You'd think I'd written a book ...

My six sentence story

 ... which of course, I haven't. It's just been so long since I have written anything simply because it was there waiting to be written (or in the case of this piece - worked on). It doesn't quite make me feel like a writer again, but it does give me a little nudge in the right direction.

These posts are getting shorter and shorter - if I had something to say I would say it, but today has been work, work, and a little more work. And still the backlog sits - more like a logjam really. Today I made it through without my afternoon nap - great strides.

And then I  found my little copper-wire man in my pen jar - he's trying to tell me something. Is he saying he's got to get out before it's too late?

This one looks like being fun -

Sunday Scribblings ...

Does one have to write and post only on a Sunday I wonder, or does one have the whole week? One will have to find out, one will.

A whole week

 came and went - and nothing happened here. I was thinking about this blog and what sort of voice will  make itself heard on it. How much will I talk about writing here, how much about editing, how much about the bits and pieces of my life that make me into who I am. What sort of freedom do I have to talk about my children, my husband, my messy house? I really enjoy reading slice of life blogs -  but whose life/lives do I take the knife to?

Good news is that Six Sentences are posting my short-short - which is rather nice as it's the first thing I have submitted anywhere in ages.

But now, as always, it's very late and I am ready to head for bed ... oh the luxury of stretching into the sheets. I love feeling so tired that I know my bones will melt into the mattress. And I know I'll sleep deeply - but never, sadly, long enough - if I could just grab one hour more I am sure I'd be a far more productive person. As it is I am becoming one of those people who can't get very far without her afternoon nap. Rather that than falling asleep at my desk and then coming to with a start just before my forehead hits the keyboard. With a crick in my neck.

For now I think I'd better stick to son older and son younger when bragging of my sons' brilliance - you'll forgive me if this happens often. Son younger made me this little wire man - I don't know of I can show the action he's managed to capture with a few strands of copper wire,  but this little man's propped up against my computer now, egging me onto productivity ...

I will feature him again. And must think of a name for him too.

One of my missions

is to find blogs and websites that I really like and make note of them here. It's easier than bookmarking - my bookmark list is very very long!

So tonight I came across one called

Six Sentences 
What can you say in six sentences. 

And on this blog are all these amazing short shorts. Skinny fiction deluxe. So, in the spirit of saying yes to writing I've submitted my six sentence story. And will keep you posted as to developments!

So much for good intentions

I went to my writing workshop on Tuesday - and that was great. But apart from that have to say my writerly intentions have gone the way of so many other good ones. But I can't complain - the week was filled with all sorts of other good excitement - getting great news about bursaries etc for Dan for UCT this year, making a list for Kieran's 16th birthday braai and slowly attacking yet another backlog of work. I started the year with mumps, which left me looking rather (more) jowly and my glands are still a bit swollen. And I still feel tired towards the end of the day. Boring, boring, boring post, but I'm writing it. Let me at least use the space for a syllable poem called a Naga Uta which is supposed to follow the pattern 7/5/7/57/5/7/5/ and end 7/7

Thinking about a Phoenix

Create, recreate
ever thown into the flames
or left in the cold
ash of yesterday's burning.
Such power needed,
to ignite and burn and suck
air from all around.
Or so it feels each time the
force gathers inside,
sits, growls, pushes to be free
to turn a cold world
ablaze in bright heat. And then?
After the fury
of the sudden flare - then what?
Sitting then, waiting
in the grate of lost longings,
thrown out with the trash.
So, would you be a phoenix?
What would make you choose
to envy a bird that burns
to ashes over
over and over again?
Could the plumage be worth this
pilgrimage to death and back?

Not great. I don't like the last two lines. Will have to fiddle.  In the meantime, here's some phoenix fiddling with Photoshop brushes - I love them - and they're so easy to make!