writemenow

Hello and welcome to my site, which aims to provide a variety of prompts every few days in order to inspire some creative writing each week.

As a full-time teacher of English and an aspiring writer, I am only too familiar with the frustration in not having enough time to write, nor the inspiration.  However, last year I made a vow to myself that I would try to write for seven minutes a day, or I would have to stop calling myself a writer at all.  That promise to myself led to the publication of several articles in national news papers, a trashy novel through a publishing house and several Kindle self-publications of both fiction and non-fiction content.  I feel more confident in calling myself a writer now, but I still have a long way to go.  Hopefully, this page will combine my love of writing and the nurturing of the talent in others… leading to some productive…

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Lack of punctuation helps the words breathe;capital “I” on final stanza should be noted in lieu of full stop,this heralding the conclusion & a strang one at that

A Lionhearted Journey towards Authenticity©

wilderness 5

Driftwood
washed in from the sea
the path you took
a mystery
your skin
pale and smooth
my fingers trace your deep grooves
the memory in your cells
has a story to tell
of life
in an Earthplace
where a river runs through
and where you stood
weathering the storms and seasons
bore witness
to new life born
the sun in the morning
the moon at night
the tree you once were
filled with breath and light
till whatever force
lifted your roots
pulled your connection
from the life-source
and carried your body to the ocean
where you became a drifter
in a foreign water container
far away from the land of your origin
In this moment I can only honour
what you once were
now your spent life-form
may become driftwood art
with the memory of wild origins
in your wooden heart
©All Rights Reserved

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Yeh complicated dealin with people,similar issues myself,lotta hostility Out There~stick to your own standards all the more determinedly:they can motivate you to do so and something comes of it all.
And I know what you mean with the martyr thing:don’t wanna be a doormat either.Greg x Edinburgh

Pinch A Pig Toe

5 years ago I purchased my first home: a 2 bedroom condominium in a recently “flipped” apartment building.  My then boyfriend (now husband) moved in with me (yes, we were living in sin at the time but I am an atheist so I get to do those sorts of things) and we set about making a life together.  The building had only 11 units and most of us were first-time home buyers.  We had our first Association meeting and everyone seemed so excited and engaged.  We had no idea how to run an Association but were trying to do everything ourselves.

At first it seemed promising.  We were having Association meetings every couple of months that first year, and discussed all sorts of projects we could do ourselves to make our building the best EVER: painting, flowers, rugs, artwork, barbecues.  Little by little, the jovial camaraderie began to ebb.  People…

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[Stratford Station.] 

[1999.]

One night,off to the clubs,running late as usual wanting to have left the house a little bit sooner,I arrive at the station needing to buy a ticket:I feed coins fast as my arm will move,wanting to skedaddle to the platform,when,of a sudden,it all goes Sergio Leone in my right ear:a swarthy young man,possibly just murdered someone making his getaway…  

[Spanish Thick]

‘How are you,my friend? I am your friend.Can you help me out,my friend?

 You are my friend,I am your friend,my friend…’

 I don’t say a word,and carry on piling in coins:he’s still there,maybe collecting pennies;I’m 

 not looking at him,but he won’t budge. 

 Things go quiet in my head:I slowly turn and face him silently long enough he gets the  

 message.

‘Oh.’

 He buggers off;I zip to get the train,and think no more of it other than he wasn’t villainous,  

 just pushing his luck,and go to London.

 

 

 

shepherdgregory

[Aberdeen.]

[Circa World War Two.]

[Curfew.]

The little girl runs,the deserted forbidden streets,the p-ping,ping,p-ping,ping of bullets.

German bullets.

They are emptying their ammunition-belts,losing weight,having to fly back over the North Sea,north west to southeast on reserve fuel;the intent is always to expend rounds not hit citizens:they were bomber crews told where to drop their bombs,and to return to base in Germany;they would really stretch their fuel bombing Aberdeen~but they did,no end of them,and the little girl runs knowing none of this,and is grabbed.

‘Get in here!’ 

A man in a doorway lurches:a citizen,also breaking the curfew,leans forward and grabs her by the arm;he doesn’t say a word as the p-ping,ping continues,echoes away:the penny drops on the little girl off a street sprinkled with shells,the noise recedes,the plane flies away to run the gauntlet of the gunners near the harbour,and never could the sobering presence of Spitfires be ruled out:they might never make it…

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[Aberdeen.]

[Circa World War Two.]

[Curfew.]

The little girl runs,the deserted forbidden streets,the p-ping,ping,p-ping,ping of bullets.

German bullets.

They are emptying their ammunition-belts,losing weight,having to fly back over the North Sea,north west to southeast on reserve fuel;the intent is always to expend rounds not hit citizens:they were bomber crews told where to drop their bombs,and to return to base in Germany;they would really stretch their fuel bombing Aberdeen~but they did,no end of them,and the little girl runs knowing none of this,and is grabbed.

‘Get in here!’ 

A man in a doorway lurches:a citizen,also breaking the curfew,leans forward and grabs her by the arm;he doesn’t say a word as the p-ping,ping continues,echoes away:the penny drops on the little girl off a street sprinkled with shells,the noise recedes,the plane flies away to run the gauntlet of the gunners near the harbour,and never could the sobering presence of Spitfires be ruled out:they might never make it back,ditching in the North Sea a habitual reality.

The girl is let go,soundless he leaves,a decent honest-to-goodness man protecting that little girl who is my mother,Irene Shepherd,and who I miss terribly.

 

A Sliver Of Silver.