Month: November 2022
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The joys of cat-speak
Our cat is very talkative, as Bengals seem to be. She has a variety of vocalisations, and she’s perfected the art of disdain as well. The body language of a cat with her back turned to you is pretty obvious. But what might a deliberate and prolonged yawn actually mean? It may, of course, be…
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Soft and frosty morning
Everything outside today, high in these North Pennine fellsides, is still. The frost, the real first we’ve seen this season, is a harbinger of harsher weather ahead, but just now it’s rather exquisite. Even the commonplace looks different in its white morning gauze. I lowered my eyes from the hills and cast them over the…
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Joys and trials of battery life
My joys lately have been constrained by a difficulty in keeping my laptop charged, which is in fact a problem entirely of my own making: I inadvertently left the charger plug across the border! I have, however, been working in good cheer on things like final clearance of the loft, so that all four rooms…
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The joy of 50 words . . .
I’ve got so much work to do today, all on my keyboard. I’m behind in most of my writing tasks. But I was given a fillip of joy yesterday evening, and early this morning I think I’ve managed to finesse my 500 word short story with the grace of an additional 50. The task was…
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Autumn wood
We ventured forth, just after 3pm, to walk in the woods, along from the end of the village, over the manicured golf club lawn and penetrating deep among the moss-covered trunks by the path littered with fallen leaves. The damp colours seemed to shimmer in the last light of the day. There’s a little circuit…
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A quiet retreat . . .
When we were fortunate to acquire the little bolt-hole across the border, we didn’t realise quite what a solace it would be. The weight of responsibility somehow seems more pressing when we’re home, but here across the open-plan living, dining and kitchen space it’s a temporary break from all that. Writing duties carry through, however,…
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Resilience: the gift that keeps giving . . .
I don’t know how a parent teaches resilience to their children, except by some sort of example. We’re pretty sure that ours have seen enough situations where we’re down, struggling, and have somehow managed to get back up on our feet and try again. Let’s say rather that we’ve certainly felt we’ve had our share…
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The accumulated joy of small steps . . .
We were just chatting this morning, waking up with our daily word games, about the joys of a daily activity, whether that little step is poetic, journal, memoir, or something more physical like a small knitted square or another sorting exercise. One of us has been a fan of Brian Bilston‘s daily poems for some…
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Harry Hymer in the queue for joy
We’ve not had Harry Hymer out on the road for over a year now. But yesterday we booked him in for his MOT, and by mid-December he should be road-worthy again. That will be timely, since he may be pressed into accommodation service during the big move. In any event, there’s a lot of tidying,…
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The strangely compelling world of writing competitions
I participated in an annual competition, at the end of my first year in our local writing group. I entered a piece in every one of the 10 categories proffered by the National Association of Writers and Groups. I worked hard to hone each piece, to adhere to the rules, and to submit my entries…
Roads to Joy 