Mummy Knows Best

June 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

I wrote the last in a state of oblivious intensity, which is a common condition my writing invokes in me. Only, to put it mildly, it was a little chilly. Considering I was in the process of getting dressed when the muse descended and there was a southerly blowing, I found myself as I logged off to be shivering slightly and my fingers somewhat numb. Hence the snivels that visited this week, perhaps not helped by the fact that my wee man also has a cold, (though I would request his stamina any day). He has always insisted on running about with barely a stitch on, even in the depths of winter. Many a tantrum has raged from this. As you can imagine, Mummy knows best. I just wish Mummy were able to tell me to get dressed when I’m half-naked and typing away in oblivion.

Till next week, when the nose no longer drips and the sun shines again, I bid you adieu.

The Sweetness of Being – Deaf Girl

June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment

Tui in Kowhai Tree

She listens like a bird,
head cocked to catch the slightest nuance of breath
formed by lips of honeycombed sentences
where she is lost therein
saturated in syrup-like silence.
She doesn’t hear the liquid bell of the Tui
but watches the bob of its boa scarf feathers
and turns to me smiling.
She drinks of the sweetness of being.

The Noise of Silence

June 16, 2012 § 1 Comment

A thought for today…

The noise of silence
Deafens me with purpose
I am immersed in its green promise
Of things to come

…because today I wish to thank David Eric Cummins from The Noise of Silence for nominating The Muses Palette for the Reader Appreciation Award. I enjoy the honesty of his poetry. Two of my favourites are: and I am still considering my list of favourite blogs to nominate, but in the meantime I will say it is an honour to be read by others. In gratitude till next time…

The Final Keystroke

June 7, 2012 § 2 Comments

I am finished.

Last night I edited my last word on my Young Adult novel, ‘The Heart is an Oasis’.

The sound of the final keystroke fell into silence and I paused, as if waiting for a sparkle of fairy dust to lift me with elation or a shout of jubilation to rise to my lips. Instead there was stillness. Years of scribbling in office lunch hours or while pushing my toddler on a swing. Years of inspiration and ‘what the #@!? am I doing’ despondency…all for this? While we writers wrote, alone cramming in what words we could, others sipped chardonnay with friends or watched the latest movies, shopped, strolled, partied…and slept.  We riveted ourselves to the keyboard and screen, driving ourselves as if to prove we exist, like we don’t unless there are words, words, words…words to parade, to exhibit, to express the deep inner workings of our souls, our minds, ourselves. We are what we write.

I waited in silence, clouds scudding in a south-west wind tossing the leaves of tree ferns against the sky and the roaring rustle of needled leaves high in the pine…waiting. For what? Some inner satisfaction, a glow of triumph? The bulb burned its way into the night and murmurs from my sleeping boy reached across the hall. Waiting…he is what I’m waiting for. And for you. All of you. Waiting for validation, vindication, reparation. Waiting to know if those many hours are collated into a wondrous whole, a world in which I can touch your lives as others once touched mine. I have a story to tell.

Today I printed it.

I am made anew…albeit overtired and anxious that I have not built a veritable castle out of a sand hill. Time will inform…or rather the critical eyes of my readers. To whit I now go to hand my fragile creation to a handful of trusted reviewers.

Wish me well.

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