April 5 – A brief encounter with space and time

To those of you following along at home, I must apologise for my absence.  Clearly, I am not yet the organised blogger that I hope one day to be.  That being said, I’ve returned home tonight (to 8 days’ worth of laundry X 2 people, closed supermarkets, and blessedly good internet) with a brain conundrum.

I’ve flown many times – both internationally and domestically – I understand the concept, but it always strikes me as a little odd; like some weird present day TARDIS; you step into an aluminium capsule that transports you both chronologically and spatially, while smelling of farts the entire time.

March 24 – On Beauty

“Where’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to?”

Her mind flitted instantly to Paris.  That’s on everyone’s most beautiful cities list, right?  But not hers.  Much as she loved the city, suddenly there was an image in her head that nowhere on earth could compete with.

A crisp, white blanket of fresh snow, soft as powder.  Having been raised in the Southern Hemisphere, she couldn’t help but touch it.

Steam rising from the ground, smearing white across the perfect, late morning sunrise.  Horses, prancing across the fresh field, frisky in the morning light.

“Paris,” she lied, keeping Iceland safe.

March 23 – The Countdown

It has more than begun – it’s actually in its latter stages.  The stage where you watch every hour tick over at work, every lunch break is a blessing, the end of the day a small miracle.

We are going on holiday!

The flights and car are booked, the route and hotels picked, and although we haven’t packed yet, it’s a small price to pay for the fun we are going to have.

I’m dreaming of carefree sunsets; tree lined, winding roads; long breakfasts and a beer with lunch.

And I only have four nights more dreaming before it is reality.

March 22 – The Observatory; Part 2

The floor had never creaked so much as he crept towards the door.  Although he had been working in the building for a few weeks now, and was starting to learn its sounds and eccentricities, it felt as though the floor, the very fabric of the building, were trying to thwart his efforts to get to it.

Someone will hear…… someone must hear him….

The rational part of his brain didn’t know why his heart had begun to race, his palms to sweat; surely there could be nothing untoward, or dangerous behind it?  Surely someone would have mentioned something?

No.

March 10 – The Observatory

The Observatory had operated for over one hundred and fifty years before Owen found himself working there.

Straight out of school and vaguely interested in astronomy, the work was quiet enough that it required little autonomous thought; just busy enough to keep him occupied.

He had been working for a few weeks when he discovered the door.

It was firmly shut and locked, and looked older than the recently renovated interior of the building.  No-one else seemed perturbed by its appearance – they walked straight past without a glance.

So he found himself working late one night, walking towards the door.

January 10 – A night off

I’m not blogging tonight.  An evil Pad Thai has settled over my evening like a dense ocean fog – impossible to get rid of, and just as stinky.

It’s altogether a good evening to be struck down though, the rain is pouring down outside and the wind is whipping up the leaves of our Not-a-palm-tree plant.  Poor plant, it’s name completely unknown, it gets next to no attention from us and either too much or too little sun and water depending on whatever species of plant it turns out to be.

Nope, not blogging, but retiring to the sanctity of sleep.

January 7 – A Lesson

Lessons learned today:

Don’t eat hard peaches.

It’s hard though, isn’t it?  The smell, the promise of the soft, yielding flesh, the temptation of the skin – so smooth against your lips and teeth….  The sensation of sweet, sticky juice, dribbling from your chin, and sliding down your arms to pool in the creases of your elbows…

They smell of summer; they are warm at picnics from sitting in the sun, they do not last, these summer fruits, harbingers of joy and ice cream.

But be warned, for if the delicious peach is not ripe, you proceed at your tummy’s peril.

January 4 – An Interesting Question

Do you write for yourself?  Or for others?

Mostly, I am writing for myself.  Consistency as always been an issue for me.  Committing to this will prove difficult, but I am determined – one hundred words a day.

The small number is to trick my mind into thinking that I don’t have to do much each day, but more than that – it is to learn to curb wanderings, to edit effectively, and hopefully, keep you all interested with a range of topics, short stories, musings – anything.

So; welcome, thank you, read, criticise, enjoy.

The answer is that I write for me.

January 3 – An obsession

Are you a reader?

Do you know what it means to be consumed, utterly consumed by a book?

Have you ever felt that desire burning square in your chest, to know what happens next?  The loss of some of your closets friends when you snap the pages shut?  That hollow feeling inside when you come to the end of the book, and realise that you can never know any more of their story – what comes next, who loves, lives, or dies?

Then you understand why I am re-reading Harry Potter for the eightieth time early on a Saturday morning.

Shhhhh!!

January 1 – An Introduction

You need to start writing, she said. That’s when you become a writer. If you are writing, you are a writer.

A hundred words a day – that’s all it takes.
So here it goes – my New Year’s resolution to write a mere hundred words a day, every day, for the next year.

Importantly – it must be no more, no less than one hundred. And this is where the fun begins.

Consistency, conciseness, readability and relevance are my goals, and hopefully not without humour.

Wish me luck, follow, encourage and join me as I embark on one hundred words a day.