Helen Glynn Jones

An Observation – Part 4 – The Fighter

Hot. Sweat and heat and hurt as fists fly, looking for an opening. Water slick under the plastic coated shin guards, fingers curled in her gloves. Her helmet is tight around her ears and forehead, squashing her cheeks around her mouthguard, which feels dry and heavy in her mouth.

‘Point!’

The fight stops, both women pulled back to their starting position as they wait, fists raised, staring at each other until the centre referee drops their hand again. And it’s wash, rinse, repeat.

The other fighter stays in close. She’s older and more experienced, recognising that her opponent will want to use her legs and superior reach to gain points. So she cuts her off, jamming up her kicks before they can land, reaching over and under and around so all the other fighter can do is block, arms working frantically, elbows in tight, impact hard against her ribs. She will be bruised, later, but for now she barely feels a thing.

‘Time!’

The fighter is pulled back to her chair, her mouthguard removed, helmet loosened. Her coaches crouch either side of her, both of them talking as one squirts water from a plastic bottle into her mouth. She nods at what they’re saying, but doesn’t really hear them. Her focus is all on the woman in the chair opposite, dark eyes staring back at her.

Time is called. Her helmet goes on, mouthguard in and she is back in the ring. And then it happens. The sensation she’s only experienced a handful of times before, a gift from the gods who govern such things. Everything slows and becomes crystal clear. As the other fighter comes towards her again she steps to the side, easily evading her punch and landing one of her own. It’s so easy it’s laughable. ‘Why can’t she see it coming?’ she thinks, only vaguely aware of her teammates cheering, the roar of the crowd.

Pulled back to starting position she feels calm, as though she is at the centre of a storm, pinpoint, absolute. The other fighter comes towards her, oh so slowly it seems, and she does it again. It is almost as though she has stepped outside herself, controlling things from a distance. A heightened place of awareness where is no fear, there is no pain. There is only step, evade, punch.

And she does it a third time. Her opponent is rattled. She has to change her stance, the way she approaches. And as she does so, the strange feeling is gone and the fight resumes as it was before, all sweat and noise and thudding impacts. Experience wins out, as it so often does, but the girl is elated as she goes back to her chair, teammates coming to hug her and offer congratulations despite her loss, for they have seen what happened. She is still dazed, feeling surrounded by a silver mist, the remains of the battle frenzy like mist over a green field, slowly dissipating.

It was the longest six minutes of her life.

Head Full Of Words

Some of my peonies, still damp from the rain.

This morning I woke with a head full of words.

Dancing around, they refused to let me back to sleep and so I gave in to their incessant call, getting up and going downstairs to the kitchen. I had woken hungry as well (not unusual for me) and as I busied myself making toast and tea I thought about those words and what to do with them.

Through the kitchen window my garden was dusted with early dew, fairy lights still sparkling in the clematis. The sky was fresh and clear, first blush of dawn above the distant trees and rooftops. It was one of those perfect early summer mornings, when the day seems to hold infinite promise, gold light on green leaves. The birds were up as well, adding their melodies to the dance of words – I wondered, do they wake with heads full of song?

It’s a perfect time, before husband and child wake, when the house is mine alone, shadowy with morning. I am an early bird most days and make the most of it, reading, catching up on the news and planning my day. But this morning I needed to write, the words tumbling around and refusing to leave until I put them on paper. So here are some of them, to share with you.

Good For The Soul

There are places we go that are good for the soul. For me it tends to be high windswept places, where the air is so fresh you can feel it move through you, blowing away metaphorical cobwebs.

The nearest such place to me is Dunstable Downs. We go there quite often, whether winter or summer, though it does need to be a sunny clear day. The ancient hillside is lined with chalk deposits like bones poking through the soil, and the view is spectacular. You can literally see for miles, the landscape disappearing into a misty distance – you feel as though, if only you had elvish vision, you could see to the coast itself, silver sea glimmering.

It’s also a wonderful place to fly kites and it’s rare to be up there and not see at least one brightly coloured flapping sail, whipping and floating in the wind. Down below, on a rolling green meadow, is a gliding club. The gliders come up like giant white birds, swooping overhead as we whoop and holler, amazed by how close they come to the edge of the hill before disappearing into the blue beyond. Parasailers drop from the steep hillside, rising up to surprise us as they lift into the sky, circling above us on the updrafts.

In the near distance, next to a small village, I can see a well-maintained field with a square of trees left untouched at the centre. This field has now become the basis of another book. It’s just notes at the moment, but the mystery of the grove is one I’m looking forward to exploring.

When we lived in Australia, there was another such place where I liked to go.

Along a rutted track lined with huge cypresses and twisted gum trees, kangaroos in the fields standing like silent sentinels among the blowing grasses. A turn down a driveway lined either side with olive trees led to a house with a long green lawn. Another row of cypress trees stood at the edge of the lawn and beyond that curved the horn of the Peninsula like a crescent moon, blue ocean one side, gleaming silvery bay the other, the view stretching for miles. In the ground floor of the house was a very small restaurant – small enough to be run by two people alone, just as the owners wanted. There were only ever nine things on the menu – three entrees, three mains and three desserts – but the selection changed daily and it was always delicious. They grew their own vegetables, made their own olive oil and wine like bottled sunshine, warm and sweet. I remember being there one day and seeing Ted, the owner, driving up in his tractor from one of the fields. His small trailer was piled high with tomatoes, red and gleaming in the sunshine. ‘Help yourself,’ he said, smiling. ‘Please, take as many as you like.’

It was that kind of place.

So where do you go that’s good for the soul? Is it near to home or far?

Seasons Change

A couple of months ago I posted an image I’d taken at a park near my house. The sky was twilit, a sliver of silver moon visible between the bare branches that stood black against the sky. Last night I was at the same park at about the same time, and I decided to take another photo of the same view.

And how it has changed. The sky is blue, the sun still golden above the horizon. Green leaves cover the once-bare branches and the air (take my word for it) is much warmer. Still, I think I prefer the earlier image. It captures my favourite time of day, as we slide towards night, and the little sliver of moon seems caught in the branches like a piece of magic.

It’s a little reminder of how seasons change, yet underneath it all, there is much that stays the same.

Freestyle Writing Challenge

Today I received a message from the lovely Eilis Niamh stating that she’d tagged me to take part in a freestyle writing challenge. The rules are as follows:

1. Open an MS Word Document
2. Set a stop watch or your mobile phone timer to 5 or 10 minutes, whichever challenge you think you can beat
3. Your topic is at the foot of this post BUT DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE IT UNTIL YOU ARE READY WITH YOUR TIMER!!!
4. Fill the word doc with as much words as you want. Once you start writing do not stop.
5. Do not cheat by going back and correcting spelling and grammar using spell check.
6. You may or may not pay attention to punctuation or capitals. However, if you do, it would be best
7. At the end of your post write down ‘No. of words = ____” so that we have an idea of how much you can write within the time frame.
8. Do not forget to copy paste the entire passage on your blog post with a new topic for your nominees and copy paste these rules with your nomination (at least five (5) bloggers)

My topic was: If you could have the experience of living as a nonhuman animal for one day, what would you be? What would you do? Why?

Hmmm. I think I managed to address the first two parts, but not the last. I set my timer for ten minutes and this is what I came up with:

I run.

Through the woods, branches snapping under my hooves, leaves brushing my coat as I lean forward, faster and faster, breath blowing through my nostrils. I can hear the thud of my passage, feel the wind as it streams through my mane and tail, long fingers ruffling.

Other animals run with me at times. I see a fox. A rabbit. The rabbit runs faster and I think of the old tale, of the fox chasing the rabbit and two men wondering which will run faster. The answer is always the rabbit. The fox runs for his dinner, the rabbit for his life.

They are gone, silver grey and orange flash through the trees as I keep going, urging myself faster and faster, the thrill of running for the sake of it running through me. Birds swoop and chatter around me, a pheasant breaking from the ferns as I thunder through, fluttering flash of irisdescent colours and whirring wings.

I can see more light ahead now, the trees starting to thin out, no longer catching at me. I am straight, like an arrow in flight, hurtling towards the edge of the forest. I reach the last trees and burst free…

Into thin air.

The cliff is tall, the rocks grey and jagged as I fall, legs flailing vainly as though I could reverse my passage, run back up to the top of the cliff. But I hit the water with a mighty splash, barrel body sending plumes of white spray to splash against the rocks at the base of the cliff.

And I change.

Silver grey coat and flowing mane shrink, legs flattening and pulling in to my body, my two back legs fusing into a single tail, two flukes. My velvet nose is no longer – instead a beaky shape takes its place, smooth grey flesh forming over my reformed bones.

And I leap from the waves, twisting and turning for the pure joy of it, landing with a splash and diving deep down into the darkening blue, spinning like a barrel as I dive low. A shoal of fish scatter and divide around me, silver flashes in the murky blue. I dance with them, moving my body through the patterns they make, chasing and dividing and shooting through. Then I make for the surface again, my powerful tail propelling me almost straight up so I shoot out, aiming for the stars above, riding the silver path of the moon across the rippling ocean as I head out to sea. I see others of my kind, hear them call to me.

And I am home.

435 Words in Ten Minutes!

Not too bad in terms of word count, though if I’m being picky there’s a bit of repetition and one or two spelling mistakes (but you can’t change it, them’s the rules!)

Okay, so I now need to tag five more bloggers to take part (though you don’t have to if you don’t want to 🙂 – none of this is written in stone). My nominees are:

Louise Allen

Louise Taylor

Nicholas Rossis

Paola Crespi

Sacha Black

And your topic is…. (Don’t look until you’re ready to start writing!)

You went to sleep in your own bed but have woken up somewhere completely different. Where are you, what’s happening and can you figure out how you got there?

Good luck! xx

Be Like Water

I was reminded of this phrase the other day. It is from a quote by the late great Bruce Lee and, like so much of his philosophy, is an idea that can be applied to life outside martial arts. The fuller version of the quote is as follows:

‘Don’t get set into one form, adapt it and build your own and let it grow, be like water. You must be shapeless, formless, like water. Now you put water in the cup, it becomes the cup.’

Personally, I find this idea a great help as I navigate the waters (completely intended metaphor) of being an independent author. The marketplace is so very vast, the voices so many, that we must each find our own pathway through, just as water finds its way through, around, over and under obstacles in its path. Water is soft, yet can wear away the hardest stone. It can join with others to become a torrent, or stay alone as a trickle, yet still it keeps flowing.

As we promote our work and seek connections, so too should we be clear and transparent, just like water. Share honestly of ourselves and be flexible. Keep flowing and moving forward. Don’t stay in one place or become attached to one idea – to do that is to risk becoming stagnant or drying up completely.

There are many water metaphors – a flow of ideas, a torrent of information, drowning in kisses (I like that one). When creating, words like flow or stream are used to describe how it feels when ideas move through us to emerge as words or images or sounds. This is also a flow we aim for when practicing martial arts – that movements come naturally, without effort or conscious thought. Fighting the flow, or trying to make it something it is not, can cause it to stop, as can consciously aiming for the flow. Instead we must become the cup, letting the idea take shape.

It can be difficult at times to do this, because it requires a certain amount of letting go. It requires trust, openness to new ideas, taking the path less travelled. But when it works, and flow becomes effortless, it is worth it.

Be like water.

Birthday

I’ve just realised that this week marks a year since I started blogging.

Things have changed quite a bit in that time. When I started blogging I was hoping to post something once a week, and mostly about writing. Now I try and post two or three times a week, and have expanded my focus to encompass more of my life and who I am.

I also had no followers. Now I have quite a few but, more importantly, I’ve connected with a wonderful group of people who read and comment regularly, which I really enjoy and appreciate. And some of you have even been kind enough to buy a copy of my book! I love to write, and it’s been a real pleasure so far to be able to share my ideas and work with you all.

I’ve also published my first book, Oak and Mist. Part one of a six part series, it’s the culmination of nearly three years’ work. A lot of people contributed to the process, including some generous bloggers out there whose advice and encouragement have meant a great deal.

To celebrate, I thought it might be fun to look back at some of my most popular posts over the last year. And here they are, in no particular order:

Making Salad With Anais,

A Mystery From the Sea

It’s been a wonderful year! Thanks to everyone for visiting, reading, following and commenting 🙂

Into The Blue

I went to the woods the other day.

I love the woods – they have always been a place of magic to me. My grandmother used to take me to the woods near her village to gather snowdrops in Spring, hunt for fairies at Midsummer and take long autumn walks golden with leaves. We visit the woods near our own house quite often, a place to run and hunt for treasure, to find strange stones and pretty leaves as we watch squirrels dance lightfooted, birds rustling overhead. A forest features in my Ambeth stories, home to a gate between worlds, the seasons changing as you pass from one side to another.

The woods we visited are a short drive away. (They are also featured in the header image on this blog). There is a rather good pub on the way where we stopped for lunch, then the road continues through ancient countryside dotted with half timbered cottages, old bridges and small villages, gardens heavy with flowers and fruit trees. When we arrived the place was packed. Or at least, the entrance way was. Cars arriving and leaving, lining the roads, people in wellies and waterproof jackets, kids with sticks, dogs on and off leads, all of them going to the same place we were. However, we were not deterred. We parked, did the obligatory toilet check (as part of a National Trust Estate there is a nice cafe on site), bought ice-creams and then took one of the green-brown paths leading off into the trees. At first there were a few people heading the same way we were, but as we moved deeper into the woods they were gone, leaving us alone amongst the trees and heavenly bluebell scented air.

The bluebells were the real British ones, where the bells hang on one side of the stem only and the scent fills the air with every waft of breeze. Then, to make things even more perfect, we spotted two small deer making their dainty way through the trees. And so we followed, taking the narrow trail dotted with tiny hoof-prints as we went further and deeper into the blue, careful not to tread on the delicate flowers as we walked as quietly as we could, not wanting to frighten the deer away. But they didn’t seem bothered, trotting ahead, stopping to munch on whatever it is they munch on, then, finally, disappearing behind a dense hedge.

If you use a magnifying glass :-) you might be able to see a little deer disappearing into the woods... — If you use a magnifying glass 🙂 you might be able to see a little deer disappearing into the woods…

It was time to go and, as we made our slow way back through the trees we started to see more and more people, hear voices and dogs barking and motors revving. It felt as though we had been somewhere else, and were just now returning to the real world. A world of cars and families and ice creams, of driving home through country lanes as the first spots of rain began to fall.

It was completely magical, and a beautiful way to end the day.

May The Fourth Be With You

I wanted to use a flashy Star Wars image but copyright and all that. So instead, here are my fabulous bubble gum cards :-) — I wanted to use a flashy Star Wars image but copyright and all that. So instead, here are my fabulous bubble gum cards 🙂

Oh yes.

Today is the day when I share with you my deep and abiding love for the original three Star Wars films. (Let us never speak of the other three episodes).

Why today? Well, it’s International Star Wars day and, while I haven’t put my hair in donuts or got my light sabre out (what?), I may sit down and revisit a time long ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

I remember the first Star Wars movie coming out (yes, I am dating myself), and I also remember the magic of seeing it for the first time. My brother and I were instantly hooked. I can recall the huge excitement of being taken to see The Empire Strikes Back in the cinemas – the trailer before the main feature was for Alien and it terrified me. And I remember the absolute fever pitch that came when the third movie was announced – Revenge of the Jedi. This was the original title and oh, how I wish we had bought merchandise that featured it. It was changed quite quickly to Return of the Jedi, as Jedi knights don’t take revenge.

My brother had all the stuff and sometimes, he’d let me play with it too. He even had a Darth Vader head that opened up to reveal compartments in which to keep all his action figures. He had a Millennium Falcon big enough to put your mini Han Solo and Chewbacca inside, plus an X-Wing fighter and countless figurines. He had a light sabre and a whole bunch of other stuff. I think he sometimes wishes he still had them, to be honest (I’m sure he won’t mind me saying that).

I still have my complete collection of Return of The Jedi bubble gum cards. My brother and I spent our pocket money for weeks on end, both of us trying to get the full set, trading with each other until we both got there. I don’t think it’s worth much – you see them quite often on Ebay, but to me it’s a reminder of a time when Luke Skywalker’s blue eyes and all-black Jedi outfit stirred something in pre-teen me, when Han Solo kissing Princess Leia was a pretty big deal.

I also have the DVD’s featuring the first set of changes made by George Lucas, when the magic of the originals was still allowed to shine through. (I refuse, absolutely refuse to entertain the idea of Darth Vader shouting at the end when he stops the Emperor killing Luke). And so I shall sit down today and watch them, the thrill of those opening credits in yellow rolling across the darkness of space one that never fades, the familiar music making me smile.

And I am ridiculously, childishly excited by the prospect of the new Star Wars film. It looks to have captured the feel of the original. So how about my fellow bloggers out there – any Star Wars fans among you?

Happy day, everyone. May the Fourth be with you. xx

The Joy Of Reading

My proof copy of Oak and Mist - each sticky note marks a correction! — My proof copy of Oak and Mist – each sticky note marks a correction!

So here’s something interesting. The paperback version of Oak and Mist is outselling the e-book version by more than two-to-one.

When I published, it was very important to me to have a paperback version of the book, as I personally feel that there is a wonderful permanence to being able to hold a book in your hand. To be able to mark the pages, flip back to bits you want to re-read, get those white creases down the spine that show a book has been read again and again. For this is how I read. I have a bookcase filled with books I love, books I go back to over and over, even though I know how the story ends. I just enjoy being able, for a little while, to step back into a world familiar and strange all at the same time. And I find that when I do, even if it’s a story I’ve read several times, there are still passages that are fresh to me, things I hadn’t noticed the last time around.

A small section of my home library :-) — A small section of my home library 🙂 Those books are stacked two deep.

I had a friend who, once she had read a book, got rid of it. Her feeling was that, once she had read it, she didn’t need to do so again. I can see her point but cannot relate in the slightest. Perhaps it is a skill we need to have as writers, the ability to go back to a story. For that is what we have to do each time we edit. We have to revisit our work and read it with fresh eyes and an open mind. If we’re lucky, we will love what we read and it will be a pleasure to go back over it again and again.

I love the thought that my book is out there in the world, being shelved in bookcases across the globe, read and hopefully re-read. A regional library has also ordered some copies, which is a huge thrill (I love libraries) – this wouldn’t have been possible had I only published as an e-book.

To fellow writers out there, have you found this to be the case for your own work? And what about my fellow readers – which format do you prefer? I do have a Kindle and enjoy the convenience of it, especially when travelling, but it seems the humble paperback is still preferred by many (including me, if I’m honest).

And thank you to everyone who has bought a copy of Oak and Mist, whether digital or paperback – I hope you’re enjoying the read xx

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