Whispers

As a child I would sit still and quiet. In a room of adults I could disappear. They would talk around me and forget. Preferably there would be a chair that would stop them from seeing me. They’d forget and I would hear. The whispers and secrets I collected. I never used them I just collected them. It’s a bit like people who collect shells, you could hold them up to your ear and hear the sea, well with my secrets I could hold them to my ear and listen to the whispers. Some scared me, some made me laugh and some I cried over.

You’d have thought that the only place I couldn’t do it was in school. How do you get teachers to forget about you? Except you can. One lunch time I stayed in the art room. I’d like to say I was conscientious and hardworking, and I suppose I was, but it was because of necessity. I was bullied, and every lunch time was pure hell. I would hide where ever I could and on the Wednesday it happened to be the art room.

The art room was a huge long room. It had been broken into three by tables and a massive bookcase. I was at the far room, furthest from the door, and reading on the other side of the bookcase.

To this day I don’t know why they picked the art room, but in wandered a gaggle of teachers. I heard the art, biology, chemistry, maths and english teacher. They started talking about students and I kind of listened. Especially as they were talking about my year. Then my name came up.

“What about Kate?” Art said.

Biology sighed. Maths rolled her eyes and Chemistry refused to look at anyone.

“She tries,” English said.

“She does,” Chemistry said.

“But,” Biology said, “she wants to be a vet.”

And I did.

“Is she good enough?” Art asked.

“No,” Biology said.

“But she can draw,” said Chemistry.

They all agreed.

Behind the bookcase I sat and cried. My childhood dream was crumbled at my feet and for the life of me I had no idea how to put it back together. I sat there until the teachers had left. Then I got up and walked out of the room, out of the school. It’s the only day I was ever a truant. No one caught me. No one stopped me. I went home. I did the housework and I made a plan. If I couldn’t be a vet then I would draw the animals I loved until I worked out what I wanted to do with my life. At the time I didn’t know it would take fourteen years to find. But I did.

Now I write.

This post was inspired by the daily prompt – futures past.

Zombie days

So lately I have been feeling like this:

But according to the doctor I have been missing this:

So after 3 months of these I should be back to normal!

 

 

A Caged Bird

“Do I have to do it?” Nat asked again.

“Yes.” Came the stoic reply. Her sound, cameraman and driver didn’t even look up.

“But…”

“You have to.”

Nat slumped into the seat of the van. Of all the people she’d been asked to interview it had to be this author.

“Have you read any of her stuff?” Nat asked, staring sulkily at the rain soaked countryside.

“Yes,” Andy said. “I loved it.”

Nat pulled a face into the window.

“I saw that.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I saw that too.”

“But it is so boring…” She whined.

“Odd, I thought it would be right up your street,” he said, not glancing at her.

Nat sniffed in disdain. “Management statistics is not something I ever want to read again. I ended up drinking a gallon of coffee just to stay awake.”

“What?” Andy said, his voice rising. “What statistics?”

“The ones she wrote about,” Nat said glumly.

“Oh no.” Andy stood on the breaks and moved into a nearby lay-by. “Who did you look for?”

“The woman we are going to see.”

“And you found her?”

“Through Google.” Nat had turned to look at him and she was surprised that he was pale and looked scared. “Why?” she asked uncertainly.

“Because the author we are going to interview is a novelist. She writes…” Andy paused and reached behind his seat. He rummaged around and then handed her a book.

The cover was an old gold colour with a couple on the front. He was the epitome of maleness and the woman had an impossibly tiny waist.

“What’s this?” Nat asked.

“One of her books.”

“Whose books?”

Andy sighed. “The woman we are about to interview.”

Nat felt the colour in her face drain away. “What do I do?”

Andy sniffed and pulled out onto the road. “Read fast, you have two hours before we get there.”

Before he had finished the sentence Nat already had her nose in the book.

This post was inspired by the daily prompt – trick questions.

 

Orderly Chaos

  • Remember to feed the dogs –  must get more food.
  • Water the plants and feed the dogs – this will take an hour… Don’t run late.
  • Running late – grab a cup of tea, not a coffee.
    Coffee = migraine.
  • Check the dog bowls to make sure you fed the dogs.
  • Go to the workshop – turn on the lights and then remember the computer.
    No computer = no writing
  • Go back to the house and grab the laptop – remember the power lead.
  • Make another cup of tea and go back to the workshop.
  • Check your phone – remember the phone is in the house.
  • Fetch the phone – trip over the dog who is sunning herself in the back garden.
  • Close the door to the workshop – in the corner of your eye notice a flash of orange.
  • Get the cat out of the workshop before you end up with muddy footprints on the…. – oh…
  • Wipe down the desk to remove the footprints and shake the mud off the manuscript.
  • Catch the cat and pop him outside – get distracted by the Flintstones reference.
  • Set up the laptop and turn on the music.
  • Sit down and open the word document.
  • Get lost in a world of your own manufacture – try not to get distracted by grammar and typos.
  • Drink some tea and pull a face when you find it cold.
  • Drink it anyway.
  • Get frightened to death when a parcel arrives and the dogs start barking.
  • Fetch the parcel – yell at the dogs confidently and when they ignore you act surprised so that the delivery man thinks they are trained.
  • Take the parcel to workshop.
  • Leave the parcel on the side and start writing – keep looking at the parcel.
  • Open it – tell everyone what it is on Facebook.
  • Start to write – find that you are thirsty.
  • Go to the house and make a tea.
  • Back at the workshop start writing.
  • Get lost in the actions of your characters.
  • Drink some tea and pull a face when you find it cold.
  • Drink it anyway.
  • Write.
  • Get hungry and go have lunch.

The organised chaos that is my morning. This post was written in response to the dpchallenge – List Lesson.