Aceos – what?

A friend suggested I did some.

“What about aceos?” she said.

“Um…”

“They are so cute, and they can sell well.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll look into it.”

What I actually meant was – I have no idea what you are talking about.

So I came home and hit Google. ACEOs are artist trading cards either as original drawings and paintings or limited edition prints. Just Google them and have a look at the images. There are masses some are good, some not, some are abstract, others photographic. The versatility is huge. But there are rules…

They have to be 2½ by 3½ inches, either portrait or landscape. That is tiny…

Usually they are sold in their own plastic case and they created on a tough material, like wood, thick card or watercolour paper.

I did think about these as they are quite small and I worry about my eyes, but if I use good lighting and only work for short periods there shouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully in the future I will have some aceos or artist trading cards available for sale.

Can’t decide though whether to use Esty, Folksy or eBay. Any other artists out there with any advice?

Dreams

I am in the middle of an allergic reaction. Just bites, but lots of them. Some horrible flea/mosquito/bug has made a feast of me. Now that in itself is annoying and itchy but not too much of a problem. I have medication… And that is where the dreams come in. You see the drugs make me sleepy but the dreams are incredible.

Normally I dream in colour and sound, but when on antihistamines I can smell and feel. They are more like real-life than normal. And I have had some nightmares. The kind that wakes you in a cold sweat expecting to see a man stood over your bed dressed in black and holding a knife. Those sorts of nightmare that make you sleep the rest of the night with the light on.

But the dream this afternoon was a good one. I was sat on a big speaker, like the ones you used to be able to see in a 1990’s nightclub. They are so loud that your ears stop working and all you can hear is the vibration travelling through your body. At the time though the speaker wasn’t on. Instead I am just sitting there watching what is going on. And it is the oddest thing.

I can see a stage and on the stage is another stage. There is a boy and a woodland creature and… Well, it’s the scene in my book I’ve been working on for my masters. But it’s being acted out.

There are others around as well. Cameras and sound equipment and just as I am getting used to it someone yells…

“That’s a wrap!”

Then this dark haired man walks over.

“What do you think?”

“I’m confused?”

“Was it not the same?”

“Same?” I ask, looking down on him and wondering which rabbit hole I’d fallen down.

“As your book?”

“Book?”

He looks at me and shakes his head. “Girl, you are just weird.” Then he walks off.

Everyone else ignores me. Then I wake…

And that is one of my best and most real dream. I could smell the dust and feel the sharp edge of the speaker on the back of my legs. If I hadn’t of woken I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

Of course, it was a dream. I don’t even have a book published let alone sold any film rights. I know it was just pie in the sky, but maybe one day…

Although there is one thing… Why the speaker? I don’t understand that. Why would I be sat on a massive speaker from a 1990’s nightclub?

This post was written in response of the daily prompt – Sweet Dreams.

The Fluting Mime

I was nervous. Stood in front of a pair of the most imposing doors ever. I mean it is just meant to be a hall, somewhere to practice so why the heavy oak doors? Is it to keep audiences in or others out? Who had never heard of a fortified theater? Let alone one in a university.

There you go. I’d done it. Scared myself enough to want to leave. Honestly I’d promised to to try and I had. I’d tried to go through the doors but…

“Are you waiting to go in?”

I jumped and turned around. There stood a girl with waist length black hair and a pale face. “Um…”

“Are you new?”

I nodded. Noting that in her hand she carried a french horn case. To be correct you couldn’t really miss it, being large.

She peered at me and I know what she was looking for. I held up the small case, one foot by about six inches.

“Flute?”

I nodded. What was I doing here?

She walked around me and pushed on those opposing doors. They swung in silently. She walked through.

“I’m new too. Only just started uni.”

“Same here,” I managed in a quiet voice.

“So who have you played with?”

Played with? Oh man, I am seriously out of my depth. “Kind of a beginner…”

“Oh?” Her interested voice sounded wonderfully surprised and disappointed. “Well, it will be good practice.”

“Yeah…”

Inside we all lined up. Me with the other flutes and then brass section, violins… Well, you get the idea. A sheet of music was passed to me, which I immediately wrote the notes under. One of the other flutists sniffed disdainfully.

I ignored it.

“One, two, three…”

And we started. I did three notes with the others before I became a tangle of fingers and flute.

Second go I managed four and the third I got six. Six notes. Maybe a fraction of a second. About the same time as it takes to draw in a breath. The rest of the time I pretended and tried to follow the music.

I didn’t make the cut, but they did tell me I could practice with them.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I never returned. Six notes. It wasn’t enough. My dreams of being in a full orchestra was dashed before it they had begun.

I still play the flute, very slowly. But it is relaxing, although it can be odd to hear ‘Clowns’ played at a sedate stroll.

This short story was inspired by the daily prompt – we got the beat.

A suffering blog…

I live in Wales at the foot of the Cambrian Mountains. It is beautiful. Sometimes, in the winter it is a harsh place to live. This year we have been hit with winds and storms. I has been wonderful and scary.

And annoying…

This winter my blog has taken the brunt.

You see we have been losing power regularly. Today was a five and a half hour power cut. In truth the power company is trying hard but the cuts are happening.

So if I disappear it probably because I can’t get online.

And yes, I do have the phone app but the signal is so bad here that it won’t let me upload.

When I can get on (and I’m hoping that the engineers today where able to do a good fix) I will post. Otherwise I apologize. Power’s probably out. 🙂

A Giant Leap!

I made a giant step.

It was huge and so scary.

Like I’d walked to the edge of a cliff and looked down. You know, just like when you were a child. But when you’re a child that rush of fear and excitement can leave you tingling and happy to be alive. Because as a child you know that you are immortal. That nothing can hurt you.

By the time you are older, and middle-age is not so very far away, that cliff is not a place of excitement but one of dread. Now you know that you can fall, and fall hard. You know you can break bones and when you fall you might not make it back up. Yet at times that giant step must be taken.

When Neil Armstrong took that step into the unknown he must have been full of fear. I don’t think my dilemma was the same, after all he was testing a suit in a vacuum knowing that one wrong move would result in a death that millions would see. And my leap…

Well, no one here seemed to notice too much. I think I came in from the workshop and said…

“That’s it. The last toy is gone.”

What I didn’t say was – I am now reliant on my writing to make a living. Oh, and I don’t actually have anything that anyone can buy. But I am sure it will work out fine…

My giant leap.

Hopefully I will get everything done. There will be a selection of short stories and my book will get published and… Well, that all my dreams will become a reality.

My step was no less scary to me, but I do wish I could channel the child in me just to feel for that moment the tingle of excitement. I’m sure I will, but at the moment all I have is fear. That cliff looks awful high from here.

This post in inspired by the daily prompt – Walking on the Moon.

Sausages and creativity

This morning I woke with a headache. Not unusual for me but instead of turning over and falling asleep again I got up and took a painkiller. Today is a big day. We have just had our pig killed and this is the day we make sausages.

Lots of them.

Now, it all starts this afternoon and I thought – I’ll just go write a short story and then get on with the sausage-making.

Except it hasn’t worked out that way. Firstly because we are making a huge amount of sausages in all different flavours. And that is what is going around my head – recipes…

I can’t think of a story. Just what flavouring I need to put with the pork.

Sorry – this morning is a fail. I’ll try again later on. I do find it odd when my creativity just leaves. I never notice until it is gone and then it feels like a pair of car keys I’ve misplaced. It isn’t far away but just out of reach for the moment.