Going round in circles but creating something new...

I first started re-ravelling in November 2011, after attending a workshop lead by author Stephanie Butland.

It was the beginning of my second year of being a widow. I wanted to mark it be putting the pieces of my life back together having had a year of unravelling and coming undone.

I wanted to write happy stories and take my writing in new directions.

Fast forward 13 years and I've just returned from a writing retreat led by Stephanie Butland.

I have published my first book, my memoir In Search of Lost Glitter and I'm now working on my second book. It will be a collection of flash fiction with the theme of love in all its many forms.

So why am I back here today, seemingly going round in circles? It's a bit of a courtesy really, a change of address notification, just so you know where to find me now.

Times have changed and I have my own website, a place to gather all my past thoughts and add some new ones.

Do come and find me at  www.sarahnicholsonwrites.com

There's a link to buy my book and I'll share news of how book 2 is progressing,

Thanks for reading my re-ravelling words - search for me as @reravelling on Instagram and Threads (current social media trends). It's a name that makes me smile.

Time to say goodbye

This morning I had someone round to look at the house. It's too early to tell if they will be my eventual buyers, it's a huge decision to make and somethng I wouldn't want anyone to get wrong. Time will tell and once more I can do nothing but WAIT!

Then I spent the afternoon watching Back to the Future 2 with youngest son, a great thing to do on a wet Saturday afternoon.

Because it is a film I have seen countless times I decided to "do" something constructive while half watching.

It was perhaps an unlikely choice of occupation but I decided to read through the sympathy cards sent to me when Andrew died.

There are two shoe boxes full, not all sympathy ones, some from the first Christmas and birthdays without him.

I have read the tender words bequethed to me and been filled with an overwhelming sense of love that people care so deeply but without exception I have thrown each one away.

It is time to move on, the kind words will live on in my heart.

Unlike Marty McFly in Back to the Futiure I don't have a time machine, I have no way back to the past to fix things there.

But I can change the future.

And on that note I have decided this will be my final re-ravelling blog post.

For a while it has lost direction and focus as have I.

I have unravelled, re-ravelled as best as I can but now it it time for the next stage of my journey and I have set up a new blog called in search of lost glitter...

I explain my title in the very first post but otherwise it will be a blog of just stories and poems, or at least that is my intention.

I hope you will follow me there, re-ravelling has been fun but it's time to move on continuing my search for sparkle and lost glitter that I began here...

A new Twitter writing dare...

Oh dear I've found some new writing challenges on Twitter from @storybandit, including this one 

We dare you to write a 199-word story that includes the following words: scream toddler metallic glazed failure #writingdare

well obviously now I am back in a writing mood I can't resist, so here's what I came up with. It didn't quite go the way I thought it would but it was interesting to write ...

There was a time she would have screamed in outrage, thrown herself on the floor and had a full toddler tantrum fit.

But now the medication gave her face a glazed countenance. 

She was revered as one of the success stories here at Sunny Brooke. An oh so cheery establishment where problems were dismissed and swept away by the popping of pills that kept the residents numb.

Her eyes unfocussed and the world passed by. It was easier that way.

Only she’d been getting restless for a little while, surreptitiously hiding the metallic tasting tablets in the pot plant behind where she sat for dinner.

With fascination she monitored her own little science experiment. For weeks the plant showed little ill effect.  However there was a renewed spark growing within her, a sense of something stirring. 

Then one day she discovered a dead leaf lying like crumpled brown paper by her chair. Stooping she bent down to retrieve it, turning it casually to dust between her quivering fingers.

It was time once again to embrace the idea of being a failure. It was time to see if she could still scream and put a voice to her growing disenchantment.

#VisDare - Precarious

Recently I’ve been writing Twitter poems, mostly inspired by some excellent poetry prompts. A mere 140 characters – give or take – I’ve found there are many ways to stretch your word limit when a single tweet is not quite enough!

However today I have returned to a more substantial writing prompt and I have up to 150 words to play with thanks to Angela Goff’s surreal #visdare picture prompt with the optional title Precarious…

When my world turned upside down I felt as if the “game” was being played without me.

It continued and I watched as if in a dream unsure of what my “moves” should be.

I no longer knew the rules but as time passed I realised I could make up my own this side.

Forwards, backwards, sideways, jumping - I concocted my own intricate dance steps.

But there is no one to watch, no challenge playing on my own, I have to find my way home.

This means taking a leap of faith, over the edge, into the abyss, hoping gravity will pull my back to earth and return my feet to solid ground.

Now here I stand finally ready to jump.

Unclenching my fingers from all I hold onto here in my upside down world, I let go.

I tumble, wondering what I will meet on the other side!

I don’t know if my words make any sense but I throw them out there hoping they reach someone who understands or someone who needs to hear them.

For me “letting go” always means giving everything back to God.

Once again on my own I have constructed a tangled knotted mess. It is such a jumble I’m not sure any more what I was trying to create in the first place.

But once more I drag the tattered unravelled and reravelled remnants to the cross and offer a heartfelt apology knowing that God will graciously smooth out each tangled thread. He will give me back what I need piece by piece, if I let Him and don’t snatch everything back!

It’s precarious standing on the edge when you know that’s the only way down but this morning I found this on Twitter…

“Sometimes you have to jump first,

and build your wings on the way down”

I guess that’s a good description of faith.

God’s never really let me down; I think it might just be time to trust Him once more…

Who do you see when you look at me?

At the weekend I went to a school reunion – it’s been 30 years since we did our O levels (as they were in those days) and went our separate ways.

Of course some people never wandered far and most of us have one or two close friends we have tried to keep in contact with over the years.

The advent of Facebook has been a great way to keep in touch with a larger contingent and it was through Facebook that most of this reunion got organised.

Some of us last met at our 20 year reunion and so much seems to have happened since then, especially on a personal level for me…

…and yet we are all still very much the same people as we were all those years ago at school.

Each of us finds comfort in the groups we hung around with at school. Old cliques reform very quickly as we giggle and reminisce. There is nothing better than catching up with old friends who you shared an important part of your life with.

There are some people I don’t ever remember talking to at school so I struggle to think of what to say, I can’t recollect their names or faces, I smile politely instead. 

Talking to boys is especially a problem both then and now, I get tongue tied, tripping over my words. I don’t suppose I’ll ever really change.

And then I blurt out that my husband died and quickly wish I hadn’t but I kind of need people to know, it’s the biggest thing that has happened to me in the last ten years, it’s not pleasant to talk about and it kills the conversation. The conventional “I’m sorry” seems such a trivial thing to people say in return.

Then I over compensate, get a little louder and finally end up retreating to the dance floor lost in the 80s music – no I haven’t changed a bit since school.

However I’m told more than once I look happy and the truth is I really am.

The reunion isn’t totally as I expect it to be but nothing ever is.

I’ve worked out that as a would be writer and teller of stories I make so much up, whole conversations go on in my head that will never take place in real life because no one else knows the script except me!

Suddenly the music stops, the lights come back on and the night is over far too quickly. We agree we should meet more often, some will, some won’t. I wish I lived nearer sometimes and could join in the fun.

At the end I wonder what people think of me? What they thought of me all those years ago and if they think I’ve changed at all?

The next day photos appear on Facebook – happy smiling faces and there are one or two of me.

I like what I see very much and as my friends “like” my picture too I feel loved and know that’s all that matters in the end.

Do you know where you’re going to…?

When I went to the tip a few weeks ago with Andrew’s records suddenly I heard this song on the radio

I cried my eyes out saddened by the thought I was letting something go that was so precious to us both but also aware I have to let go to move forward.

But I don’t know where I am going anymore. At the moment I feel as if I am making such a mess of everything on my own and today once more for no apparent reason I am in floods of tears.

I miss Andrew so much and wish he would just walk through the front door with his cheery “honey I’m home” said in jest, a take-off of American sitcoms.

I wish he would look at the accumulated mess and resolve to sort it out together. Because together we could do this

Cue another Diana Ross song 

On my own I fill my days up with nonsense but every now and again a bitterly cold wind blows away the fairydust and I can see what’s underneath, just me, lost, alone and in a muddle.

I push on each and every door I come across hoping one will open, but when one gives I fall flat on my face and it hurts!

I reach for bits of glitter but however far I stretch it soon becomes clear they are merely pinpricks of light in the night sky beyond my grasp.

I used to be able to write myself happy, somehow turn the sad thoughts around, today I think I’ve lost the knack.

But every day some small things do make me laugh out loud and I am using them as stepping stones to cross this river of tears.

I have no idea where they will lead me, or if they will have me spinning in circles, but smiles and laughter are always good.

And one thing always leads to another like a "chain reaction"...

 

... now that's a song that will always make me laugh and cry... but that's another story!

An Angel's Tears (a story)

((A story because so often I make mistakes and say things I shouldn’t say … and sometimes there’s no way to take them back and edit them to make them sound better, or explain what I really meant.

And because this picture from Facebook made a good writing prompt!))

My guardian angel hangs her head in shame. She despairs of me and weeps silent precious tears. 

Meanwhile I look down at the ground shuffling dead leaves at my feet. 

It is always autumn when I am brought here, with a chill in the air, a foreboding sense of imminent winter bringing death and decay.

I shudder, aware that once again I have mucked up.

In my own mind on a grand scale and merely saying “I’m sorry!” doesn’t begin to cover it.

I strongly believe in the power and magic of words yet I misinterpret the wisdom of others and in return speak the cruellest words to the kindest of people seemingly without a second thought.

“Do I get another go? “ I ask tentatively, longing to make amends.

I’ve lost track of the number of chances I’ve used up but while my angel still weeps over me I know all is not lost.

As she lifts her head I look deeply into her eyes filled with compassion and love.

She nods smiling weakly. Leaning forward I catch a few perfect teardrops as they fall.

My chance of redemption captured in their sorrow.

I can try again, somewhere new, a different place and perhaps this time no one will get hurt. I will keep my sharp words hidden and sprinkle all my comments with love.

Perhaps next time I won’t get hurt – although that might be one wish too much to ask for.

Swallowing my tears I start again.

(250 words )