Posted in Wordpress photo challenge, Writing

You see it this way, I see it that way.

Graceful

By day, this tree is just a tree.

When night fills the sky though, it’s arms stretch out like a tree doing Pilates in the grandest of fashions and they reach into the blue for as far and as long as they can possibly go.

Passers by turn their heads and stare, as if waiting for the show to begin. Their eyes widen and remain fixed on this Graceful living, breathing botanical beauty that is art.

This tree is as much a part of this scene as a cold hand seeking the warmth of a perfect fitting glove.

Harmonious, peaceful, proud and content in its skin-it’s a perfect fit.

Yet in the daylight, it goes unnoticed. It blends, preferring to remain anonymous.

I asked a man the other day what he thought of ‘the tree’.

And he said this:

“Which tree? Oh, yes. You mean the one with a body full of the largest green leaves I’ve ever seen. The one with all it’s branches, hidden behind it’s leafy coat. I know the one. I love the way the sunlight brings it alive. It’s rays reflecting off its leafy surfaces like a heavenly glow. I’ve never much noticed it a night though. At night, it is simply a tree to me”

Same tree. Different eyes.

photo-3-10-2016-22-11-33

Posted in blogging, Life, Stories, Writing

Unseen and Unheard

Why have I not been writing? Good question. I have been wondering that myself for some time, and I’ve come up with nothing solid. No simple lightbulb moment that’s hit me in the head and said “oh that’s why”.

Writing is like breathing to me. Essentially, mandatory stuff to keep me alive and well. However, for some reason, the urge I once had to express myself was replaced with a preference for silence. A silence within me that smothered the words and the stories and the desire to share.

Was I sick of the sound of my own voice and inflicting  my repetitive personal thoughts onto all of you?

Was I concerned about judgement, disapproval, or the misinterpretation of my message?

Perhaps it was a combination of all of the above with a bit of fear and a bit of “what is really  the point?” thrown in.

Those who know me have born the brunt of my writing inactivity with a bombardment of new hobbies, adopted by my restless self to fill the creative gap. However like a dog begging to be taken for a walk, the words in my head would tug at my fingertips in desperation.

The fear of exposing my personal thoughts to the world was repeatedly superimposed on me by more than one source.

“Don’t air your dirty laundry in public”

“What is wrong with you?”

However that fact that I listened, is what stopped me writing in the first place. Ironic? Terribly. However as soon as I began hesitating before putting pen to paper, and as soon as I ceased being myself as a result of others opinions, judgements or expectations, I realised I needed to re-examine my sense of self and my reason for writing in the first place.

It is all over, when you change yourself to suit others-bottom line. FORGET IT! It just doesn’t work and pretending, is incompatible with happiness.

All that is uniquely YOU is lost. All that is SPECIAL is buried deep underneath sensitivities and self doubt and all of that ridiculous rot that has absolutely no place in the real, honest, raw world. The world that adores us for who we truly are. A world that pains for less plastic and more of the real deal.

What is writing anyway? It is simply connection.

Sometimes words connect, and sometimes they don’t…

What I have learned, is that when they do, it’s not only magical, it’s important. Connection is what keeps us alive. It’s what helps us  feel understood, and validated and loved and valued. Cliché cliché cliché , bla bla bla…but I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I ever, ever, forget that again.

For any part of you that you willingly share, be it only a part, will resonate with those that it is designed to reach, and that is all that matters…

So why did I stop writing?

…because I lost sight of what was important to me.

Are you unsettled?

Re-align your vision, listen to your own voice and allow yourself to re-discover who you are, what you need, who you want to be with, and what is truly important;

TO YOU.

Unseen

Posted in blogging, Daily muse, Funny, Humour, Story, Writing

Attempted murder, a toaster and six ugly legs

Inspired by the WordPress Prompt

Locked or in this case STUCK!

 

Attempted Murder, A Toaster, and Six Ugly Legs

 

 

I awoke this morning in my usual fashion-barely able to balance on my feet-stagger, stagger-rubbing my eyes to achieve some kind of focus, grumpy that I was required to exit my bed at all and with a solid plan to avoid anything that resembled a human in case they attacked me with jobs and just stuff, during grump hour.

The kettle was there, waiting for me-same place as yesterday…and the day before…to assist me in dragging myself out of slumber, and into the day ahead. As I approached it, I was given an almighty jab of adrenaline when sitting casually in front of me, spread out completely relaxed on his banana lounge it would seem, was a King cockroach.

Now when I say King Cockroach, I mean King Cockroach. The half bug half cow variety, have you seen those? The feral thing was playing around with its feelers and sussing out my Kitchen bench.

As I knew the littlest kid was up, I proceeded to yell.

“Xavierrrrrrrrrr”

The response, no more than a grunt, was not promising. I didn’t muck around and ran into the lounge room.

“Xav, please come and kill this cockroach”

He looked at me as if it was way too much to ask of him, but decided to assist all the same.

“Oh, that’s disgusting” he said

“You’re telling me. Get him”

I’m not sure what he did next, but it resembled a stiff piece of plank, edging it’s way, less than a millimetre closer and launching a hand towel at it.

“What are you doing? It’ll run away, you’ve got to squash it.

He stood frozen for a second, staring at the creature, and was absolutely no help to me whatsoever.

As I was about to grab the other child, Xavier screamed…

“He’s run into the toaster”

 

“Oh good God” I blasphemed.

“I have no time, and now the thing has made home in the toaster…I need to cook my toast”

Xavier’s response?

“Well I can’t get him now, he’s in the toaster” -and just like that he wondered off, unfussed.

I immediately skipped plan B- grab the second kid-and implemented Plan C-out came the big guns.

“Michaellllllllllllll”

Now Michael was out walking the dog, wasn’t he. Typical, although, strangely he replied.

“Ya”

He was outside.

I bolted out the door.

“There’s a cockroach in the toaster, and I’m hungry. Please can you get it out?”

“Are you sure?” He questioned

“Yes, We saw him run in there”

Twenty minutes later, after thoroughly inspecting the item, bashing it on the grass outside, pulling it apart, and staring at it for ages, Michael looked at me.

“It’s not in there”

“It is”

“It’s not”

“It is”

…and then we heard it. It was wriggling around inside.

“Told you” I said.

Michael thought for a bit.

“Let’s cook it”

“Noooooooo! Oh that’s gross. I’ll never eat toast out of it again. That’s disgusting” I could literally feel my stomach churn at the thought of toasted cockroach.

He pushed down the lever and the toaster began to glow.

I couldn’t stand it, so I left the room, but the burning smell was evident.

“Oh geez Michael are you serious?”

TEN MINUTES LATER

“Did you get him out?”

“Yep. Got him”

I could sense something. I don’t know what, but something in his voice smelled of lies.

I closed one eye, lent toward him…and whispered

“I want evidence”

 

“No really. I took the toaster outside….and ”

“Eeeew, was he cooked?”

“Nope, he was quite chuffed. He crawled out and ran away. Then I stomped on him on the road”

I didn’t believe him for a second. Not for one second. I could smell a rat. Excuse the pun…

“Where’s his body? Prove it” I said

I followed him to the road…

 

image

Posted in blogging, Writing

Blogger SLAMMED for nasty comment in spectacular fashion.

by

Nicole Martin

Have you ever had a less than favourable comment in response to your writing?

Personally, my writing hangs from a set of strings that attach directly to my heart, whether I like it or not. Yes, I know it shouldn’t matter what others say, yes I know I should write for myself and not to please others-these suggestions are true, but sometimes as a sensitive person-a trait most writers are either blessed or cursed with-it is very easy to forget this idealistic advice, and become devoid of all reason and rational thought when clouded with the disappointment and frustration of a negative comment.

Constructive criticism is wonderful, and serves as a valuable learning tool, but judgmental, nasty comments can wound someone having a vulnerable moment. Especially when the commentEr, really has limited understanding of the writers true intention.

A writer I admire Chris Nicholas, author of the highly successful blog The Renegade Press, wrote a screamer of a response to a nasty comment made on his blog recently. It is extremely well expressed and whether you agree or disagree with his sentiment, it’s a post all sensitive writers would benefit from reading. Please find the link below.

Glass Houses

One particular comment on this electric post, caught my attention. Bravo Canada Slim.

This gives the person who wrote the nasty comment no attention whatsoever, and serves as a wonderful reminder, to remember why it is that one is writing in the first place.

I have created this post drawing on the wisdom of Chris and Canada Slim, so that I may refer back, when I need to hear these words.

Canada Slim

‘Abraham Lincoln once wrote-

“you can please all of the people some of the time, you can please some of the people all of the time, but you will never please all of the people all of the time.”

No matter how hard you may try there will always be those who are determined not to like you. Forget about them and instead write the truth as you see it, even if it is a truth only you can see.

Write because NOT writing feels like a life unfulfilled.

Write because it isn’t there and you give it life.

It makes not a shred of difference whether you have ten followers or ten thousand.

Just write for you. And you will find that if your writing is true to who you are, then it will touch the lives of others.

Never underestimate the power of one.’

Inspired by WordPress Daily-Daily Promtpt

 Drawing a Blank

Posted in blogging, My wordpress, Stories, Wordpress prompts, Writing

Eating is a means to an end for me…

Decent Image Scraps: Animation 8

 'I'd run for 50 days and 50 nights to free the dog that is being savagely neglected.'

Live to Eat-Word Press Daily Prompt

Author

Nicole Martin

How far would I travel for the best meal I have ever had?

I’d travel to the end of the earth, to witness happiness on the face of a lonely child

I’d travel 10 times around the world to smell the drenched earth of Africa after the rains

I’d drive for 3 days straight to lay sprawled on a blanket, under a brilliant night sky, with a hot chocolate, a loved one and a story to tell.

I’d hop on one leg for a thousand kilometres if I thought I could convince just one beautiful teenager, with the world at their feet, from jumping behind the wheel intoxicated.

I’d run for 50 days and 50 nights to free the dog that is being savagely neglected.

I’d teach myself to fly, and use these skills to circumnavigate the earth for 6 years, If I thought it would protect our planet from senseless human destruction.

How far would I travel for the best meal I’ve ever had?

The food that graces my plate every single blessed night, is all I need, and I would go no further than my own kitchen to find it.

Posted in blogging, Deep, My wordpress, Wordpress prompts, Writing

Your arms

 Your arms

🍁

 

You are here with me, and yet

you are not

you are somewhere else- and I am here

and I am lost

You know, If I could,

I would run to you and fall

fall rapidly out of myself-and into you

for a moment

and you would throw your arms around me

and I would whisper your name

Can you hear me?

Please tell me you hear me

I want to be embedded in your senses

I want to whisper your name

Come

come over here and let me lose myself in you

Let me embellish you with my tenderness

 let me take away your pain

Should we go somewhere babe?

Let’s go,

 I want to steal you away

if only for a sweet moment

so you can throw your arms around me

and I can whisper your name

let’s evaporate into conjoined nothingness

for a second

and entwine our tragic hearts 

To a place with no voice

and a place void of walls

come

come over here to me and  lock your hand in mine

let us run

 Let us be free of concrete minds

and of the societal locks that asphyxiate us

and let us inhale the virgin scent of our truth

for a moment-

let me embellish you with my tenderness

let me take away your pain

Entice me to come to you and I’ll engulf your space and replace it with me

I will be  your overwhelming distraction

you will be my every thought

You know, if I could, I would run to you and fall-fall rapidly out of myself

-and into you

and you would throw your arms around me

and I would whisper your name

let me lose myself in you

for just one selfish moment

let me ignite you with my touch

 Let me give you

All of me

Now

and

Forever-

but I am here

and you are there…