Hey 🙂

Our sons are really good at ‘Jack Changes’ now.  My inlaws are visiting, and the boys have had a few games before bed the past two nights – now we are dealing the grandparents in, and letting the kids explain about queens changing the direction of play, and how many cards one picks up if an ace stumps you, etcetera.

Eldest won three times in a row, but Grandma is chasing down his record…

Youngest has such good grace – when I won a game this evening, he ran over and threw his little arms around me in delight!  Doesn’t get that sportsmanship from me 😉

After all this, the first word the generator threw at me today made me smile, and instantly have a theme for my poem!

Dealer   Swarm  Bleed  Recommendation  Overcharge  Month  Sacred  Fit  Lease

The dealer of fate

From Randomwordgenerator

Set the suits to swarm;

As the colours bleed

I swig the whiskey

I bought on some businessman’s

Recommendation.

These bars overcharge

I don’t make in a month

What I consume in a night

When the cards bite.

This place may be sacred

But it’s not a good fit;

When my lease expires

I’ll be leaving town fast,

And gambling on other clubs.

Notebook page

I am glad no one has taught our two to play for money yet…

Did/do you play cards with your relatives?  Who taught you to play, and which games?

I remember puzzling over Chess with my Uncle, and Dominoes with my Great Grandfather; but I think card games were mainly with my parents and siblings.  Always nice spending time all together – great for the kids’ maths and problem solving skills, too 🙂

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hi!

From Randomlists

I think my subconscious has taken over for good.  Third flipping poem in a row, man!  S/he has obviously got an axe to grind, but I’m not really sure why?  Few contenders I suppose, but still: eh-to-the-what-now?

Sound  Wire  Carriage  Use  Sleep  View  Mark  Move  Giants

A sound

Travels down

A wire in my frown

And I’m forced

Onto carriage of regret.

See shiny hooves

I don’t use

If I sleep off these blues

Now my view

Is blocked by horse cloud-breath.

As the sound makes its mark

And the memories spark

I feel I only move

To shrink further.

Oh these horses do take

No time at all to lay waste

To the comfort my poor heart was taking.

I thought all this was done

Now equine-giants come

To tether to fairy tale wheels.

And that note is still clear

In my poor inner ear

I’ll feel tiny and helpless for ever…

Scribbly wibbly stuff

Does this poem mean anything to you?

I have read it a few times and think that it is about never really being able to be wholly settled, because something as simple as a noise (or word) can trigger my flight mechanism – and I am overtaken by the need to get away. 

The instinct to run grows bigger and bigger until it is all I can think about, and the way ahead is blocked because I can’t see it for the huge issue I have created. 

I feel helpless when in the midst of these feelings, and the more I listen to whatever flicked that switch, the more I shrink, and the feeling is in charge. I lose the power to remember that “this too shall pass”, that this reaction is not ‘for ever’ or bigger than me.

Does that make sense?!

What did you get out of the poem?

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hello!

Here’s tonight’s random word poem.  Again the subconscious took over, so I don’t know what precisely has happened to the poor woman, or who the speaker is.  But I want to hug them both:

From Textfixer

Shadow  Negative Elevator  Global  Factual  Disturbance  Push  Fermentation  Divorce

That’s when the shadow

Entered her eyes.

The negative self-talk

Dates from then, too.

I tried to be her elevator:

Scribbles

Dredge her from the depths,

But too late –

For her this depression

Is global, and it’s stuck.

She can give me every factual piece

That relates to her profound condition.

She has links to everything;

Memes from memory.

A ‘disturbance’ they said.

But when they elected to push:

Her buttons deployed readily.

Those screams!

“Born of fermentation of mind

And divorce from ‘normal’.”

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Good Evening 🙂

Two days ago, there was a bit of drama to spice up our morning.

It was a Wednesday, and only the second day that Eldest was braving school, after him having that horrible bug over the Easter break, and plummeting to under three stone.  As hubby does not usually work from home on a Wednesday, and Eldest is still a bit weak to be expecting him to walk three miles in one day, I had arranged for the lovely Grandmother of one of Eldest’s pals to pick him up at 8.40am. I was going to power down to the school with Youngest, and catch Eldest before the bell went – to give him the obligatory squish and flash the ‘I love you’ sign at him as he went into his class (he is not at the stage where this is embarrassing yet.  He gets sad if I am not there to do this, or I leave early.  I really relish this!).  Youngest’s nursery is usually ok with kids occasionally coming in a little after nine, so Youngest could wave too.

On his first day back, we had warned Eldest not to run around at break time, and had gone over and over how he was going to manage to eat enough as his body is still recovering, etc etc.  He still succeeded in skinning his knee, side and wrist as he tripped on a rock; despite just walking about the playground. 

So on Wednesday I repeatedly asked our boys to stop wrestling in the playroom, and to find a much less taxing pursuit: so energy and injury levels could remain within my stress threshold.  The boys would look like they were going to comply, then go back to mucking about.  Hubby left for work, we waved him off from our livingroom window, then I proceeded to zoom about trying to get the pushchair ready and have outdoor gear laid out and so forth, while again extolling the benefits of gentle play (to no avail). 

It was about 8.10am, and I was upstairs, when the wail came to my ears.

I went down in a hurry, and was met by Eldest with blood all over his hands and mouth; and Youngest in explanation mode.  I quickly directed Eldest off the livingroom carpet, and through to the playroom’s W.C., collecting kitchen roll on the way, and praising Eldest all the while for not wiping his mouth/hands all over his school jumper.  Eldest was (slurring a little and) assuring Youngest that it wasn’t his fault, but Youngest was actually finding it all quite thrilling.

It turns out that my boys were bopping each other with their ‘knocky sticks’ (long blue pool noodles we got from a pound shop – see above Youngest’s dot to dots) and Youngest had whacked Eldest’s wobbly tooth on the top left.  Cue a gore fest.  It was pretty impressive, but we only had half an hour to sort the damn dentistry out and get the boys in their respective vehicles!!

Do you remember having wobbly teeth?  You know that stage where it’s still attached but needs you to help its exit cos you’ll end up swallowing it or something?!  Yeah…again it was pretty gross.  I gave directions for the best twiddling technique, mopped up the resulting blood and then cleaned and showed off the prize.  I also took yucky progress pictures for daddy, and sent them via Facebook messenger, egged on by my children.  I am such a boy mummy…you’ll notice I’ve not shared them with you, however 😉

I was quite proud, all that was done and dusted within 10 minutes!

This was Eldest’s third tooth to fall out, a day shy of a year since the first one, strangely enough.  His bottom two front teeth are now adult ones, so he looks a bit funny, like he’s just blacked one out at the top.

There was a tradition started with the first tooth, where Eldest asked for an animal instead of coins.  I was quite disappointed (tinged with relief) that he didn’t want anything other than money for this third one.

A year ago, I was chatting to Eldest, and he mentioned that he wanted the fairy to bring him an Elephant instead of the money that he’d heard his friends were looking forward to.  This was quite easily achieved, as I had bought a pack of plastic animals from Tesco that he hadn’t seen yet, and there was a nice Elephant in there 😉  I had to hold back tears the next morning, because he was overjoyed to find a pound in coins and an Elephant inside the envelope-close of his pillow (muuuuch easier place to slip in and out of undetected…) and immediately said to Youngest that he could share it!  But even more gorgeous than that: when Youngest said Eldest could have it all to himself because it was only fair as it was Eldest’s tooth, Eldest went into Youngest’s room and put the coins under his brother’s pillow for later…!

The second tooth was trickier, as Eldest was undecided about which creature he wanted.  On the night the tooth fell out, he plumped for a giraffe. I had one in the same pack of animals as before, but Youngest had seen it and was pretty fond of it…

I can crochet quite fast, so started Googling a quick amigurumi-type giraffe project, but didn’t find any easy ones I liked.  I then realised I had ‘giraffy’ material in my stash, so could maybe attempt a sewing project.

I am not good at sewing.  It did not go well.

I got a fab template from here and did the cutting out ok, but after sewing the right sides together, I fluffed the turning it the right way out 🙁

I then decided to cut the pieces out from felt and go for the visible stitch approach as the template suggested.  It went much better, and Eldest still loves it, though it is barely holding together now!  Youngest is considering asking for a giraffe when his first tooth comes out.  I will probably loose the fab giraffe-print felt I’ve bought, by the time he’s six…

So this time around, Eldest got a shiny new pound coin, and was over the moon because it was double what he asked for 😉 I do love my boys!!  Sorry about the blurry pic.

Do you have toothfairy traditions in your household?  Please tell me about them in the comments!

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Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hi!

Today hubby and I have been married for a whole nine years!

I told Youngest last night that this was about to happen, and he started crying and telling me that he wanted me to stay forever…!  I explained that being married for nine years didn’t mean that it was now the end, but just that nine years ago Mummy wore a pretty dress, and said she and Daddy were going to be together for ever; then we had a party with our friends and family.

He still looked a little confused (much to the exasperation of Eldest) so I broke out the wedding photos.

Why do children want to get their sticky fingers alllll over them?! I spent half my time asking them (increasingly firmly) not to touch the perfectly mounted glossies – and the other half assuring them that I wasn’t wearing trousers under my dress/no-one could see my legs when I got in or out of the fancy car/no, that wasn’t our car/no, we didn’t shrink their cousins for the day, it was actually nine years ago…

It is weird trying to explain to two little people, that are a huuuuge part of our lives now, why they are not going to be in pictures that were taken before they were born.  Eldest kept exclaiming that my tummy didn’t have a bump in it, and Youngest kept sighing and stating in a mock-patient voice that he and his brother were “dust eggs” at that time – then asking me to confirm it.  It was a very surreal conversation as, after 7 years of being a mum, I can’t quite believe hubby and I had a life together before children, either!!

But both boys went into their separate educational haunts this morning and, after the obligatory wee trip to Tesco, hubby and I went for a bacon roll and tea at the hotel we got married in 🙂

A lovely waitress took our photo instead of a hired professional, and I have had to tweak it because the lighting was not too favourable, but I think it shows we can still have some time off together.

Good yum in front of us, and our writing pads out – the fundamentals that made us compatible in the first place!

[Can I just point out that I am now over half a stone lighter than I was on my wedding day?!  Thanks!]

Hubby and I wrote and chatted, and ate and reminisced until about 11.15am; then headed back to collect Youngest.  We were pretty early, so most of the nursery heard our boy pipe up “Daddy! Mummy! Did you enjoy your weddin’?!” as we came into view…apparently he had told his keyworker that we were going to a wedding while he was at nursery, and Mummy was going to wear a pretty dress, with her legs out! 😀

From Randomwordgenerator

Today’s words did not conjure up any wedding imagery in my head, in fact they became an extension of the post I wrote the other day about feeling the writers’ fear, and venturing on regardless…

Mark  Emphasis  Tired  Recruit  Carpet  Scan  Stand  Pudding  Filter

As I make the mark,

Sully the page with my pen;

Choose emphasis, parenthesis,

Work my tired brain

Out –

I sigh and worry,

Recruit recalcitrant figments

To walk the marred

Red carpet of my mind

Once more.

I scan my feelings

See who(m) I can stand

To let talk to me.

But always, always

Someone shoulders in,

Anyway.

And for pudding:

I serve up a hasty explanation

Of what in damnation

Possessed me to write that in the first place…

There is scant filter

On a 15 minute scramble –

But, sometimes?

That’s ok.

You know, grammar bugs me!!!  I found a nice page about when to use who and whom here, however.  Silver linings…

The kids need to go to bed, so I’ll ‘see’ you all later. 

*Waves at the screen*

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hiya 🙂

I will be forty at the end of this year, and I am already noticing that my body is…different.  It has an agenda, it seems to want to rush into old age and offer no reprieve.

I am not a vain person.  I rarely wear makeup other than a bit of eyeliner, and even then I can go a few days together without applying any.  But under my chin and down to my neck has gone a bit crepe-papery, and that bugs me.

I have had glasses since I was six years old, and I was literally born frowning, but recently the furrows seem to be dug extra deep; and I am wondering what time wants to sow in there.

I am starting to see my Nana looking back at me in the mirror.  Is there not a whole generation skip that’s happened there?!  Why can’t I just morph into my mother for a while, then go for Nana in 20 years?

From Jimpix

I know that a lot of it has to do with the 3 stone I managed to toss from July 15 to May 16, the fact I see a lot of weather on the school run (but not enough moisturiser) and that I rarely get more than 4-6 hours’ sleep – but I still feel a bit cheated.  I’ve not really lived yet, and here I am beginning to look like I sun-worship or something (chance’d be a fine thing…).

I took far too long in Aldi deciding which day cream to buy, yesterday.  I actually had to ask myself whether I came into the ‘mature skin’ bracket yet.  I went for a more generic anti-aging with SPF deal, and saw on the box that it is recommended for 35 years up.  *Sigh*

So the poem took shape from this background, and I worked in ‘molybdenum’, too!

Tweezers  Share  Authentic  Molybdenum  Ossified  Constant  Macaron  Want Drone

I am not fond of tweezers.

I do not want them to share

Even the air

Around my poor phizog.

But then, to leave those hairs

‘Authentic’

Revolts me, too.

It may be the fashion

To have molybdenum locks

Now

But soon it’ll be real and –

Well, I’m not that keen.

I’ve watched my opinions

Become ossified over the years,

But hope I’m still liberal?

I’m planning to be craftier

And have myself more ‘sorted’

By the time I’m 50.

In a decade

Will I suddenly become

A constant baker?

Will my quest

For the perfect macaron

Overshadow my joy

At managing a decent macaroon?

Are my kids even going to want

To be around me

As I change

Into something a little more…frumpy?

Will I drone instead of enthuse

This time next year…?

Scribbles

I am assuming you know that a ‘macaron’ and a ‘macaroon’ have not-so-subtle differences.  (Like the fact I have actually attempted to make the latter). You know that ‘phizog’ is another word for face too, yeah?  We used that word a lot when I was growing up, but I wasn’t sure how to spell it…!

Is your body starting to rebel against you at what you consider too young an age?  Do you need a hug…?!

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

A Poem For Cohen

There’s a man that I knew,
And he did what I do;
But his talent was greater than mine.
He could summon his prose,
Or a fable compose –
Always conjure the masterful rhyme.

He told stories that taught,
Conveyed messages caught
From the air us mere mortals ducked under.
Not a feeling as such,
But a soothsayers touch;
Like the universe was his to plunder.

Rivers filled my eyes
When I heard that he’d died;
For a beauty has left us forever.
But his words they remain –
We can tune in again –
In the midst of our questioning fervour.

(c) Montaffera 16.11.2016

I was humming “Chelsea Hotel” to myself as I wrote this, so it kind of fits in with the music.

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Howdy-do!

Are you a writer?

Have you got anything hiding in a drawer that has not seen this side of the millennium, because you are ashamed of it/have convinced yourself it is never going to be worthy of others’ scrutiny?

If you used to write and have now stopped – why is that?  Can you unpick your feelings a bit for me?

Are you going to cite time restraints, crazy work schedules, family commitments, your age, your responsibilities, others’ opinions, your lack of talent…?

In my experience (and you already know this before I point it out) it is all bound up with fear.  That feeling of teetering on the edge of the abyss. 

It’s a huge thrill to think about how successful I would like to be, how I would love to be as rich as J K Rowling or as quoted as Stephen King.  How I will relish seeing my pen name as my recognised brand, and have thousands – no! – millions of followers on social media hanging on every word I write…

Then I remember that I am actually quite fond of anonymity. 

I can hide from the world any time I like.  I don’t have to meet everyone’s expectations, even people I’ve never met before.  I don’t have to acknowledge that scores of readers demand that I think of them when I (or my subconscious) ‘let’ things happen to my characters. 

No-one else is invested yet.  This is a good thing.  This is safe.

But, guess what?  I have a few regular readers already.  I took the plunge at the end of December.  I stood up for myself and said:

 “Nah, this is important enough.  You’ve always been scribbling things down – and pontificating for most of your life on street corners and down telephones, making yourself and your fellow bletherers late for whatever they were supposed to be doing.  It’s part of you, this storytelling and gathering.  You have many years of yarn all jumbled inside of you!  Why do people gravitate towards you if you are meant to be hidden away?!  They must like something you do, or they’d avoid you.  You are not getting any younger!! Do it!!”

If you are a writer that isn’t writing, how are you feeling just now?  Is there a gnawing feeling inside of you that you are not fulfilled in some way?  Can you cram things into your days just fine, but still feel there is something missing? 

Are you bridging that gap with other creative things, things that people can look at and instantly tell you it is clever or good?  How’s that working for you?

Writing is a lonely thing.  It is a subjective art that seems to have so many niches.  I’ll worry one day that the way I want to explain something is too…ornate?…for many to comprehend or bother with; then the next day I read some truly amazing work on the internet, and feel that the style that I wrote my last piece in was far too crude!  The things I beat myself up with!

I get angry when I don’t write. 

I get angry when I do write, but at least I feel I am doing something with it 😉

If you are not writing, but should be, where are your emotions being released?  Are you carrying around all this power that should be bursting from the page? Is it not tearing at the seams of your soul?!

From Randomwordgenerator

I was told by quite a few professional people (and many friends and relatives) in 2015 that I needed to be writing.  A psychiatrist told me that I must keep the dark parts of my musings, in order for the light to exist. 

I was not unwell, I was just not writing!! 

I do not totally believe that this was (or is) the whole story, but I do agree that muting the outlet I have always come back to is silly.

(Does this resonate with any non-practicing writers out there?!)

So, upon seeing ‘publish’ as my first generated word, I wrote a poem around the tussle with myself to get a blog post out every day.  It took all of my 15 minutes, and I did not get to do any tweaking. 

It is what it is…

Publish  Approach  Illness  Familiar  Fist  Crowd  Battlefield  Finish  Month

So I hit that ‘publish’ button,

And every nano second of my finger’s approach

Was being held back by my doubt.

But I did it.

Keep showing up at blank pages,

Banging keyboards in rages,

Through all life’s assuages –

To spew ink-scrawl in waves,

Hoping this my way paves,

To awake from dark graves

All impassioned raves;

That fell silent in twenties

(And rusted up, plenty)

But still wittered on

In my soul’s inner song…

And then, although illness

Kept striking our house;

The school run taking over,

The familiar pull of TV shows unwatched

Or books unread;

(Or just the lovely ecstasy

Of an early bed…)

I clenched my fist around my pen,

Addressed the assembled crowd.

Asked characters to step forward,

Take their places; please.

Sometimes, they were fresh from the battlefield,

Had not had time to finish dressing –

A wound, or themselves –

But still they performed:

Month after month, after…

Scribbles in my notebook, in a spring-like shade of green…

Once I start wondering about my writing process, and decide that I am on a ‘derailing mission’; I start to ask myself disheartening questions. 

I made a commitment to use a random word generator and just 15 minutes, to discourage my endless redrafting of my efforts – and to prove to myself I have an innate ability to produce decent work under pressure (a fact I suspected from my university essay days).  My internal critic would have me believe I have only put those restrictions on myself so I can hide behind them, and point to them when my work is rubbish. 

You lack commitment to your art, don’t you? 

You know you don’t measure up, so have checked out before you’ve even begun…that’s the truth, isn’t it?

When you get your longer pieces out there, people are going to realise you really don’t have any talent…!

But I am trying not to listen, because I know that I work hard at promoting my work, and thinking of what will be interesting for other people to read, as well as what I need to share with the world today for my own peace of mind.  I know I have a whole back catalogue of poetry and stories chilling in boxes and files that I can refresh and reframe. 

I am remembering, instead, to take heed of the calm little voice that doesn’t hiss, but just states the truth in an assertive way – waiting to be heard…

Feel free to weigh in on my “I’m less if I’m not writing” postulation, in the comments.  I’m eager to read your thoughts on the matter 🙂

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hello 🙂

From Randomlists

There was only one topic that popped into my mind when I read ‘oval’ and ‘press’ in the generated words tonight.  As I watch rolling news reports on the BBC News 24 channel, I come back to these ponderings quite a bit.  Who knew I’d be caring about politics so much in my late thirties?!  There does seem to be a lot of it about these days…

Heal  Public  Settle  Oval  Abrasive  Base  Chop  Talented  Press

It must be hard to heal

From such a public loss,

And settle back into life

As if nothing had happened.

Watch some crass buffoon

Squat in the Oval Office;

(Being deliberately abrasive,

But getting away with it)

Some days, you must get up

And wonder if it was all

Some figment.  If it mattered.

Whether being that base would have been easier!

Do you feel like a limb

Was left behind,

And that you know exactly

Who made the chop?

You were always so talented

At coming across as decent and measured.

You genuinely cared.

Never picked fights with the press.

Is God still blessing you guys?

Has your head been out of your hands, lately?

Notebook scribbles, in a fetching shade of blue.

Incredibly, I read this to hubby and typed it out, then hopped on to Google to see what Obama has been up to, and realised that today he has given his first public appearance since Trump took over!  How weird is that?! (I had not seen that on the news today)

Remember, the generators are random, I ask for nine words and alternate between four generators throughout the week…what are the odds that ‘oval’, ‘abrasive’ and ‘press’ would pop up on this generator today?  Are the algorithms rigged? Hmmmm…

The article suggests that Obama will not be answering my queries anytime soon, but it says a memoir has been started 😉 should be interesting…

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Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved

Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Hi!

From Textfixer

There was no Googling today, no harumphing over obscure words, or that brain tingle that tells me I am not going to find it very easy to complete my task in 15 mins though i’m still up for the challenge.

I just sat and looked at the words, then kind of checked out.  I was feeling a bit…well, restless.  I couldn’t think what triangular thing to start with so I just sat back and let my subconscious write the poem.

Maybe that is why it rhymes?  Maybe that is why I am also not entirely convinced that the whole ensemble makes sense??  I’m pretty sure it suffers for its rhyme in many places, but a bit of jovial drivel never hurt anyone…

Triangle  Tin  Tight  Gambler  Elastic  Tenth  Amongst  Fool  Honeydew

She has this triangle tattoo,

And I don’t have a clue

What the hell is was for –

In fact, she has plenty more…

But once she commented (drunk)

They were shark fins, unsunk,

That tormented her daily

(Though she carried on, gaily).

We have never been tight,

She is inclined to fight,

When the drinks set in.

She’s a gambler – won’t win –

But pleads coins from my pocket

And won’t heed plees to STOP IT.

Singing ‘Elastic Heart’

She’ll make other drunks start;

And they’ll weep and they’ll moan…

Text nonsense on their phone.

“For the TENTH time tonight,

Please just GIVE UP yer sh***e

And go home in this taxi…!”

I’m fed UP with this waxy

Existence, where candles

Are burned from all angles.

And she’s always amongst

The debris furthest flung;

But the boomerang fool

Somehow thinks that it’s cool

To keep rocking up here…

So I can buy her beer.

(And her Honeydew Melons)

Frailty, thy name is…Helen.

I notice that my subconscious put an ‘s’ on the end of ‘fin’.  Naughty!

Please excuse the scrappy stapled bit of paper, I scribbled some notes for something sensitive on there, and forgot I hadn’t scanned it for the blog yet…

What gender do you think the speaker is? Do you reckon there is intimacy between this ‘Helen’ and the speaker? Or did there used to be, and now it is like a game they play; where neither of them gain much they respect from the partnership? Is the speaker really exasperated with ‘Helen’, or is the speaker loving it, as they are not stopping it? Does she have a hold over the speaker that we are not being told about?

Have you ever known a couple like this? Are we thinking these are University students, or are they people who also hold down jobs and function in society in other ways?

So many questions! One would think that when characters wandered into a writer’s head, the writer would know a bit about them, eh?!  Well no, actually, I have two little ‘real life’ characters that run me ragged, and countless other people dotted through my life; so I sometimes get a bit confused by the imaginary ones that swan onto the page for just 15 minutes and demand my attention 😉

Come have a ponder with me in the comments…

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