It's all about me, Writing 101

Writing 101, Day Seventeen: My Greatest Fear (warning: might be stressful)

Writing 101, Day Seventeen: Your Personality on the Page

What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears. If you’re up for a twist, write this post in a style that’s different from your own.

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I have never tried a Diamante Poem before, so hope I have the structure right.

MY FEAR

DEATH
SUDDEN, BLOODY
DRIPPING, DRUNKEN, DYING,
DISASTER, CORPSE, KILLER, MISCHANCE
SCREAMING, NUMBED, CRYING
FEARFUL, DREAMLESS
LIFE

My biggest fear is that this accident could happen to me again. If it did, I fear for my sanity. I have not had any sort of counselling for this, so it lays dormant until I look at it. I have not felt the pain this bad for quite a long time. Perhaps, I should have let sleeping dogs lie.

For a newspaper clipping of this accident, go to this page.

 

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Writing 101

Writing 101, Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You

Writing 101, Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You

You’re told that an event that’s dear to your heart — an annual fair, festival, or conference — will be cancelled forever (or taken over by an evil organization). Write about it. For your twist, read your piece aloud, multiple times. Hone that voice of yours!

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My brother rushed into my bedroom, without knocking. The look on his face stayed my angry shout. I eyed himgulping as he gulped for breath, his eyes bulging. I felt my own breath squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“They’ve stopped it,” Cedric shouted, at last finding voice.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, hard. “What are you babbling about?”

“The show. There’s no show … not ever again.”

I frowned at him, so full of questions that I didn’t know where to start.

Cedric began to cry. “I’ll nev-never be able to g-go on the g-ghost train again,” he said, stuttering, gulping his words. “No more putting b-b-b-balls in the clown mouth, ” he wailed.

He was finding it hard to breathe and I thought I knew the best thing to do for shock. I slapped him.

He looked at me in surprise as I stood over him, trying to put on my kindest look, asked where he had heard such nonsense.

“Me mate Jimmy heard it from his sister’s boyfriend, ” he snivelled, hiccupped, wiped his nose on his sleeve. Disgusting little brat.

I felt alarmed, but still not convinced. How could anyone stop the Annual Agricultural Show? I had my rosebuds ready, they would be perfectly formed roses by show day. I glanced at my wall. Would I never get a blue card to go with all the green and red? This was my year, I knew it. And I had just put clean straw in the hen’s nests to keep the eggs clean, and put extra grit in their feed boxes. The eggs would be perfect come show day.

Mum came in and asked what all the yelling was about. I told her.

“Nonsense!” she declared, through twisting lips. She looked like she was trying hard not to laugh. “I’m President of the Mother’s Club, I would know. We cater for the officials, you dill.”

I glared at my stupid little brother and mouthed idiot at him.

Mum smiled at me over Cedric’s head. I tried to look nonchalant as if I had not, for one horrible moment, believed the tall tale.

DISCLAIMER: Big sisters should never slap their little brothers, no matter what. ❤

NO BROTHERS WERE HURT DURING THIS STORY and any similarities to real events are purely accidental.

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It's all about me, Writing 101

Writing 101, Day Eleven: My Home when I was twelve.

Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters

Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. For your twist, pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths.

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1967 – My eighth home: Dennert’s Road, Hamilton.

I’m not counting the times our family has lived with grandparents, nor the times we had to go to relatives during mum’s pregnancies – sometimes she would be so sick she couldn’t look after us.  I’m only counting the homes I can remember. Although I do not have any photographs from 1967, we still lived at Walker’s Farm in 1970 when dad gave me an old Box Brownie camera.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to do a full story and photographs again. For this long version, you will need to go to this page from the About Me menu. I’m a bit annoyed, as I have a full front-on photo somewhere, but can’t lay my hands on it just now.

It was a typical farm-house.  That’s it on the far right of the photo. A front and back veranda.

Taken half way along our short cut across the paddock to catch the school bus.

Taken half way along our short cut across the paddock to catch the school bus.

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It's all about me, Writing 101

Writing 101, Day Ten: Happy Making Toffee

Writing 101, Day Ten: Happy (Insert Special Occasion Here)!

Today, be inspired by a favorite childhood meal. For the twist, focus on infusing the post with your unique voice — even if that makes you a little nervous.

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Who me? get nervous about my voice? I was at first, when I began this blog, but hey, stuff it. It’s a lot easier just being ME instead of trying to put forward a fake persona. You might notice that this is Day Ten, and the last one I put forward was Day Three. This “happy” meal idea just begged to  jump the queue. 🙂

MAKING TOFFEE

My happy memory is not about a meal at all,  but about making toffee. This is memorable to me because it was something really special during a particular time of deprivation during my life.

A time when a highlight during the school holidays was the Salvation Army coming around with food and clothing boxes. We six kids would scramble wildly through the boxes looking for clothes that fit us. One day the disgruntled S. A. Officer said to mum “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.” At the time dad was in jail, I think it was for non-payment of driving fines. He operated on the principal that if you weren’t licensed then they could not take it off you. …

This post ended up getting rather long, and I decided to turn it into a page and add a few pics.  To read more you will have to  go here to the page added to About Me.  🙂

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