Tuesday 23 August 2011
I made a wordpress...
So I am trying to branch out and learn more about other Internet blog spaces and so I made - this. Pretty please have a look and tell me what you think. I may switch to this as it looks quite snazzy.
Tuesday 19 July 2011
IndieInk
Once again I am so lucky to be a featured artist on IndieInk's wonderful blog for art and literature. Please do check it out and if you really like it share it with other people via the options on their website below my photograph!
Thursday 7 July 2011
The chicken or the egg?
Something I wrote - unfinished and unedited and unsure if I should continue...
*
“Ou et le ooof?...s’il vous plait? Le ooof? Poulet,” said Charlotte
“Je ne sais pas…Poulet est la!” said the supermarket attendant
“No…Poulet…ooof,” said Charlotte, cupping her hands desperately as her dinner slipped further away. Charlotte as a rule mimed everything she didn’t know, however some proved trickier as she found out the hard way when her newly rented apartment had no toilet seat.
“Oooh uff! Uff! Pas oooof!” chuckled the supermarket attendant, shaking his head at another tourist who couldn’t pronounce his language.
Charlotte grabbed the box of eggs and with her head down, bracing herself for the checkout. The terrible couple of minutes was always the worse as she hoped the cashier wouldn’t ask her a question, wouldn’t find her out she didn’t belong there.
“C'est 2 euros et 50 cents, c’est tout ?” asked the cashier.
Charlotte had got this one, and with a “oui” walked away proud that she had picked up something in two whole months in Paris.
No new messages, no missed calls, ‘no one has tried to communicate with you’, it might as well read. She longed for just one word, one English word to verify she was good at one language. In the two months Charlotte had come across only one English couple, honeymooning and giggling, looking for directions to the nearest “boulangerie”. When they had discovered she too could speak their language she felt they were both relieved and disappointed, not to meet a real Parisian. From then on she took to a simple “desolee” in her best French accent, coupled with a hurried Parisian wiggle so that she neither got involved in a French conversation she couldn’t uphold nor another disappointment, a stain on anyone else’s experience.
Her experience too was stained. She took to wandering, overhearing conversations both in French and English, and those usually in English were in an overexcited American accent which similar to the honeymooning couple, spoilt the familiarity altogether.
*
“Ou et le ooof?...s’il vous plait? Le ooof? Poulet,” said Charlotte
“Je ne sais pas…Poulet est la!” said the supermarket attendant
“No…Poulet…ooof,” said Charlotte, cupping her hands desperately as her dinner slipped further away. Charlotte as a rule mimed everything she didn’t know, however some proved trickier as she found out the hard way when her newly rented apartment had no toilet seat.
“Oooh uff! Uff! Pas oooof!” chuckled the supermarket attendant, shaking his head at another tourist who couldn’t pronounce his language.
Charlotte grabbed the box of eggs and with her head down, bracing herself for the checkout. The terrible couple of minutes was always the worse as she hoped the cashier wouldn’t ask her a question, wouldn’t find her out she didn’t belong there.
“C'est 2 euros et 50 cents, c’est tout ?” asked the cashier.
Charlotte had got this one, and with a “oui” walked away proud that she had picked up something in two whole months in Paris.
No new messages, no missed calls, ‘no one has tried to communicate with you’, it might as well read. She longed for just one word, one English word to verify she was good at one language. In the two months Charlotte had come across only one English couple, honeymooning and giggling, looking for directions to the nearest “boulangerie”. When they had discovered she too could speak their language she felt they were both relieved and disappointed, not to meet a real Parisian. From then on she took to a simple “desolee” in her best French accent, coupled with a hurried Parisian wiggle so that she neither got involved in a French conversation she couldn’t uphold nor another disappointment, a stain on anyone else’s experience.
Her experience too was stained. She took to wandering, overhearing conversations both in French and English, and those usually in English were in an overexcited American accent which similar to the honeymooning couple, spoilt the familiarity altogether.
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Exciting stuff
Something exciting happened yesterday...
My photo was featured here
I failed to supply my blog with my photo, mainly because not much is going on...yet, but IndieInk is a great independantly run company supporting the arts of all kinds and recognising those who just wouldn't have much of a chance (like me) anywhere else. It is also a great place to showcase without those added worries and pressures other journals have. So if you have some writing or art, send it in! You have nothing to lose and lots to gain!
My photo was featured here
I failed to supply my blog with my photo, mainly because not much is going on...yet, but IndieInk is a great independantly run company supporting the arts of all kinds and recognising those who just wouldn't have much of a chance (like me) anywhere else. It is also a great place to showcase without those added worries and pressures other journals have. So if you have some writing or art, send it in! You have nothing to lose and lots to gain!
Monday 21 March 2011
In his footsteps
Mr Green walked down to his postbox but still it wasn’t there. Seven days he thought, two more and he could officially complain according to Post Office policy. He walked back up his path and bent down to pull out a new dandelion that had sprung up. Bill had always been a friendly postman and never late but he couldn’t help but distrust him lately. Twice in one month he’d had mail come late or not at all and twice it had been opened already. So Mr Green dedicated the beginning of his retirement to the surveillance of Bill.
He had ordered a new magnifying glass out of one of those floppy magazines free in the Sunday papers as his final test for Bill, commenting to his wife after he didn’t really need it. However, it was essential for his enquiries and so he excused himself of the expense and threw his old one away.
Trying three times in the past to set up his street’s own neighbourhood watch, he had failed leaving only whispers and jokes behind about his nosiness. It had crossed his mind that these recent activities had been an extension of this, but Mrs Green dismissed it telling him to stop being so silly.
Lately he had awoken exactly half an hour earlier than usual, so he could wash and dress before Bill turned into the street. Frightened of being caught, he had abandoned the idea of using binoculars and instead given his glasses an extra clean. Mrs Green disliked this recent change but said nothing, choosing to go back to sleep instead.
Beaming down from the far window Mr Green would count the houses as he approached his letter box. He had only a few minutes each day to survey living so close to the end of the street and so opened his eyes extra wide to make sure he took it all in. It infuriated him most that Bill would turn his back to the house at the very second he posted their mail. He was never fully able tell if he’d held anything back.
“He’s done it again” he’d say waking Mrs Green.
After watching a programme recently on the Discovery Channel named ‘Liars and Cheats: body language’, he felt confident he could have known if he was guilty or not just by his facial expressions and movements. Sometimes if Mrs Green slept long enough he’d wait and watch Bill deliver to the odd numbers across the road, attempting to test his new found abilities. Though always remarking it was useless without his binoculars.
The eighth day came and he awoke slightly before his alarm feeling his own excitement in the air. Mrs Green routinely sighed and rolled back over, giving out an extra huff it seemed. Mr Green appeared to swell with apprehension and pride at how far he had come with his enquires. Yet nothing came and nothing gave Bill away. Tomorrow was Bill’s final chance he told Mrs Green under tense breath.
That night Mrs Green urged him to let it go for his own sake, but he refused muttering about morals and order. Mrs Green was never able to give him children and she thought now how much they both needed them.
He twitched all night. Watching TV he twitched. Reading he twitched. Even eating he twitched so much he gave himself hiccups, exaggerating these twitches. Mr Green could not sleep either. He lay in bed fantasising about catching Bill, being thanked by the whole street for his braveness. Mrs Green couldn’t take his fidgeting anymore and said it might be better if he went downstairs and he agreed. Finally, he fell asleep long after various versions of this fantasy had continued playing out as he lay uncomfortably but alertly on their sofa.
The final morning came and Mrs Green turned off the alarm in Mr Green’s absence. She hesitated wondering if Mr Green was up. Instead she got up herself and went and stood in place of Mr Green, placing herself in the exact spot his footprints had indented over the days into their well tendered carpet.
She did not wash and dress like Mr Green but waited. Half an hour passed and there was no sign of Bill at all. No noise could be heard downstairs and she felt relieved that he’d finally taken her advice to let it go. As she came away from the window Bill turned the corner. The same excitement that gripped Mr Green each day filled her whole body as she studied in his place.
Bill stopped momentarily at the house before fumbling in his bag. He began digging deep down as though he had something he wasn’t sure was really there. She wanted to walk away and remove herself from the crime, but stuck in Mr Green’s footsteps she found she couldn’t stop watching. Bill, chewing his lip and looking both ways stuffed a black parcel into his pocket. Mrs Green gasped and went back to bed.
An hour later Mr Green woke aggrieved. He cursed himself for not bringing his alarm clock with him and set about walking down to the post box. Two white letters addressed to him lay inside and he huffed back missing several new dandelions in his anger. Mrs Green came down and consoled him, apologising for falling back to sleep and not waking him.
“Did you see anything? Did you see...?” he asked, studying her face.
“Oh not much, I think I saw him at next door very quickly”, she said chewing her lip and, looking around.
Mr Green smiled, picking up the phone to report the crime.
He had ordered a new magnifying glass out of one of those floppy magazines free in the Sunday papers as his final test for Bill, commenting to his wife after he didn’t really need it. However, it was essential for his enquiries and so he excused himself of the expense and threw his old one away.
Trying three times in the past to set up his street’s own neighbourhood watch, he had failed leaving only whispers and jokes behind about his nosiness. It had crossed his mind that these recent activities had been an extension of this, but Mrs Green dismissed it telling him to stop being so silly.
Lately he had awoken exactly half an hour earlier than usual, so he could wash and dress before Bill turned into the street. Frightened of being caught, he had abandoned the idea of using binoculars and instead given his glasses an extra clean. Mrs Green disliked this recent change but said nothing, choosing to go back to sleep instead.
Beaming down from the far window Mr Green would count the houses as he approached his letter box. He had only a few minutes each day to survey living so close to the end of the street and so opened his eyes extra wide to make sure he took it all in. It infuriated him most that Bill would turn his back to the house at the very second he posted their mail. He was never fully able tell if he’d held anything back.
“He’s done it again” he’d say waking Mrs Green.
After watching a programme recently on the Discovery Channel named ‘Liars and Cheats: body language’, he felt confident he could have known if he was guilty or not just by his facial expressions and movements. Sometimes if Mrs Green slept long enough he’d wait and watch Bill deliver to the odd numbers across the road, attempting to test his new found abilities. Though always remarking it was useless without his binoculars.
The eighth day came and he awoke slightly before his alarm feeling his own excitement in the air. Mrs Green routinely sighed and rolled back over, giving out an extra huff it seemed. Mr Green appeared to swell with apprehension and pride at how far he had come with his enquires. Yet nothing came and nothing gave Bill away. Tomorrow was Bill’s final chance he told Mrs Green under tense breath.
That night Mrs Green urged him to let it go for his own sake, but he refused muttering about morals and order. Mrs Green was never able to give him children and she thought now how much they both needed them.
He twitched all night. Watching TV he twitched. Reading he twitched. Even eating he twitched so much he gave himself hiccups, exaggerating these twitches. Mr Green could not sleep either. He lay in bed fantasising about catching Bill, being thanked by the whole street for his braveness. Mrs Green couldn’t take his fidgeting anymore and said it might be better if he went downstairs and he agreed. Finally, he fell asleep long after various versions of this fantasy had continued playing out as he lay uncomfortably but alertly on their sofa.
The final morning came and Mrs Green turned off the alarm in Mr Green’s absence. She hesitated wondering if Mr Green was up. Instead she got up herself and went and stood in place of Mr Green, placing herself in the exact spot his footprints had indented over the days into their well tendered carpet.
She did not wash and dress like Mr Green but waited. Half an hour passed and there was no sign of Bill at all. No noise could be heard downstairs and she felt relieved that he’d finally taken her advice to let it go. As she came away from the window Bill turned the corner. The same excitement that gripped Mr Green each day filled her whole body as she studied in his place.
Bill stopped momentarily at the house before fumbling in his bag. He began digging deep down as though he had something he wasn’t sure was really there. She wanted to walk away and remove herself from the crime, but stuck in Mr Green’s footsteps she found she couldn’t stop watching. Bill, chewing his lip and looking both ways stuffed a black parcel into his pocket. Mrs Green gasped and went back to bed.
An hour later Mr Green woke aggrieved. He cursed himself for not bringing his alarm clock with him and set about walking down to the post box. Two white letters addressed to him lay inside and he huffed back missing several new dandelions in his anger. Mrs Green came down and consoled him, apologising for falling back to sleep and not waking him.
“Did you see anything? Did you see...?” he asked, studying her face.
“Oh not much, I think I saw him at next door very quickly”, she said chewing her lip and, looking around.
Mr Green smiled, picking up the phone to report the crime.
I know I shouldn't but...
I have decided to post some of my older short fiction. Mainly because I am actually half proud of them compared to my newer, rushed work and partly because I know deep down no publishing company wants them! They also remind me a wonderful and exciting fourteen weeks attending Shakespeare&Co workshops in Paris. So if anyone's interested here goes...
Friday 14 January 2011
Sketch Book Project....or not?
Confession time. Disappointingly, I have not had any time at all to do my sketch book and well, the deadline is Wednesday. I blame the following;
- Christmas
- Airline repeats on Sky2
- My sister Lucy for encouraging me to watch Airline repeats
- University, obv
Probably more. I am instead going to still complete this but at my pace and for your pleasure only. It was rather ambitious to think I could do it and be in my third year at uni. Wish me luck!
- Christmas
- Airline repeats on Sky2
- My sister Lucy for encouraging me to watch Airline repeats
- University, obv
Probably more. I am instead going to still complete this but at my pace and for your pleasure only. It was rather ambitious to think I could do it and be in my third year at uni. Wish me luck!
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