#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…

Legacy

1. Money or property bequeathed to another by will.

2. Something handed down from an ancestor or a predecessor or from the past

Possibly one of the reason’s I have been feeling wobbly lately is that I have just paid for a new audio visual system to be installed at church.

It’s not the sudden large withdrawal of funds from my savings account that have made my steps falter but the fact that this gift is my way of expressing Andrew’s legacy for the church he loved.

Andrew always believed that the church shouldn’t have to put up with second best and to that end he liked to give gifts of practical equipment rather than money. That way he knew that his hard earned cash was being spent on something he considered essential rather than added to a communal pot and frittered away on something he deemed less important!

Over the years we have added things to the media desk, usually unseen by most of the congregation but that was the way Andrew liked to do things, the least fuss the better.

Updating the media provision has been a long process, as with anything in the Church of England there are several hoops to be jumped through especially with regards to positioning a projector in an old building.

I first muted the idea in early 2011 and like so many steps along this journey of grief my thoughts and feelings have progressed through a range of emotions along the way.

I am a very different person to Andrew, I probably like to make too much of a show of things and put on a performance but as time has slowly passed I am just happy that the work is finally completed. 

There have been a few kind comments at my generosity and there has been some positive feedback from those who have noticed an improvement in sound and vision.

Whereas once I would have been stamping my feet demanding recognition, inwardly at least, now this is enough.

For a while I struggled with the idea of adding a plaque to the desk to show its pedigree. But the church doesn’t need another brass plate to be polished with Andrew’s name on. He would have hated the idea anyway.

Instead I am just going to make a sign and laminate it...

“Aborigines and jet engines”

One of Andrew Nicholson’s favourite sayings,

It means

Please don’t touch what you don’t understand!

Over time the sign may get lost but by then the fancy state of the art equipment will most likely be out of date and need replacing once again.

Andrew’s true legacy is so much more than a few new boxes of tricks and tidied cable (actually I am convinced we need to leave a few bits of straggly tangled wire lying around just for good measure!)

Meanwhile my mum has just finished her own family heirloom. A patchwork quilt we started over thirty years ago.

It has been a labour of love stitched by my mum, my grandad (who died over 20 years ago) and me. Each piece of fabric tells a story. Scraps left over from a skirt, a top, that pair of shorts I made when I was 16 that one day I will get back into – hahaha.

Most people will admire it, in the same way the new media desk will receive oohs and ahhs but the real legacy is something far more personal. 

It is all about creating something new from the love and memories left behind, a reminder for those of us involved that someone very special had a part to play in our lives and they will never be forgotten, while at the same time still moving forward.

#MondayMixer "Arabella and the Refulgent Fandangle Incident"

The trouble with writing flash fiction is once you start you get caught up in a whirl of words and other lands your imagination craves more. And it makes for a great distraction when you really should be tidying up!

So when Jeff Hollar (@Klingorengi) challenged me with this week's #MondayMixer I had to at least take a peek at the prompts.

I actually knew what some of them meant for a change which was a great start and including a word like "fandangle" into the mix was inspired, my story could take any direction. As it was I wrote something funny, well at least I hope it makes you smile :-) 

It's a bit crazy but then I have used ALL NINE prompt words, usually a recipe for disaster. At first I fitted them into a story of less than 100 words, what I found hard this week was stretching them out for the required 150.

So sit back and enjoy the tale of...

Arabella and the Refulgent Fandangle Incident!

Arabella stood defiantly, hands on hips.

She explained clearly that there was no way little Freddie was going to beguile her with his refulgent fandangle, however sparkly he claimed it was! He was well known for being heavy handed with the glitter. 

She admitted she had taken matters into her own delicate little hands and given him a wallop around the head with her threadbare comfort blanket. 

She declared that her nursemaid had often forewarned her with ominous portent of young swain like him with his country ways and unbecoming natter.  She was not as craven as she appeared in her frilly white dress.

Arabella, aged 4, was removed from Sunnydale Nursery later that day, in the circumstances it was thought to be for the best.

Freddie, aged 3 and three quarters, was overjoyed to see his mum that afternoon and she was absolutely delighted with his handmade glittering triangle.

 
 

Christmas decoration made by one of my boys at nursery a long time ago - our very own "refulgent fandangle"!

The Wisdom of Snoopy!

I should be writing, well I am writing this now but I should be concentrating on writing my book and not writing another blog post.

I spend far too much time procrastinating especially on Facebook and Twitter, it seems to be a common trait among us writers, but look I am actually calling myself a WRITER these days – hahahahaha – how far I have come!

Today I found this snoopy cartoon on Facebook.

Whereas Snoopy has given up and crumpled up his writing I haven’t. Snoopy’s resignation has spurred me on to continue.

 

I want my story to be told and the best person to write it is ME!

A few years ago I bought a card which said 

“DON’T LET SOMEONE ELSE WRITE YOUR STORY”

Open it up and it reads

“THEY’D MAKE IT TOO SMALL”

I can’t tell you now whether I bought it before or after Andrew died but it is another reminder to WRITE and KEEP WRITING!

This evening I visited a friend who has just acquired a pile of fabulous fabric samples, usually I'd drool and think about what I could do with them.

"We need some new projects."  I declared.

"I'd like to cover the sofa." said my friend.

I thought long and hard about what I would really, really LIKE to do.

Suddenly the thought occurred to me, "I want to write my book!"

I hope to have the first draft finished before the summer holidays.

My aim is to finish chapters 3 and 4 this week then I’ll return to the blog... for a progress report, maybe a bit of flash fiction and some procrastination - but only a little bit!

#MondayMixer - with no title - any suggestions?

It's been a tough few days but I've been making some headway today with the household disaster zone, so as a reward for clearing out the kitchen cupboards I have written a story.

I've not done Jeff's Monday Mixer for a while, the words are always challenging and I may not always use them in the correct context, but it felt good to stretch my imagination. Especially once I'd managed to edit my story to the required 150 words!
This week's words were

Locations:  1) repository        2) arena         3) taiga

Things:       1) portmanteau    2) rusk           3) concertina

Adjectives: 1) voluble             2) effulgent    3) calumnious

You only have to use one from each list but where's the fun in that? The only one I struggled to fit in at all was taiga. 

It would be calumnious to say I was a precocious child but I admit being a voluble toddler.

I tried unsuccessfully to entertain my baby sister, all I got was a soggy rusk offered from her podgy fingers. Then I discovered a much more appreciative audience for my theatrics - my grandparents. 

In return they showed me the wonderful contents of the portmanteau that dominated the front room. It was a repository for their theatre memorabilia. Brittle paper engraved with their stage names and sepia photos of a stunning couple, him in a top hat and her in feathers.

Grandfather could still play his concertina with consummate skill despite his arthritis. 

Meanwhile Grandmother was as ever an effulgent performer. Taking me under her wing she taught me her dance steps.

Their front room became the arena where I made my debut. From that moment applause become my drug of choice.

This week's story has no title, if you have any suggestions why not leave a comment...