Writing Inspiration… Cornwall

This magical photograph is of an actual place in Cornwall, called St. Nectan’s Glen. I know it well because I have been there. I have stood beneath it, getting soaked to the skin, and I have climbed up the rocks and stood looking down at the majesty of the thundering water. The sight and sound of it put something in my soul that I know wasn’t there before. It was a wonderful experience, and if I had the money, I would move to Cornwall just to be near it. And I would love to go and experience Niagara Falls too! (Mind you, if I did, I may never come home again!)

If you ever feel a little bit worthless or a waste of space, you need a place like this. You need to be able to see and feel something that you just know is stronger and more powerful than anything you have seen or felt before. Once you find it, you will be a different person, believe me. I always love to be near water, any kind of water. I wanted to live on a boat when I was growing up and it still appeals to me.

The first time I went to Cornwall I was not really prepared for just how much that County had to offer. Apart from all the quaint old villages, there were magical forests, wonderfully rugged beaches and coves, dramatic rock formations and inspiring scenery everywhere you looked. I have had more inspiring moments in Cornwall than just about anywhere else.

I need some of that inspiration round about now, as I am still trying to finish my fifth book and find myself dragging my heels. I am at the stage when things should start to happen as we approach the conclusion, one of the most important sections of any book, in my opinion. For some reason, my mind is foggy, reflecting the autumn weather, and I desperately need some clarity. This year has been hard, trying to cope with a brain that is uncooperative at best and empty on occasion. Something keeps telling me that this may have to be my last book as the constant struggle to remember everything and keep on track is becoming a problem.

I am refusing to listen to this voice in my head. I will continue somehow, even at a slower pace. One way or another I will get it right and get it done, but where is my inspiration at the moment?

I think it has gone to Cornwall without me…

Black Velvet Memories…

When I was seven, my mother bought me a black velvet dress for my birthday. It had a white collar with white cuffs on the puff sleeves.

I felt like a princess and couldn’t stop rubbing my hands over it. Mother told me to stop doing that, as I would ruin it.

My stepfather Joe said he would take me and my brothers to the park. As we left the house, my mother said not to give us any ice cream.

We played on the swings for a bit and then Joe brought ice cream.

I walked away, wondering if he would do as he was told. I didn’t go far, for I hoped I knew better than that and I was right. Joe handed me the ice cream, telling me to please be careful.

I said I would, but what child can eat ice cream without getting it down themselves? Not me anyway. I kept rubbing at it, making it worse. The velvet was ruined where I had tried to rub the ice cream away and there was no way to hide it.

All the way home, I wished Joe would run away with us, but he told me not to worry. He would say it was his fault, which in a way it was for buying it for me. I know that’s an unkind thought, but when we got home before he could say a word, mother ripped the dress from my body, leaving her nail marks on my back because the fabric was too hard to tear.

Joe got both barrels of her temper, and I thought his ears would swell and drop off.

This memory has returned, because my daughter who lives next door, was playing a song I haven’t heard for a long time. It was one of my favourites, called Black Velvet.

It’s a funny old life isn’t it, the way old memories come back?

© AnitaDawes2021

MLMM Wordle #262Wordle and Substitute ~ New Memories

New Memories


Our winter ski holiday,
Years later, no more than a treasure
A shadowy memory
An element of toujours perdrix
A sign to the past
Together we navigate 
the slippery road ahead
Crisp white winter
Warm within, cold without
Years slow the body, not the mind
We sit, wait for mind and body to catch up
To forget the wonderful winter holidays skiing
Time to make new memories
Slow, warm, indoor memories


© Anita Dawes 2021

The Old Couch…

I found this image on Pixabay a few days ago, and it has been haunting me … This could be its story…

image by pixabay.com

The morning sun warmed the memories in the heart of the old couch, spreading through the worn feather cushions to the wooden framework, easing the pain of arthritic rigours.

A rustling in the tree above announced the presence of a lone squirrel. Landing on a cushion with a soft thud, the squirrel began to stretch his muscles in the sunshine. The settee sighed as he watched, a sound like a gentle whisper of wind, as he remembered his early days when he was king of the house, looked for by tired bones after a hard day’s work.

Babies had been born on his comfortable cushions, and countless children had safely fallen asleep in his arms.

So many good times.

A cloud passed in front of the sun, temporarily removing the heat. A shiver reminded him of other times when tears were shed, dampening his upholstery.

Of angry tears, and later, happy ones.

Romances had begun and ended, and the years passed.

Before he knew it, they noticed the sagging cushions and faded covers. He heard the uncomfortable complaints and the plans to replace him. All too soon, he found himself forgotten, dumped under a tree in the garden awaiting collection.

Only nobody came.

He wasn’t lonely. The birds and animals were his friends these days, and nature did her best to comfort him, spreading soft moss and grasses around him as if to protect him from the elements.

Families of field mice had made homes under the cushions, their happy existence bringing joy to the heart of the old settee…

Time… #Poetry

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Time

I remember when I had wings
Before Earth became my home
When days were young
I had not yet leaned that time is my enemy
A parasite, my own personal stalker
Stealing moments of my life
Memories slipping away
Turning my steps slower
Empty space in mind
Filled with strange thoughts
That do not belong to me.
I feel I have twinned with another mind
Maybe one day, they might tell me who they are
I have learned many things in my latter years
That I never thought to put to mind
Mind, like an empty room
Has space for so much more
Why did I not know this when I was young
When time was still on my side?
I feel like a greedy child
There is never enough of the things you like
The heart and mind, wanting more
Wandering from place to place
Still looking for that special something
That eureka moment
that tells you nothing really matters
All thoughts turn to dust
Only the moment holds the charm of life…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The First Time… #Poetry

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I had just finished watching The One Show
When I thought of all the first moments
I can never get back.
My first time on a bike
Riding, standing on the pedals
Too small to reach the saddle
The boy you pestered for two weeks
To take you out on his motorbike
You’re wearing his sisters leather jacket
His mother’s helmet and goggles, his brothers gloves
Your arms wrapped around his waist
The speed, sheer heaven
Your first kiss, that cuddle
in the back row of the cinema in the dark
Straightening up when the usherette came past
More annoyingly, she would stand
Right there at the top of the aisle
Her eye on both sides of the back rows.
That first taste of alcohol
Yuck, never did that one again.
That first time, fumbling between the sheets
That moment we call lovemaking
Thank God that one got a lot better
Or I might not have had my first child!
My best moment, buying my first car
for ten pounds, passing my test first time.
So many firsts, some you wouldn’t want to repeat again
on pain of death. You get the idea.
I could go on, filling a book with first moments
Do you ever think about yours?

© Anita Dawes 2021