From song to story: A flash fiction event.

not long ago I was feeling like a joiner, so I took part in a an end of month event in a writer's group I follow on Facebook. The premise was simple, A 500 word flash story inspired by one of your favourite songs. It was not the easiest thing to put together.Both the length and interpretation of a song I have listened to a million times making it much more arduous then I imagined when I first sat down to "knock it over" in 30 mins!  I was quiet happy with the results however so I thought I would share my first piece of flash fiction with you all. Feel free to leave your own in the comments!

Where the Wild Roses Grow, (Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, feat Kylie Minogue)

“Don't blink, don't blink!” This is the mantra going through my head, if I blink they will know I'm not dead. I am not sure why but I really don't want these men in blue uniforms to know I am alive. They look at me with pity, their eyes are so sad, but I can't trust them I can't trust anyone. I don't remember how I ended floating face up in the river, why I came down to the river at all. What I do know is my head hurts and I'm cold, the kind of cold that creeps all the way down to your bones, I don't feel like I will ever be warm again.

Finally, they start to move away, one lingers at the water's edge. He is familiar but I can not place him. I feel like I know him, but from where? He crouches and tilts his head studying me.

“Don't blink, don't blink, don't move!” I really don't want this man near me, I don't want him to know I am still alive. He looks over his shoulder then turns back and smiles at me.

“Oh God, he knows I'm not dead!”

Even through my fear, this man is beautiful, as he reaches to touch me I will myself to stay still, I long to feel his skin against mine, but I really don't want him to touch me. He runs his fingers down my cheek, he is so warm and I fight the urge to shiver in delight.

“My sweet Rose.” His voice is intoxicating, I would follow this man anywhere, he terrifies me, but still I would follow him if he asked. My name is not Rose however, he has me confused with someone else. He leans forward and takes something from my mouth, a rose I didn't even know was there. He holds it to his nose and inhales deeply looking into my eyes with such intensity I am sure he can see through to my very soul.

He is staring at me.

“Don't blink, don't blink, don't let him know.” Just when I am sure I can not keep my eyes open any longer there is a noise behind him. He jumps up and quickly stuffs the rose down his shirt, he blows me a kiss.

“Now you know where the wild roses grow!” He turns and walks away as my soul screams.

“Blink...blink...blink now Elisa!” But I can't blink, I can't move, I can't tell him I am not his rose. It all comes crashing back to me, the beautiful new policeman that came to the diner, if only I hadn't been the one to pour his coffee, if only I hadn't smiled.

If only I had known where the wild roses grow!

Why do we do what we do?

I have a habit one I am sure I share with many writers, both new and old, published or otherwise. I read every interesting blog I can find about writing or hosted by writers. I have open tabs on chrome of blogs I have found links to but not yet found time to read and even an in-box full of posts from blogs I have subscribed to. Every now and then when the backlog of unread blogs gets too high I sit down and commit to an afternoon of blog reading.

One of these blogs I subscribe to The other side of the story, posts quite regularly and has been filling my in-box with links to new posts making me feel first lackadaisical and then guilty. If you subscribe to something you really should pay it the attention you have implied you would, it is a social contract and as Sheldon Cooper would tell us “...If that contract breaks down, then all social contracts break down, and we descend into anarchy.”

I do not want to be the cause of any anarchical dystopian world (well actually I do...but only the ones I create in my head to put down on paper), so I set aside some time to read a few of the many awesome posts from The other side of the story. One of these was a Guest Author spot by Michael Kinn posted back in early May. I must say Kinn's post Speculative Ninjas for the Win! Really spoke to me, it inspired me, not to sit down and write but to try and define what it is about writing that captures my soul.

At a time when my personal life is quite stressful and the fun part of writing (the actual writing) seems like a distance memory as I am bogged down in editing and proof reading my WIP, Michael Kinn's guest blog (The Other side of the story, May 10 2013) was exactly what I needed to read, in it he tells us that:

“Whatever your occupation, someone is bound to ask the dreaded question: “Why do you do what you do?” Great if you happen to be a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon. What if you’re, say, a writer? Why do you write?”

At first glance that seems like such an easy question, I ask it of myself and I feel the answer deep in my heart, right down to the pit of my stomach. I write because I have to....I need to...I want to...It relieves the daily stress, calms the nerves, gives my over active imagination an outlet. This is not really the answer people want to hear, it is not clear or concise, I am pretty sure only another writer or artistically inclined person would understand the sentiment.

This answer also does not explain why after the actual writing is done and the pain and headaches (yes I'm melodramatic...I am writer for gods sake!) of editing and proof reading so my baby is ready to be pitched to virtual strangers who will not all be kind.

So why do I do this? Why do I write? Why do I embrace all of the aspects of being a writer, even those that are no fun? Why do I identify as a writer when I have never been published? Why do I want to be published?

I'm looking for the pitch Michael Kinn says is important, that short and sweet, flippant statement that explains everything and nothing, but I can't get to this unless I know the longer answer.

Why do I do this? Why do I write?

The easiest way for me to understand my own feelings and make sense of my world is to write about it, make it a story. I have a tendency to have very vivid and sometimes disturbing dreams, the emotions raised by these dreams will often stay with me well into the next day. A nightmare can actually ruin my whole day if I can not get it out of my head. Because of this I started writing my dreams down a long time ago, I have a dream journal that I use, but a lot of my more vivid dreams take on a mind of their own and become long and involved stories. My current WIP is actually quite a few snippets of dreams that took on a life of their own and joined together.

Why do I embrace all of the aspects of being a writer, even those that are no fun?

This is a simpler answer, If I am going to anything I am going to do it properly. I am stubborn, I am a perfectionist, I give everything I undertake one hundred percent. Writing the story and getting it out of my head is fun, but I want my story to be the best I am capable of, I want my story to be complete and consistent. I want my story to be something I am proud of! After all my mummybear has always told me, without pain there is no gain.

Why do I identify as a writer when I have never been published?

I wanted to be writer ever since I read my first book. The only thing better then curling up with a pot of tea and a good book is curling up with a pot of tea and writing. Writing makes me whole, it makes me happy, calm and centred. If I don't write the voices in my head start yelling and screaming to be heard.

Some of my best friends are the characters I write about, I can have conversations with them, I can interact with them...of course if I walked around talking to imaginary people I might become very familiar with the inside of a padded room!

I am a writer because that is what I do, it is what my imaginary friends demand I do, If I stop writing they will never become as real to the rest of the world as they are to me.

Why do I want to be published?

Largely for my own ego, I want the validation of being good enough for a publishing house to look at. I would be lying if I didn't include that truth.

Who doesn't want the accolade, and euphoria that comes with other people not only reading your work but telling you it is good. I have never had a five star review, but can't wait to become published and find out just how amazing it feels to get one.

On a more modest note, writing is my dream job, If I could chose to do anything it would be to be paid to write and share my worlds with other people. Getting published is one step closer to living the dream.

So what is the short answer? What is my pitch? What would my answer be if Michael Kinn asked me 'why do you write?'

Quite simply, the answer has to be:

I'm too crazy to know any better!

Now it's your turn, Why do you do what you do? Do you have a choice in what you do? Do you enjoy all aspects of what you do? Are you working towards living the dream or are you already there?

Making the hard decisions sucks! No really it seriously sucks!

There is something about acting like an adult and making hard but needed decisions that makes my inner child chuck a tantrum so big and loud it can be seen on the outside. Most of the time I can keep my inner tyke contained or at the very least bribed to stay quiet, recent decisions however have tested and broken my steely resolve to be a dignified adult.

Due to (partially) unexpected circumstances and a huge lack of financial planning on our part we had to make a call will we cut back on our magical day of matrimony and go ahead with a bargain basement wedding, or will we wait another 12 months and ensure we are able to have exactly what we wanted?

As adults we have of course decided to wait another 12 months and do things the right way without all the stress, financial and otherwise. This is smart, this is wise, this is what any responsible adult would do! Still my inner two year old (who I call Princess) doesn't understand the concept of waiting. “I want to be Mrs Saunders and I want pretty clothes and pretty hair and I want people to look at me...I want to be Mrs Saunders NOW! (Or at the very latest August 13 this year...) why can't I be Mrs Saunders now...now now now NOW!!”

My inner teenager is not 'digging' the decision either, she has been planning her wedding for as long as we can remember. So after the fist beating throw yourself on the floor tantrums of Princess I get to work through an eye rolling, angst ridden lecture...”How hard could it be? just use the money. It seriously can't be that hard to find a florist on short notice, who cares (insert metaphorical eye roll) that the one you thought would do it pulled out? Just ring a florist they will know what you want god it isn't hard, bet I could do it...oh and I know you are saving for a wedding but get me those shoes I want...NOW!”

Unfortunately adult Sarah has not been as vocal as either of these younger inner egos lately, so poor Mr Saunders has had to put up with a lot of sulking and petulance. I knew I had hit the low point when I started conceiving a plan to go to the Mount Isa council office and quietly get married. Never in my life did I see my wedding to my soulmate that way, and I am pretty sure Mummybear and Mum would both be heartbroken without being there for our special day.

I have now started to get my head around the concept that there will be another 14 months until saying I do and legally becoming Mrs Sarah Saunders. I had one very tear filled morning at the day job when I had to cancel my annual leave and explain why, but I swear that is all behind me now, I have put on the big girl pants and no matter how much I want it to be as planned the wedding is officially postponed. It will be better for it, less stress, more money, better planned.

I need to stay focused though, it may be all to easy to sit back and do nothing until it is too late again! That procrastination trait rears its ugly head all too easily sometimes and some things just can not be achieved adequately with stress and deadlines looming large.

I am interested to know what decisions other people have found hard to make, do you ever regret making the adult decision? Has waiting for something so important made it better when it finally happens? Is your inner child easy to keep quiet? Share your story in the comments...

How does distance make the heart grow fonder?

No seriously somebody tell me, how does this work? It has been a whole week since I have seen Mr Saunders and I can't wait till he gets home tomorrow. I won't see him till after I finish at the day job and I am sure I will be counting the hours but my heart is not “fonder”.

Call me crazy, call me pathetic but I miss Mr Saunders just as much on the last day we are separated as I do on the first. Actually we have a couple of friends in our circle that really do call us pathetic, telling us we should not be happy living in each other's pockets...but we are!

Maybe that is the secret, if you are the type of people who never get sick of each other's company then you don't need distance to make the heart grow fonder. If your best friend is your soulmate and your life feels complete just by having them beside how much fonder can your heart actually grow?

Time away from Mr Saunders doesn't make me miss him more, doesn't make me love him more, doesn't make me want him more. It just makes me sad and lonely, and honestly I get less done when he is away, somehow I am far more productive with Mr Saunders hanging around.

I have spent the better part of the week snuggled on the couch with the dog and two cats who would be most upset with me if I did not point out that they too have had a very melancholic and mopey week. Distance does not make their hearts any fonder, they miss Mr Saunders just as much now as when we are home alone at night while he is at work.

Distance has not made any of us sad, lonely, couch dwelling beings appreciate Mr Saunders more, miss him more, or love him more. He is our world, he is my soulmate, he is missed and there will be hugs galore tomorrow. I am sure my heart is not any fonder, there is no room for fonder in a heart that is already full. Mr Saunders I have, I am and I will always be loving you, but you need to come home now, I can not live another day without you!

What does everyone else think...Can distance make the heart grow fonder?

Real Mother's day with a fake daughter...

This is not what you think, I am not having a cheap shot at a daughter who does not live up to my expectations, I have an actual fake daughter. I didn't give birth to my Pookiebear, I didn't adopt her at a young age or become her foster parent. We met for the first time in November last year when I moved to Mount Isa for the day job, we hit it off immediately and somewhere along the way appointed the role of mother and daughter to our relationship.

I can only guess what it is Pookiebear gets from calling me Mama, stern and unsolicited advice, hugs on tap and the occasional family dinner cooked by myself or Mr Saunders... Myself on the other hand, gain much more then I could possibly give.

Mr Saunders and I have never been blessed with children, it seems the stork has lost our address, as the years tick on by it becomes more apparent that the pitter patter of tiny feet and midnight cries are just not something we will hear in our household. We consoled ourselves with the tick tack of doggy claws and plaintive cries of clingy cats until we were blessed with a beautiful seventeen year old daughter.

I always dreamed of becoming a mother, as a child it was what I wanted to be when I grew up, I may not have given birth, or raised my Pookiebear but I am thankful that I have someone to shower love on and smother with unrealised maternal instincts. I am grateful for the birthday card that reads “for mum”, The chocolate bar left at the day job marked “Mama bear's”, the hugs, the love and the “family” dinners.

This is the first mother's day in quite a few years I have not felt inadequate, or like I failed at being a woman, it is hard to watch the world celebrate a day dedicated to something so beautiful and natural that you will never experience for yourself. Thank you Pookiebear for making Mother's day a happy day, and for making me feel special, I can not wait to watch Practical magic with you on our next mother daughter movie day xox.

Sunday on the couch with a pot of tea and a good book...Yes please!

Just like every writer I have ever met, I love to read, and when I say love, I mean capital L.O.V.E love! I will read anything, except instructions, gods how I hate instructions, much to Mr Saunders horror. Now horror, that is one of my favourite genres, in fact horror and fantasy are my two all time best-loved genres when it comes to what I like to read, and write.

Sci-fi and crime are front runners too, a good suspense, a tear-jerking drama, all of these will make me pick a book up off a shelf and read the cover at the very least. One genre that I have ignored a lot throughout my adult life is Romance, I don't hate romance novels, I don't even dislike them, I have just never been interested enough to seek them out or pick one up off the shelf.

I use to read romance, like all teenage girls I had a stash of mills and boon and harlequin hidden behind my Sweet Valley High and Dolly romances. It really was a genre I forgot about after high school though and shame on me for doing so.

It was my helpful nature that succeeded in getting me to pick up a romance book again, my beautiful friend Ann B Harrison gave me a copy of her newest release Outback Gold in exchange for my truthful feedback. To be honest I picked it up with some reluctance, Outback Gold is not only the first of Ann B Harrison's books I have read but also the first romance book I have finished in a very long time.

What can I say about Outback gold? I loved it! I mean capital L.O.V.E...well I am sure you get the picture. From the first moment Morgan walked into the Pindon Pub and Stacey set eyes on him I was sure I knew where the story was heading. Girl meets boy, girl and boy fall in love, boy leaves, girl discovers a hidden truth about the boy causing complications and misunderstandings which keep them apart but they are reunited at the end.

Outback Gold delivered so much more however, Ann provides her readers with a sassy heroine, a hot hunk (who I am perhaps a little infatuated with...sorry Mr Saunders), sizzling sex, colourful supporting characters, plenty of drama and a twist that even I (master of spoiling whodunits) did not see coming.

I loved the story, I loved the characters and the ending had me all teary, I will definitely be reading more from this very talented author. In fact I may become a little obsessed for a while, not just with Ann B Harrison but with the love of the romance genre she has re-awoken within me.

Part of me is mourning the lost value of the romance genre in my life, a bigger part of me is already planning which romance book my pot of tea and I will be curled up with next Sunday...  

I could get everything done on time, if life would just back off!

Sometimes it feels like life is conspiring against me! I make all of these plans about what to do with my time and how to achieve my goals then in the blink of an eye everything changes. I tell myself that I will make my blog a weekly thing and make a post every Sunday. I assure myself that even though the day job is full time I will devote my time off to preparing my first WIP for publication. Then life comes along with its own ideas and seemingly urgent or unavoidable obligations.

Last week it was a family dinner that went into super dooper overtime, how do I turn my Pookiebear away when she wants to talk all night. I am still appalled that it took me until Thursday to get the blog post done...Sunday is the day, every Sunday! At least I got some editing and re-writing done, not as much as I wanted but some.

This week it is my birthday and my closest, oldest friend has driven to Mount Isa to spend the weekend with me. I will admit I kind of knew going into this week that getting anything other then work and seeing my friend would be hard, I didn't plan on losing most of Sunday to sleep and recovery.

It was meant to be a quiet night playing my favourite board game, scattergories turned into a boisterous evening with laughter and more then a few too many extra beverages. At one stage a debate about whether true carbonara is made with egg or cream turned into a tipsy kitchen adventure for Mr Saunders and one of our guests. Mr Saunders is confident his creamless carbonara won the night!

The Bestie will be leaving tomorrow and I go back to the day job for another week, I intend to have a quiet week working on the WIP in all of my down time, which will not be very much at all. The plans for dinner with a friend is already in place and I have an idea about having coffee on Sunday. I guess it is up to life to decide what exactly I will get done this week. The way I see it I’m already winning because this week is starting with my blog being posted on time.