Category Archives: Writing

Write a blog post? Are you Crazy?

I don’t have time to write a blog post! Have you seen the amount of laundry I have to do, the dirty windows I have to clean, the dishwasher that needs emptying, the floor to be washed? Have you seen the sink full of dishes, the bins that need emptying and then being brought back in?

I sure as heck won’t be writing this weekend, I can tell you. What, get up early and write? While the dawn is distant and the mist is heavy? Madness I tell you!

And it is not that I will be writing. Instead I will be letting the damn story out of my brain to fly free, to flutter wings it is banging inside my head, and to let it greet the air with the freedom I can’t give it yet.

Me? Write? Madness!

Enter New Term Here.

Term time is about to start here in UCD. The campus is already very busy, with the many graduations we have going on as well. Car parking is a nightmare, but thankfully I’m a public transport girl, so I’m relatively unaffected.

I’ve seen this guy…

I always say I won’t write during this semester, or during September, but what happens is that the stories decide now is the perfect  time to arrive, and I find my head is buzzing with ideas and stories and scenes and all the rest. I am seriously considering getting up at 5.30am to do this, but I don’t think I would last. My good humour certainly wouldn’t.

And finally, I am 134 pages into White Feathers. Susan Lanigan makes all of us look like hacks. Yes, sorry she does.

100 Days without Sugar – 54 Exciting Days to Go!

New newers be doing something here; Our heroine had successfully lost over 60 lbs, but has slowly gained back a stone. Shocked at the shocking state of her, she resolves to do without sugar for 100 days.

And that you all should hear about it, you random chance favoring people.

Now read on…

Thursday 26 June 2014: I’ve been sick one way or another for most of this week. A flu-like stomach bug hit me on Sunday and I have only really recovered since yesterday. And when I say recovered, I mean it has now become a wet-nosed cold.

Like this fella.

I managed to keep the swims up bar this morning, as I can feel the cold moving to my chest and just didn’t need to add to that. But I’m here, I’m alive, all is well.

Speaking of all is well, can I direct you to the marvellous news? Re Susan Lanigan, the brilliant and marvellous and brave Susan? You can order it on Amazon, you know. Gwan gwan gwan, do. Be your best friend!


Wednesday Write In #90

The prompts are; jungle  ::  matchbox  ::  sparrow  ::  hog  ::  mull

The matchbox room was a comedown after the jungle. She stood next to her luggage and stared at the tiny room.

“It is a bit small, I grant you,” said the cockney landlord behind her, “but I think you’ll find it will grow on you.”

Like mildew, she thought. “It’s fine, thank you. I hope you received the deposit on time?” She turned to look at his hog-like face, that managed to glisten with sweat in the cold room.

“I did, indeed. I trust that the rent will be forthcoming shortly?”

“Yes, on the fifth, as arranged.”

“Excellent. Then I will leave you to your new abode,” he said, giving one last greasy smile, and then finally shutting the door behind him.

She sighed as she looked around her. The room was big enough for a sparrow, really, nothing more. Her large trunks looked ridiculous bundled up against the wall, but she she had no idea things would be like this.  It had seemed the norm when she had taken the steamer back to London. She would have to prioritise what to unpack, use only what she needed. She dreaded what the bathroom must be like. None of that mattered, anyway.

She sat down on the bed and mulled it over. He had been gone since January, that was four months now. She had no intention of letting him remove himself from her life without explanation, without some idea of what was going on. That was unacceptable. She was going to find out what had happened to him. And then she was going to go home, back to her old life and her own country.

Home. She thought with misery of the starlings and birds that fluttered on the veranda at home, the heat and the light so breathtaking and familiar at the same time. She wanted to go back there so much. But first she had a job to do. Find him. And then go home. Even if it was over his dead body.