Block

Wrote this quite a while ago. Like the idea but not sure I like what I’ve written.

Please have at it with sticks.

Pointy ones.

*

I push the button and wait for the chaos. Two shapes dart past the frosted glass of the front door. The gate buzzes, releases and swings open. I have just enough time to close it and turn around before I’m enveloped in a three way maelstrom of children and dog.

“Daddy! DADDEEEEEE!”

I fend off the dog with one hand, low five my son with the other and shuffle forward bearing the weight of a three year old blonde haired limpet on my right leg. She slides off me just before the steps.

“Yucch Daddy! Why are you all sweaty?” Her nose wrinkles.

“I’ve been running my love, that’s what happens.”

She gives me a serious look and then starts laughing. “StinkEEE Daddy!” She runs inside yelling and giggling.

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Ideas And Adventures

So you know how I always keep moaning about the fact that I spend too much time running and then I’m tired and can’t come up with story ideas and have nothing to write down and than spiral into a red-wine fueled misery-machine?

Well I’ve solved it.

Sort of.

I’ve put together another blog called The Write Runner.

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A Lemon Scented Graveyard of Ideas

I have no idea what inspired this or where it came from.

Maybe I should have worn a hat.

Or a steel bucket.

*

There’s a spot down by the lemon tree where the ideas grow. I planted them there you see. Not through choice you must understand. (un)Happy accident. The ideas bounce around in my head for a while and if I don’t write them down somewhere they break through the walls of my skull and take root.

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Seemingly Separate Strands

Good to see I’ve chosen a title that breaks the Always Avoid Alliteration rule before I’ve even started.

I’m constantly amazed at the way unconnected threads find a way to weave themselves into a (hopefully cohesive) story.

I promised myself that tonight I would sit down and write a story. I haven’t written one for a couple of months and with each passing day the mountain was growing. As my day wore on I could feel myself getting edgy. What will I write? I don’t know where to start.

I’m not generally someone who holds much truck with fate and destiny but every now and then I’m convinced that some shards of storytelling magic poke their way into the world and demand to be listened to. Tonight was one of those nights.

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