelessly blurry, so we’ll have to make do with this one, plus the close-up below showing more of the detail.

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The doors were, according to information on site, made in the early 1400s for Abbot John of Wheathampstead, during his tenure at the cathedral. They were for the now-demolished west end of the Cathedral, replaced in the 1800’s during what some would say was an unfortunate restoration program by Lord Grimthorpe.

Made of four layers of wood, each door is held together by wrought iron nails, which also form part of the decoration. They are an excellent example of early English Gothic style, and were featured in a V&A Exhibition entitled Gothic – Art for England – 1400-1547.

Considering the history of the Cathedral, and the age of the doors, it’s interesting to consider who might have passed through them when they were in use. Now they are displayed either side of an archway leading through to the cafe and gift shop, modern necessities for a place that costs £5000 per day simply to keep open.

This is my entry for this week’s Thursday doors challenge, courtesy of Norm 2.0. For more doors, or to add one of your own, visit Norm’s blog and click the link.