Several years ago, my good friend Bruce told me that I was finally going to get to meet her mother. She was dropping by to pick up some crystals Bruce had bought for her. In case you’re wondering, I did ask Bruce if, by any chance, she had been named after a family member and she said “Yes. I have an aunt called Bruce.” Anyway – I digress. Bruce had already told me that her mum was a little ‘odd.’ She was, apparently, a psychic and had no ‘filters.’ She said whatever came into her mind and, if you didn’t like it… well, tough noogies. Being duly warned, I put Bruce’s mum out of my mind as we got on with our visit.
AND THEN, THE DOORBELL RANG.
Bruce’s mum walked in; her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large. Without even being introduced, she stared at me and said “Why aren’t you famous?”
Me, all flustered and confused; “I, I, I don’t know!”
Bruce’s mum, with a look of disappointment and a hint of disgust; “Well, you’re supposed to be.”
And that was the end of that. Bruce’s mum grabbed her crystals and left. To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement, but that wasn’t the weirdest thing about this confrontation. I felt embarrassed.
Embarrassed by the outburst of a crazy woman? NO. Embarrassed at myself? YES. I felt like I had been exposed. Exposed like Clark Kent would have been if the geeky glasses were ripped off and the cape waved in front of his face. “You are Superman! SUPERMAN, you idiot! What the hell are you doing, pretending to be a mild-mannered reporter?!”
You, with bated breath; “Go on! Go on! What happened next?”
NOTHING. Nothing happened. I stuffed this milestone revelation into the back of my memory, polished my geeky glasses and carried on pretending to be a mild-mannered reporter.
What happens when you keep acting a part you were never meant to play? Slowly, the threads start to unravel and you scramble to hold it all together. But it never works. In the end too many threads fray and you fall through the hole in the net you so carefully crafted.
For me, the net finally broke a year ago; almost to the day. It’s OK… it was never really MY net anyway.
Meanwhile, in an ancient box covered with spiders’ webs, there is a shiny suit and a cape that need to be dusted off.
Bruce’s mum would have been proud.
Reading other writers’ poems, I often find their creativity sparks something in me, as well. Here’s what I unearthed this morning!
Note: OK, so having seen my lovely, foofy, unreadable font on the page (we won’t do that again, will we?), here it is in good old readable font.
Trying on different lives to see what fit
I found my own skeleton buried deep
beneath a mound of costumes.
Crying, softly, as I remembered who I was;
And lifting my bones gently from their early grave,
I washed them clean and clothed them in myself.
Great choice of words to get the little grey cells in my brain working! 😀 Thanks, Colleen! ♥
Everybody in the REAL WORLD knows that the answer to ‘the meaning of life’ is NOT really ’42.’
One of the only comforting things about being known as a fruitloop is that I can TELL you this stupendous nugget of truth without any chance of my revelation backfiring on me.
You’ll read it, and chuckle, and mentally pat me on the head, saying “Aah! That’s alright. It’s just Wendy!” (Pat, pat, pat).
JUST AS THE DRAGONS KNEW YOU WOULD.
It’s rather freeing to be able to speak the truth, blatantly, when nobody’s really paying you any attention. That being said, I DO find it alarming that many of the lovely, precious people who read my scribblings are TOTALLY missing the point I’m attempting to share.
Simply put: LIFE = MAGIC = DRAGONS.
It couldn’t get any clearer.
Dragons existed many eons before the Universes did, and they will continue to exist long after the Universes have gone.
I gaze into the mirror, and there stands Jamnog Flax with THAT smirk on his lavender face saying “Sure we do! You just keep telling them that.”
Then he winks cheekily at me, and glitters away into thin air.
Or however thin air can be, seeing as it’s teeming with Dragons.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,”I sigh. “Send the jester to show them the way and they will all laugh and flock in the opposite direction.”
Jamnog’s grinning face reappears for a second; “Flockin’ idiots!” he winks.
Never a truer word spoken by a jester.
Seek not for meaning
In the vastness of the sky
Barren worlds of ice and fire,
For no magic thrives
Where the Dragons have not trod.
When I see beauty,
Just the sight
Makes my stomach ache
Like a twisting knife.
Tears spring to my eyes
And my heart races,
Trying to save the vision
For sadder days.
If I love you,
You are pure beauty to me
I feel this way when I see your face.
This year, especially, I begrudge the start of Autumn. After breaking my hip 4 weeks ago, I felt as if I was forced to merely observe the second half of summer through shaded glass, from a hospital bed. So, it is with a certain sense of sadness that I step outside and feel the changes in the air. Soon, the violent winds will come and rip the leaves from the trees. Soon, the first snow will be upon us, though the last one feels too recent.
My dreams and plans will NOT be derailed; I shall not long allow this grieving, but, meanwhile, I cry for summer and write poems about its passing. Judging by e.e.cummings’ quote, he felt the same as I do. 😉
Two poems for you:
I will not apologize for loving summer,
For reveling in the warmth of the sun,
For worshipping the myriad greens of life and growth.
But, here comes Fall, once again,
The cold and blustering thief of my happiness.
It strips away the heat, and the flowers,
And the leaves with such a force
That I cannot call it fall or autumn…
Thief of Summer –
I name you ‘Snatch.’
… wendy anne darling 2016
Flowers and I stood,
Fearless in the face of Death…
Prior to the Fall.
…wendy anne darling, 2016
I wonder how many dusty and forgotten worlds there are out there? Thanks for this thought provoking post, Jo Robinson! It gave me a lot to think about, and more, besides!
Back in my teens, I spent some time reading Harlequin romances. After about the fifth one, I was justifiably bored by the repetition. Kind of ruined romances for me and I have never read them since. 😂
I DO love the idea, though, of continuing to build and expand a world you have created! It’s built, it’s right there, and ready for some evolution. Doesn’t even need to be the same time period. Maybe you could jump a couple of hundred years and have a story in which new characters are directly or indirectly influenced by the historical actions of your original characters.
I smell smoke! Ooh! I think my brain’s on fire! LOL.
There is no harm in sticking with a good thing. Once you’ve written and published your book, that doesn’t mean that you have to forget the people who live in it forever, and move on to something totally brand new and original. You can write about them again. Maybe just as background for totally new people, just living in the same town maybe. You could write a whole series of books that stand totally alone, with totally different characters but with similar themes. Just not too similar though. Think Raiders of the Lost Ark, Dan Brown, or Lara Croft series kind of similar – similar, but still very different.
One memorable occasion I read and loved a book by a certain author, so I promptly bought another two by him. They weren’t listed as a series, and even though I’m very partial to the familiarity of an author’s voice coming…
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