C.J. Butler's Blog

When she was young her parents had parted. They had been unhappy anyway, but as is often the way in ailing marriages, rather than ending it before anything forced the situation, they waited until one of them had an affair, adding betrayal and recrimination to an already prickly list of reasons for resentment.Then Sundays were the only day she saw her dad, apart from the occasional holiday, and suddenly, jarringly, what had been normal family was deleted from the program. Time was suddenly finite, and everything had to be crammed into the hours allotted.She would take mental notes over the course of the week, of the things she needed to share with her father, the school yard arguments or injustices which she suffered alone, now, without him as her cornerstone and voice of reason at the end of each day. But then sitting beside him in the car as they drove, glancing over at his familiar profile, the slightly slanting eyes, flat ended nose, and furrowed brow, all those stored conversations would fly from her thoughts seemingly inconsequential compared to simply sharing space with him. She would absorb his reassuring presence, watch his hands resting competently on the wheel, and listen to him talk in the calm and measured way he did, with the little audible swallows as he paused to think. Even his scent was comforting; the hint of spicy aftershave, mingling with the fresh smell of his cotton shirt.On rainy winter afternoons, when all the strangely empty museums and art galleries had lost their appeal, they would go to his office and sit round the polished walnut conference table playing board games and supping on soup from the vegetarian restaurant next door.There was a weariness to those afternoons, an exhaustion from playing out the day when it really felt like they would both rather be at home simply reading or pottering. Life was no longer normal, and even on the days when they had somewhere to visit, it felt to her that they weren’t real anymore; they were a phoney fake family, incomplete and pretending everything was normal. He was no longer there to wake her in the morning or rub her shoulders the way he used to, when she was tired at the end of the day. How she longed for an ordinary day; when they could run errands together, collect groceries, go home to make dinner and watch some mindless Saturday evening television, allowing time to slip by comfortably, and where each minute was not chronicled, sounding off like a momentous countdown. *. *. *. *. *. *A plea; take action to mend it or split before it becomes a nightmare, remember your role as guardian to the wellbeing of your children, and keep it simple.An excerpt from a collection of impressions from children of separated parents; ‘Children Bounce Back’

What's wrong with this question???I'm not as much of a stickler for grammar and perfection in the use of the English language as my editor - probably because I'm not as knowledgable as her in either... I'm just a dumb writer who dreams up stories. But I do have some gripes which get me mounted up on my hobby horse and whinging from the tops of small trees.Today I channel my dislike in the direction of written rudeness, specifically; the use of multiple question marks.“When can I expect your proposal???” read the words on the screen of my laptop.Oh how I hate this!I don’t know about you, but when I see any more than one question mark used after a question, it conjures up the mental image of the asker sitting at their desk, breathing fire as they punch the keys with barely restrained violence.They may as well have well shown up at the door of my office, red-faced and hands on hips, demanding the answer in a high pitched banshee scream;“Well? When the hell are you going to get off your slovenly butt, and get the damn thing finished and in my hands?...I mean; why the hell are you keeping me waiting?”...bringing forth hordes of other pin-pushing desk jockeys, scurrying into the corridor to see what the kerfuffle is all about…But no, rather than causing an office scene which hovers on the edge of corporate violence, the writer electing to utilise multiple question marks, hides behind their desk; a passive-aggressive parasite.Upon receipt of such an aggravating missive, if I (in true corporate passive-aggressive style) were to stay silent, deliberately protracting the time period for response, what would happen? Perhaps the writer will come and see me? I wish they would; I'm dying to know whether they really are red-faced and frantic. But perhaps I am wrong? Maybe they are simply poorly educated in terms of use of the written word, and written etiquette?But no. If they are an offender of the worst degree, the follow up will be under the cover of a simple two-character email; "??"When I go to put myself in front of the senders of these emails, they are often strangely absent...just the chair turning slightly...the still steaming mug of coffee on the desk...My plea for the day; stop using multiple question marks. (They really get my goat)CJWelcome to the first of my blog bytes - Short blogs purging emotions or irritations of the moment, designed for bitesize reading :)This one is the first in what I know will be a series; 'written rudeness'.

It was dark as she left the office, the wind chill as she zipped up her collar, and the puddles on the road alive with falling rain. Squinting ahead through the smear of the wipers into the glare of oncoming vehicles, her eyeballs felt sore as the heavy lids scraped over them. She had been up since 5am, and barely slept the night before; too much on her mind. Despite the length of the day, she still hadn’t come close to getting everything done. Her brain stacked up the undone tasks and added them to her list for tomorrow. There were a few she would have to do tonight, dammit, with the financial deadline hanging over her. Checking the clock, she saw she might just make her gym class. She hadn’t eaten since 10am, and reached one handed into her bag, seeking out a protein bar. If she didn’t eat, she would collapse. If she did, she might puke. But she had to work out, or she would become one of the sedentary examples of management who sat flaccidly in their chairs, shapeless, waxen and unhealthy. But goodness knows, the punishing schedule diminished both energy and desire to do anything other than eat and fall into bed.“Going to gym!” she insisted, sitting up and gripping the steering wheel determinedly.Her legs were shaking as she climbed back into her car, post-workout.“Need that approval email asap,” said the incoming text on her phone. “Dammit! I can’t believe I didn’t send it! How did I forget?”But she was forgetting a lot of things recently; they were just falling out of her head as soon as they were said.She clenched her jaw, deciding the next workout she did would be muay thai, where she got to kick and punch the hell out of focus pads; she needed the outlet from these demanding jerks. Quickly she scrolled to her draft email which had been left abandoned as she was pulled into the final emergency meeting of the day. Swiftly she keyed the last line and forwarded. Then she sighed, seeing the other urgent emails which had landed during her journey home. Why was everything on fire? “Huh, probably because we’re so under resourced,” she grunted, grumpily. “And guess what I’ll get at the end of the year? An under-inflation pay increase.”She glowered at the screen of her phone. What was she doing? She had been tackling emails in the parking lot of the gym for the last twenty minutes! She had to go home!The building was dark as she pulled into the driveway. Another power cut, dammit. What was wrong with this place?In the wavering light from her candle, she could see Warlock – the stray cat she had befriended – sitting on the chair on the balcony, even blacker than usual, bedraggled from the rain. She pulled open the back door and he scuttled in as she lit more candles. She rubbed him down with the towel, as he purred, and swatted at her playfully. Then, as he descended hungrily on the bowl of scraps she put out for him, she opened her laptop once again, its cold light filling the room. Her head ached as she looked at the spreadsheet again. 8:31pm. She still had to respond to a number of personal emails; evenings were the only possible time. Dammit, no wifi. She’d have to hotspot, assuming her phone battery lived up to the challenge. When was her life going to get a look in?She sighed. The report in front of her was as good as it was going to get. She hit send and scanned the stack in her inbox.“COST REPORT ISSUE” read the header of one. She slammed the screen shut. Financial reporting could definitely go to hell that night.Warlock mewed and writhed around her foot, nibbling at her ankle. She stooped to rub his ears, and then opened the fridge, carefully extricating her foot from the cat’s grip. “Wine!” she said aloud, grabbing a bottle of chardonnay. “That’ll do for dinner. Since I can’t cook a damn thing,” she added under her breath. 9:01pmShe couldn’t focus on the words in her book. Why was she so tired? Oh yes, aside from the fact she was reading in candle light, the main reasons were sleepless nights, the stress, no eating routine, and the lack of pleasurable social life. There it was. What’s more her throat felt like she was swallowing razor wire; but she didn’t have time to be ill!The construct of the system of modern western life made no sense. There was no time to be a human; no time for pleasure; no time to do the things she loved doing. All the time was sucked by the insatiable job to feed the hungry mortgage on an apartment that stood empty day in, day out, because she was always at work Everyone was running on a ridiculous wheel, doing something which kept them captive, unable to truly express themselves or have sufficient time off to do the things they wanted to…or see their family at Christmas, she thought begrudgingly. Why did it have to be like this? Maybe she should just quit her job and go live in smaller place or a cheaper country? But then she’d be poor and stressed about basic needs, unable to travel or do the things she enjoyed. She’d been there and didn’t want that again. She shuddered, loathing the patriarchal monetary system, but too tired to think her way out of it. The end of the year was coming, and she was determined that next year would be different... She wasn't sure how, but it would!Make 2020 a year of self-care; instill some boundaries with other people and your employer. Carve out personal time, spend time in nature, get a massage, reiki, or go to yoga. Treat your body as a shrine; feed and water it, treat it well. Accept yourself as you are, and get rid of negative self-talk. Be honest with yourself and others, and cease to make fear-based decisions – Do what you feel is right, not what you think will create less pain for you. Purge things you no longer need and create space in your personal habitat.Adopt even a few of these things into your life, and you may be surprised at the changes. The difference starts with you.Namaste

Damien, the character described on the back cover of The Japson Club as ‘wickedly disarming one moment, and boorishly indifferent the next’, is a chap who conjures up strong – and very mixed - feelings in my readers (some choice remarks shared here!). He has a pretty even following of those who positively adore him, and those who love to hate him.When someone was quizzing me about some of his traits, and also some very basic things about him the other day (specifically his profession, and who he works for) it got me thinking about the brand that is Damien. He’s the man who lead character, Anna, does her best to ignore, but instead falls helplessly for. He was one of my favourites to write. Damien is complex, enigmatic and fascinating, and the light and dark of his persona waxes and wanes as the story progresses. Initially he’s quiet and withdrawn – in fact Anna is positively frustrated as she attempts to get to know the monosyllabic, yet remarkably attractive stranger who so arrests her attention. He’s stand-offish, and refuses to engage when he doesn’t want to, he has secrets, and keeps his true feelings very much to himself. He’s also respected from a ‘man’s man’ point of view, and charismatic, ensuring no shortage of women interested in him. His dry sense of humour and deadpan remarks are part of the charm of his personality, but we suspect he has a dark side; is he a heartless womanizer, insensate and emotionally unavailable, or does he really care? What made you choose ‘pilot’ as his profession? I needed Damien to appear in the story unpredictably, to keep Anna guessing when she will see him again, and his job needed to be glamourous, to match his somewhat ‘untouchable image’. Pilots can have variable working patterns as they bid for the shifts they want, and working long haul, he disappears for days at a time. The route by which he comes to his job was important too; he’s not been a commercial pilot his whole life, but came from the Royal Air Force. This attributes him with a physically heroic edge, one which comes into play when he wades in to protect Anna when she is attacked. From a research point of view, I also had a lot of fun watching youtube videos shot from the cockpit of take-offs and landings, and also talking to pilots about the nuts and bolts of their tasks, in order to make the flight scenes real. :)And why Virgin Atlantic? Would BA not have suited his rather reserved persona better? Photo Credit: PexelsI could have left it as him simply being a pilot, and not chosen a brand, but detail adds realism, and branding can reflect and strengthen the complexion and qualities of a personality. While Damien is reserved, he is notable and somewhat exclusive – He gets noticed by people – He’s attractive and bold, and certainly daring when it comes to riding and some of his behaviours. All these facets I felt were well reflected in the Virgin brand. Plus of course, the famously good looking Virgin cabin crew help add some uncertainty as to Damien’s good behavior when he is from home… Maybe too, it’s a nod to one of my favourite entrepreneurs. From my obsession as a youngster, with Tubular Bells (Virgin Records’ first album), to studying A level business, I remember learning about Richard Branson, and his business strategy, I really liked his ethos, and straightforward style. He was known for his ability to attract attention; how about the off-the-cuff publicity stunt he pulled in 2000, the day the London Eye, sponsored by rival business BA, was to be erected suffered an epic fail? In the midst of a media circus, as the huge wheel lay impotent and prostrate on the ground due to a technical problem, the impish shadow of a Virgin blimp floated overhead, declaring in enormous red lettering; ‘BA can’t get it up’! Brilliant! And this is the stuff Damien is made of, as he smirks at the unfolding human drama at Rosemount, all the while dodging proverbial bullets himself.Think you loathe him? I urge you to go back and read The Japson Club again... Do it, because the sequel is coming! :)And yes, he's in the sequel, grappling with some personal struggles, and a bit grittier this time around. The question is, can Anna stay away from him?NamasteCJ

The cloying smell of heavy bunker oil pervaded the air as the Quartermaster pulled back the weighty steel passenger door in the side of the cruise ship. Wisps of violet grey dawn light chinked in through the steadily widening maw, bringing with them an already overbearing blanket of stifling humidity as Miami yawned and stretched awake across a limpid velour Biscayne Bay.It had been a tragically short night of rest for the chief photographer who, along with most of the crew of the SS Tropic Star, had been celebrating Christmas Eve hard and mightily into the wee small hours at a 'hole in the wall' dive called the Little Brown Jug, frequented by generations of off duty cruise staff since the year dot. Having dragged his fragile carcass delicately off the top bunk endeavouring not to wake his slumbering partner, the Chief had blearily found his way to the photo lab and had flicked switches, pressed buttons and verified levels of the chemical tanks as the gently heating soupy mixes blipped and burped into life.Whatever time had he finally got to bed? he mused. Focusing hard on the swimming dial on his watch he determined that it was probably only an hour and a half ago. The extraordinarily loud exclamations being made every second by the relentless sweep of the second hand broke his dim reverie and so he reluctantly harnessed himself into his battle equipment. He slumped visibly as the weight of the over the shoulder flash pack battery and motor driven Nikon camera dug into his painfully weary flesh.5:50am Christmas Day, ten minutes to go until the eight hundred passengers eagerly waiting in the terminal below would come swarming up the jetway. The cacophony from the vast echoing hall below did nothing to alleviate the dull pounding that was wreaking havoc in the Chief's marshmallow-like skull. At five to six, leaning for support on the gangway railing supping gingerly from a restorative, steaming double espresso and gamely attempting to spark up a Marlboro Light whose wavering end seemed reluctant to be set a fire, the Chief noticed the lumbering hulk of a giant yellow Chicken with its head under its arm stumbling onto the gangplank, looking like he felt."Hey Ernesto, how you doing?"Ernesto, a Nicaraguan cabin steward was employed occasionally by the photo department to dress up as a mascot for the boarding passengers to be photographed with as a tacky souvenir memory of their cruise. At twenty bucks a week it was a good deal for him and he usually threw himself into the role with great panache, clucking, flapping and squawking about the place much to the passengers feeble amusement."Boss..feel shit...""Not too bright myself this morning either Nesty, have you seen Kev..?""No see him boss."Kevin was the number two photographer on board, two photographers on the gangway were essential back then, as once you heard the 'deadman's click' as your thirty sixth frame had been exposed, your number two would leap into action and continue shooting as you rewound and reloaded with a fresh film canister.At just two minutes to six the shabby apparition of the Chief's wing man ambled shakily into the lobby area, shielding his bloodshot eyes from the devastatingly bright, now gold-hued rays lancing in from the low rising sun."Jesus mate, you look like shit, you okay..?""Good morning to you too boss" mumbled Kevin, sniffing and snurfling in the time honoured tradition of coke heads the world over.Good grief, if we get through this embarkation unscathed it will be a bloody miracle, thought the Chief grimly as the terminal director, a sultry, impeccably attired hispanic woman flounced up the gangway to enquire if we were ready for kick off. A quick glance to the left and right of him at his bedraggled cohorts and he knew that, no they weren't, but would have to carry on regardless. The Chief took up position next to the 'Welcome Aboard' sign as first shooter and Ernesto reluctantly plonked his foam Chicken head onto his own perspiring head of tightly coiled brilliantine curls. Ready as we'll ever be..His worst fears were confirmed as a unique and distinctive magpie-esque cawing grew steadily louder and more penetrating from the other end of the jetway."Oh no, Christ that's all we need today, Snowbirds.."The term Snowbirds had been adopted as a pet name for the thousands of New Yorkers of Jewish descent who, regular as clockwork when Winter took a grip up North, would literally flock South to Miami in a migration of stay-pressed polyester pale blues and turd browns, ensconcing themselves in the purpose built art deco condominiums along Miami Beach for the duration. Every so often these condos would have an evacuation order put on them so that the brave men and women of the South Dade county health department could come in to fumigate the buildings against the many and various bugs and horrors these delightful folk lived amongst. Renowned for their mean spirits and penny pinching ways, the Snowbirds were offered an unbeatable $18:99 all-in deal on a cruise to nowhere and two full banquet spreads of breakfast and lunch. They would be back in their dungeons in the sky by 4 O'clock even before the last Cockroaches had finished spinning on their backs in their final throes jigging and jerking to the dance of death.Many of the wizened and leathery faces were familiar to all of us as they were regulars on the ship. The Chief knew his day was lost already as the last thing these folk were going to splash out on was yet another souvenir photograph at nearly a third of the price of the entire cruise itself. Bracing himself nevertheless for the onslaught of the marauding pastel trolls, the Chief raised his matte black weapon as the first passengers hurtled towards him at break neck speed causing the jetway to oscillate sickeningly."Outta ma way boy..""No pictchas, no pictchas..""I got one already.." He let the hurtling tide of inhumanity speed past, barely hearing the litany of abuse and rudeness which continued apace until Ernesto, irked by being ignored, flailed a debilitated yellow wing across the shoulders of a diminutive couple, a lady with a mauve rinse and her hubby with his waistband just below his nipples. More astonished than compliant, the couple stood to what amounted to attention given their slight stature, locked in the embrace of a demented fowl. Zoning in on their faces through his viewfinder the Chief noticed a very thin but distinct trickle of green vomit dripping steadily from one of the nostril holes in the Chicken mask that Ernesto would normally use to see through. Less than a second and a half later, what resembled the geyser at Yellowstone national park erupted from where the head of the mask joined the body suit and Ernesto crumpled into an unconscious heap, his red felt clawed feet soaking up the remnants of last night's Absinthe which pooled in almost luminous puddles of putrescence before eventually dripping into the already rainbow fuel streaked water of the dock below."Kev, Kevin for God's sake, get this heap off the gangway." No reply."Kevin..?"Had the Chief been looking for a glacé Cherry with which to adorn his already doomed day, he wouldn't have to look far. Turning to see just what was going on behind him he saw the immobile frame of his second in command standing stock still with fixed glazed over eyes and wet gobbets and slashes of bright crimson adorning the whole front of his beige uniform polo shirt.Staring disbelievingly, the Chief was astonished to witness an errant shard of glistening early morning light passing clear through Kevin's nose from one nostril to the other. His Septum had finally given up the ghost from years of being shackled to the mirror and the razor blade and had gone into some sort of final meltdown at just that moment.Confining the rest of that day's photo shooting to the rubbish heap, the Chief had no option but to grab the babbling and dripping chicken man by a sour and sodden wing under one arm and steered the other blank pale-faced wastrel off the gangway. All of this, may the lord be praised, without being noticed by the stern faced German Staff Captain with the weedy thin black combover and inch long brush moustache, who himself at that very moment was being surrounded by a horde of vociferous semites, lambasting him for his rather unfortunate but purely coincidental resemblance to a certain rather unpopular twentieth century Austrian born artist turned fascist leader.Safely locked away and secured in the steamy heat amongst the vinegary chemical vapours of the photo lab, the Chief slumped in his chair and poured himself a well merited three fat fingers of Wild Turkey, and at 7:07am as the ship pulled out into the ocean's tender embrace, toasted a Merry Christmas to absent friends and family around the world.Absinthe, it seemed, did indeed make the heart grow fonder.Thank you to my first guest blogger! A hilarious account of working Christmas Day having played a tad too hard the night before, and far from family. I'm fairly certain this piece is closer to truth than fiction, from Neil's years of working on the cruise ships sailing out of Fort Lauderdale. CJ

There was something wrong…surely there must be? Why didn’t she feel any sadness? She had laughed across the boardroom table with her colleagues. They had been enjoying the light relief of ridiculing their entitled, psychotic clients who were so busy sweating the microscopic issues of the day that they were laughable. Meanwhile the team was straining under the stress, and the humour was necessary. But, how could she feel that way? Suddenly she realised, as she walked away from the meeting, that she had been functioning normally for a few days now. When was the last time she had thought about him? Feeling sombre for a moment, she sat down at her desk and checked her schedule. Dammit, another meeting in five minutes.Maybe because she didn’t have time to grieve? That couldn’t be healthy.“Hey?” enquired her colleague from over the partition. “You ready?”“Yup. Absolutely,” she confirmed, leaping to her feet and grabbing her laptop.Days slip by…How long had it been? How long was it that the planet had been bereft of his presence? Back in his house, there must be a physical hole where he used to be, a vacuum, empty slippers, a ticking clock, a tapping foot, time and space wondering what else was going to fill it. But here of course, where she lived, thousands of miles away from his home, everything was as it had always been. Except perhaps for a new presence, his presence now as it was; sitting at her side in her car, standing with her as she waited for the train, drifting around her as she worked out. At yin yoga class that evening, the atmosphere swelled with something. There was the sense of being watched, calmly. As she breathed deeper and stretched a little more, she could see the back of her own neck, where the hair was gathered up into its pony tail, a few stray strands pulled out around the nape. There was a sudden rush of overwhelming love; she could feel it, pounding through the space, directed at her, filling her chest until it felt it would burst. Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed her forehead to her hands. Her breath felt jagged as it raked at her throat and she tried to control the welling sob, hurtling up from inside. The right memoriesThe insects sang in the soft dim of the evening, and the stream behind the trees trickled quietly over the rocks beneath. She stood on the balcony and inhaled the silken air, full of leaves and perhaps the first hint of earthy autumnal-ness. How he would have enjoyed the peace of this. How long had it been?Suddenly she was in the hospital again, staring in bewilderment at the impossible array of tubes, lines and machines he was wired to. His thin frame so frail, his shoulders so wasted under her hands. …His hands, the knuckles painfully predominant. Tears rolled down her face.A sob gasping from her.‘No!’Where did that come from?The ‘no’ was insistent. It came firmly from inside. Suddenly she saw him jumping at the volleyball net, high above the ground, suspended in mid-air smashing the ball on its terminal trajectory into the court of the opponents who rushed and dived to block the inevitable. It was a picture she had marvelled at as a child - her Dad, strong and powerful. His crazy long hair flying behind him in the air, the number on the back of his shirt, stripes on the sleeves, leg muscles flexing. His team were county champions that year. That was how he wanted to be remembered - Athletic and powerful; active his whole life. The end was the end, and it would not dictate or discolour her memories of what he truly was.Apathy “This is unacceptable!” raged pin-stripe prat at the other end of the phone.It was Monday afternoon.She shrugged and sat back in her chair, apathetic.“We need a full explanation and updated schedule by 9am tomorrow!” ranted mr sweaty .“A full schedule update won’t be possible by then,” she responded in a flat tone. She didn’t care.The anger intensified in her ear, but all the sound and fury was nothing but a collection of inconsequential bleating. She listened, catatonic, waiting for a lull in the noise. None of it meant anything. It was the misplaced madness, the obsession of an idiot, desperately trying to manage what was not his to manage. It was so far from important on her current scale, they might as well be discussing a nameless gaseous particle floating along the shores of pluto; so far off and minute as to be infinitely insignificant. Didn’t he realize how much bigger life was? He was missing all that was truly meaningful, and sweating blood over the negligible. Seriously, was this man even awake?Emotional commuting She looked scrolled to the messages on her phone from her brothers and sister; evidently it had been a hard day for all of them. She too had taken herself out for a walk at 11am, too emotional to focus on the mind boggling cost report. Who gave a damn? When there were so much more substantial and significant things in life? She swallowed at the hard lump in her throat and glanced out of the window, eager to distract herself, and most importantly, not break down into tears amongst the strangers, all jostling, shoulder to shoulder in the same space, holding on as they rounded a bend in the tracks and crashed over the points, the carriage leaping.She swallowed again and looked up at the digital display above the doors, where the clock read; ‘16:17’. Her vision glazed and she felt dizzy for a moment, grasping the pole in front of her, a surreal sensation of drifting overcoming her. The afternoon light streaming through the windows faded to a foggy dim of evening. ‘21:17,’ said the watch on her wrist… She was on UK time. The wet sand was cool beneath her feet, and a magical efflorescent glow suffused over the beach, like every stone and grain of sand emanated its own energy. With the sun sunken beyond the horizon long before, the soft blue of evening throbbed over her. How was she there? She was standing on his beach; the one on which he had played and lived as a child, where his family home perched at the top of the slumping cliff. She hadn’t been there for years, yet the view, the sounds, the very scent, told her where she was. She waved her hand in front of her face, wondering how real it all was, and it swept before her vision in slow motion, splitting momentarily into tiny fragments, like the grains of sand on the beach, before rejoining and settling once again. She looked to her right, and he was there, staring contentedly out at the water, tracking the outline of a ship on the far horizon. His blue eyes easy and restful, and his face relaxed. That familiar tilt of the chin, the slant of the brow, the flat end to the nose… Just as he has always been. He was in his place, and he had brought her there.The sun swept around, turning the light up to the full of day. The ground beneath her feet vibrated as the train continued its charge along the tracks. She startled awake, gripping the grab rail and looking around. How long had she been gone? Had she been sleeping? No-one around her looked up from their phones. She rested her head against her hand and breathed, her heart filling her chest, bulging full of light and a sudden knowing. Her throat tightened again and her eyes prickled hot with tears. How long would the emotions in public places go on? She was deranged, swirling through her days in a detached fog, like a patient on meds who shouldn’t be out in the community. Maybe she was drifting between the physical plane and the spiritual, rooted in neither…Experiencing death of a loved one is a surreal, complicated, heartbreaking experience which can have one drifting through days as though in a drunken fog. Sometimes numb, sometimes inconsolable, sometimes angry…All the emotions you could possibly feel bubbling up at any time. Slipping in and out of reality. It’s a time of transition for all affected, and can even bring about psychic experiences which can change the way you view life and death.Just be with it, and allow it to flow.NamasteCJ

Chapter 1 – Night TerrorsThe darkness was intense. The sound of dripping water echoed on walls she couldn’t see. The chill air was musty and dank; still, stale and earthy, like she was underground. Somehow she knew there was another person there, though just an unseen presence, in the pitch blackness. “Who are you? What do you want?” She heard the shuffle of feet, but no answer came. The back of her neck prickled, her nails dug into her palms. “Who are you? Why am I here?” “You’ll be safe here,” came the response in a man’s whisper. There was the sound of quietly retreating feet, disturbing the grit on the floor. She listened, and followed blindly, stumbling and sweeping her hand before her in the dark, only to feel the coldness of a stone wall. Then turning, hearing the footsteps on the other side of her, she lurched, bewildered in a full circle. The sound came from all around, but was becoming fainter and fainter. “Safe from what?” she yelled, her voice echoing from all angles, frightening and disorientating. “How is this safe?” She rushed forward, flailing her arms wildly and knocking her knuckles against cold, rough metal, gasping in pain. Reaching out tentatively once again, she remembered her phone, and pulled it from her pocket, the blue light immediately illuminating rungs of a rusty ladder scaling upwards but quickly swallowed in ominous blackness. Swaying dizzily on her feet she turned to see tunnels leading away in two directions. Water glistened as it ran down the walls and moss hung from aged stonework. Impenetrable darkness yawned threateningly beyond the weak sphere of light from her phone. The red warning signifying the end of her battery faded as the light died from the screen. Plunged back into pitch darkness, her throat tightened and she pressed herself against the damp wall. She had to get out!Anna jumped awake, hearing her own breath rasping, and feeling her chest tight. She sat up and reached for her phone which told her it was 4:12am. Low battery, it warned, and she groaned at the irony, slumping back to the pillow. Well at least it wasn’t another dream where she had been pinned to the ground by The Cleaner, his black eyes boring into her and fingers pressing down on her throat. Regardless, she could do without the recurring night horrors. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, but immediately the dank walls of the tunnel closed around her again, the cold horror returning in an instant. Her eyes flew open, and she gulped a big sob-like breath. Grumpily, she threw back the covers and sat up. If her inescapable imagination wouldn’t sleep then neither would she. The last few weeks had had her passively endure its exhausting neurosis time and time again. It had to stop. Whatever the tunnels and the ladder and the blackness symbolised, they couldn’t be good omens. Resignedly, she padded to the shower. The train was mostly empty and Anna gazed out of the window, trying to make out the countryside, which was shrouded in gloom. She turned to the emails on her phone and scrolled through them, bored. At least she was nearly done with her current assignment, but she still didn’t know where she was heading next. HQ had nowhere to put her outside of London, but she had made up her mind; she had to stick to her guns. The nightmares and her experiences of the last month were messing with her mental health; much more of it and she would likely go off the rails and lose her job.She had been home from Tresco for three weeks, and one thing she was thankful for was that she had not seen Damien, her brief but intense affair of the last year, who still had the power to cause her to lose all self-possession. However there was the increasing nag of insecurity, living near the church. She didn’t know why, but as the days passed, she was ever more jumpy, afraid to look out of her window after dark, and checking behind her as she came and went from the cottage. The feeling that The Cleaner, the man who had tried to kill her, would return to finish his grisly job, gnawed at her more with every passing day. The memory of his eyes burning into her as he pressed down on her neck still stopped her breath and made her heart pound hard against her chest. Yes, she was resolved to get away as fast as possible. She paused over an email from Tony, the Executive Director she had worked with in New York, now returned from his sojourn on the subway project.“Had an idea,” read the subject line. Opening the email, she saw he had sent it Saturday morning. “Come see me at HQ,” read the message, and that was it. Anna smiled at the Americanism apparent in his text that Tony had picked up from his time in New York. She had talked to him on Friday about her frustration of the lack of placements available outside London and her need to get away for a while, and this seemed promising.“What time are you in?” keyed Anna, swiftly, and sent. Her train was due into Victoria at 6:30am, and she knew he was an early starter. If this was an opportunity, she was going to leap at it. Without waiting for a response, and making up her mind instantly, she decided to head to the Holborn head office. She would work from there for the day, and snag Tony as soon as she saw him.The sequel is coming soon! Hope you enjoyed the teaser ;-)CJ

Floating on the ripples in the docks, seagulls busily pruned their immaculate feathers, and the naked glare of the morning sun glinted off the water, penetrating the boardroom windows. Anna sat straight in one of the chairs round the large rectangular meeting table, gripping her pen, watching the latest drama play out. She wasn’t ready for confrontational theatre, feeling disconnected and suspended between time zones. Images of her adventure in New York were dominating her mind, and she felt like a confused bird that had just been snatched from the air and crammed in a cage.“I don’t really give a flyer why it happened! I just want to know how the bloody hell we’re going to get this project back on track!” shouted Andrew Mansfield, throwing his seat back and putting his hands behind his head so his armpits commanded the room.Anna and Francesca exchanged glances. The sight of this man exhibiting such baldly obvious lead-chimp behaviour was giving them the giggles. His shirt was unbuttoned sufficiently to reveal a tasteless flurry of curly chest hair, and he rocked back on his seat, legs splayed, parking his crotch at table top level. Others round the table, particularly the few women, were all now exchanging suppressed smiles. Exhibitions of alpha male churlishness were not uncommon from Andrew and were astounding to watch. Did he think he was impressing authority on his minions? Did he not realize how laughable he was? No; he would blunder on in his favourite spot of limelight and see his tirade through to its grand finale, beating it to exhaustion. Two of the other male attendees kicked their seats back, adopting counter stances, causing Anna to shoot a wide-eyed look of disbelief in Francesca and Gemma’s direction.A message appeared on Anna’s phone; “David Attenborough approaching with film crew!” read Francesca’s sharp quip. Anna bit her lip hard, looking down to control her laughter. “I mean, what the fuck? The whole thing just reeks of total and utter incompetence,” Andrew snarled, now leaning forward across the table, jaw jutting and stare ferocious. “I am simply unable to fathom how we got from where we were last month to the bottom of the fucking shit-smelling pit we are in with this!” he threw at the wide-eyed project manager directly opposite. “Don’t even bother!” shot Andrew, flattening the project manager’s effort to speak, and contemptuously tore the project schedule in half. He pointed an aggressive finger, indicating his two senior planners who determinedly avoided eye contact, “Work with these two to get this shit sorted out!”Anna’s mind was made up; she had to leave. She would put a call out to Martin Davidson straight after her release from the room, and plead for a move to a new assignment. Enough was enough. Though Andrew liked Anna, and she was never likely to encounter this kind of public flame-grilling which the other poor soul was enduring, she couldn’t rest on her laurels like a pet of the Gestapo. New York had opened her eyes. She thought of Tony on site under the dazzling sunlight, watching the excavator ploughing on with its unerring work. Soon the launch box would be formed and ready for the next stage. She wanted to be there involved with that, not grappling with bureaucracy and egos under the flail of a volatile dictator.- Above, an excerpt from The Japson ClubThis month I have been prompted to remember how much corporate life in the city inspires some of my writing; particularly the comedic boardroom scenes, and I thought I'd share one of the moments from The Japson Club, where the lead character, Anna, decides she can't live another second in the job which comprises her daily grind.The sequel to The Japson Club is coming later this year, with plenty of its own workplace humour, and even more intrigue as the adventure continues.

So you’ve been doing yoga classes a while, and you’re seeing the benefits…Or maybe you never tried it… Maybe you wouldn’t touch it with a barge-pole…But do you really know what it is? Most people think it’s a form of exercise which helps you get stretchier and firms up your butt, but in actual fact the ‘exercise’ part of yoga is just 1/8 of what yoga actually is.Let’s start with a story…Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, there was a chap called Huw Man. Huw Man lived in a cave on the edge of the forest, in a small community. He was a medicine man and lived by the sun and the moon, part of the network of life, working outdoors on the land, eating its seasonal offerings, and enjoying the elements on his skin. He would sit and watch with reverence each morning as the first light of the sun, glimmering below the horizon, would ascend to spill over the landscape in all its fiery glory. He was constantly active; walking every day and swimming in the river, and he was emotionally free - laughing when he was happy, crying when he was sad. He lived happily ever after; physically fit and active to the end of his days.Thousands of years later Huw Man was reincarnated, this time to live in the suburbs of a North American city. He had an ample income, a nice car, a holiday home, and also a penchant for Hawaiian pizza, and Pringles. He spent 2 hours a week sweating profusely on a treadmill trying to combat love-handles and a gelatinous waistline which his doctor warned him, threatened diabetes and heart problems. Huw would struggle out of bed each morning and numbly stumble through a couple of hours of commuting while re-living pent-up emotions and unresolved anger in his head, and worrying about funding his retirement in a good nursing home where the nurses would be sympathetic as they changed his colostomy bag. He spent his days hunched over a desk, in a cubicle, frowning at a screen and fighting off pressure headaches. One commute, staring out at the sun rising over the city, Huw saw a poster showing a serene Buddhist monk in deep meditation on an isolated rock in an obviously remote land. Looking around at his fellow commuters, all plugged into their phones, resembling some sombre future prediction in an Orwell novel, he was struck by the discordance, and suddenly wondered what his life was all about…Perhaps he should go away? Far away… * * * * * * * * *The Present Day ProblemThese days, particularly in the developed West, people are living out of sync with nature, which actually sees human beings going backwards in terms of evolution in some very vital respects. Ancient knowledge of living well in accordance with the circadian rhythms of life, and holistically nourishing the body, mind and spirit has been usurped by a new system; that of financial short-termism, mass-produced fast food and other goods, and medicine which treats symptoms. The focus has transferred to servicing a financial model, regardless of the broader impact on the planet and life (and souls) upon it.The integrated approach to being and keeping well has drifted away, with the side effect of depression and stress-related illness (which could be argued to be all illness) growing at an unprecedented rate. However there is a revival being seen as a critical mass turns to spirituality, ‘alternative’ healing modalities, mindfulness and yoga as an answer to the rush of modern life, realizing there is something wrong with the 21st century paradigm. The Answers of YogaIn Patanjali’s book, The Yoga Sutras (considered one of the key texts or bibles of yoga), there are 196 sutras (or guidelines), and when studying them one gets a sense of splitting the atom; each short line erupts, sometimes into multiple fragments, and with a wealth of meaning and deeper knowledge. Study of these sutras is a life-long exploit, and requires commitment, or ‘retreat’ in some sense of the word. Jesus did it, the Buddha, Muhammed, Milarepa, in fact all the sages and gurus throughout history spent time in isolation or study or attain some aspect of enlightenment. However retreat and commitment for the purpose of life-philosophy and wisdom are not on the to-do list of most people. To many walking through the doors of a yoga studio, yoga (the union of mind, body and spirit) is understood solely to be ‘exercise’. However yoga is divided into eight ‘limbs’, the asanas (the postures – the exercise part) making up just one of those limbs. There are seven others, which to most are a mystery or completely unknown. Many people (yoga goers or otherwise) have no idea that yoga encompasses those things they may be looking for; healing, mindfulness, health, happiness, philosophy of life, connection…Therefore a yoga teacher’s mission (aside from helping their class with the physical benefits of yoga) is also to help their students make sense of the matrix of modern life, where they may be stressed and grappling with first world problems, by providing them with simple accessible tools to improve their mental, emotional and physical well-being. Offering to those who are ready (the seekers and the awakening), bytes of this ancient knowledge which they can integrate to their lives, to ease emotional turmoil (kleshas) and dis-ease. Starting with the BasicsEvery yoga teacher is different and focuses on the parts of yoga which inspire them the most, imparting knowledge to those who are drawn to their classes, but some of the basics they may start with are:Breathe – To breathe fullyMeditate – Even 5 minutes a dayMove – For flow in the body, mind and spiritEat – Eating well; you are what you digestDo – Conscious thought/action, and self-studySleepThese may all seem a bit pedestrian and unremarkable, however they are central building blocks which most people get wrong, and in changing the foundations, everything that follows (thoughts, actions and results) may be transformed and enriched.BreatheMany people breathe only into the top of the chest, taking shallow sips of air; this prevents the body taking in all the oxygen it needs for optimum functioning, and decreases stress and also illness. Breath should be full; into the side ribs, back and belly.MeditateMeditation does not have to be for a long time, and it does not mean sitting cross-legged on the floor in a pluming cloud of incense. Meditation can be simply standing, sitting or lying somewhere quietly, focusing on breathing or counting slowly. Thoughts may come and go; and they are allowed to drift by; to come and go without being engaged with – (like watching trains arrive and leave at a station, without boarding one). Meditation is allowing time to be, and to reset.MoveMovement and exercise can re-energize, reduce stress, increase confidence and also keep the body well. Yoga asanas are intended to help energy flow within the body, and can be used to clear emotional/energetic blockages. Listening to the body while exercising; feeling for energy and flexibility that day, without forcing movement or over-riding discomfort can lead to greater self-acceptance and self-knowledge (and avoid injury!).Eat wellEating raw (unprocessed, natural) food offers the body far better nutrition than processed foods. You are what you digest, and raw foods are easier for the body to digest and use than foods loaded with chemicals, excess salt, fats and sugar. Eating well can help your body to function well, heal, build immunity and lose excess weight. A basic guideline is to eat SOUL – Seasonal, Organic, Unprocessed, Local.Do - Conscious Thought & ActionThis relates to becoming more mindful about ones thoughts and actions. A focus on what has to be done in a day, and getting it done, can mean we fail to meet our time (and the people, animals, places, things and opportunities in it) with the presence of mind that enables our highest good. Encouraging our students to become more present in their asana practice, and thereby in the rest of life can help self-awareness. Noticing our emotions, triggers and stimulants, increases self-awareness. SleepSleep allows the physical body to repair and recharge, and takes the gabbling mind and ego off-line, bringing breathing to a full, restful rate. The body generally needs between six-and-a-half to eight hours sleep per night, preferably with lights out by 10pm, to access the best time for this rest and recuperation to take place.So Breathe, Meditate, Move, Eat, Do and Sleep represent the major areas people can make small changes to create positive changes in their life, and are the beginning, with a wealth, depth and breadth of learning within each.The ConclusionWith media focus on financial and organizational conspiracies, the questionable dealings of drug producers, and the rise of ill-health and damage to the world, many people are seeking a better way than the route the mainstream western world offers…The ride got too fast, and they want more grounded and natural answers which won’t make them sick. Everyone who walks through the door of the yoga studio (whatever their starting point) wants to feel better.Take ActionFind a yoga teacher whose unique voice resonates with you, whose take on the ancient yogic wisdom appeals to you and your lifestyle. You will see the affects before too long, and also feel them roll through your life the others you are connected with. Namaste……and look out for Huw Man; he just woke up and realized his past life was better

Yoga includes singing mantras?Yoga gets into philosophy? Yoga includes diet and cleansing?…Just a few of the things a yoga teacher in training might get asked when someone demands incredulously why it takes at least 200 hours of study to become a yoga teacher. The fact of the matter is despite it being a commonly known word in most societies, it is largely misunderstood.Let me tell you a story…. Photo by Ekrem Osmanoglu from PexelsOnce upon a time, thousands of years ago, there was a medicine man called Huw Man. He was part of a small community, living off the seasonal offerings of the land, in rhythm with the sun and moon. He would sit and watch with reverence each morning as the first light of the sun, glimmered below the horizon, ascending to spill over the landscape in all its fiery glory. He was constantly active; walking every day and swimming in the river, and he was emotionally free - laughing when he was happy, crying when he was sad. He lived happily ever after; physically fit and active to the end of his days. The end…or not…Thousands of years later Huw Man was reincarnated, this time to live in the suburbs of a North American city. He had an ample income, a nice car, a holiday home, and also a penchant for Hawaiian pizza, and Pringles. He spent 2 hours a week sweating profusely on a treadmill trying to combat love-handles and a gelatinous waistline which his doctor warned him, threatened diabetes and heart problems. Huw would struggle out of bed each morning and numbly stumble through a couple of hours of commuting while re-living pent-up emotions and unresolved anger in his head, and worrying about funding his retirement in a good nursing home where the nurses would be sympathetic as they changed his colostomy bag. He spent his days hunched over a desk, in a cubicle, frowning at a screen and fighting off pressure headaches. One commute, staring out at the sun rising over the city, Huw saw a poster showing a serene Buddhist monk in deep meditation on an isolated rock in an obviously remote land. Looking around at his fellow commuters, all plugged into their phones, resembling some sombre future prediction in an Orwell novel, he was struck by the discordance, and suddenly wondered what his life was all about…Perhaps he should go away? Far away… * * * * * * * * *The ProblemThese days, particularly in the developed West, people are living out of sync with nature, which actually sees human beings going backwards in terms of evolution in some very vital respects. Ancient knowledge of living well in accordance with the circadian rhythms of life, and holistically nourishing the body, mind and spirit has been usurped by a new system; that of financial short-termism, mass-produced fast food and other goods, and medicine which treats symptoms. The focus has transferred to servicing a financial model, regardless of the broader impact on the planet and life (and souls) upon it.The integrated approach to being and keeping well has drifted away, with the side effect of depression and stress-related illness (which could be argued to be all illness) growing at an unprecedented rate. However there is a revival being seen as a critical mass turns to spirituality, ‘alternative’ healing modalities, mindfulness and yoga as an answer to the rush of modern life, realizing there is something wrong with the 21st century paradigm. The Answers of YogaYoga is made up of eight ‘limbs’, encompassing all aspects of life, a fact not known to many walking through the doors of a yoga studio to attend a ‘power’ class. To them, it’s a mode of ‘exercise’, with the 7 limbs outside of the asanas (the physical practice) being a mystery or completely unknown. It’s not common knowledge that yoga encompasses all those things which have recently burst onto the scene under new buzzwords; such as mindfulness, holistic health and healing, meditation, diet and lifestyle, radical forgiveness, the law of attraction…In fact, yoga has been sitting quietly, like the self-effacing brain-box in the class who has all the answers, but doesn’t shout about it. The vast and expansive knowledge of yoga has been re-issued by all kinds of people, books and new methodologies, repackaging ancient knowledge known to the mystics living thousands of years ago, into modern bite-sized pieces, especially for the ‘attention deficit’ culture. Take some of the basic foundations of yoga:Breathe – To breathe fullyMeditate – Even 5 minutes a dayMove – For flow in the body, mind and spiritEat – You are what you digestDo – Conscious thought/action, and self-studySleepThese may all seem a bit pedestrian and unremarkable, however they are central building blocks a yoga teacher learns about in their training, and these are things which most people get wrong. In changing the routines we are in or the way we do just one of the things on the list above, changes a foundational aspect of life, and everything that follows (thoughts, actions and results) will see transformation and enrichment.Let’s look at each in a little more detail;BreatheMany people breathe only into the top of the chest, taking shallow sips of air; this prevents the body taking in all the oxygen it needs for optimum functioning, and decreases stress and also illness. Breath should be full; into the side ribs, back and belly. Change the way you breathe, and see the change into your health, bodily function, digestion, and physical and mental capability.MeditateMeditation does not have to be for a long time, and it does not mean sitting cross-legged on the floor in a pluming cloud of incense. Meditation can be simply standing, sitting or lying somewhere quietly, focusing on breathing or counting slowly. Thoughts may come and go; and they are allowed to drift by; to come and go without being engaged with – (like watching trains arrive and leave at a station, without boarding one). Meditation allows connection with the subtle messages of the body and the intuition, with more clarity of thought and more confident and better decision making.MoveMovement and exercise can re-energize, reduce stress, increase confidence and also keep the body well. Yoga asanas are intended to help energy flow within the body, and can be used to clear emotional/energetic blockages. Listening to the body while exercising; feeling for energy and flexibility that day, without forcing movement or over-riding discomfort can lead to greater self-acceptance and self-knowledge (and avoid injury!).Eat wellEating raw (unprocessed, natural) food offers the body far better nutrition than processed foods. You are what you digest, and raw foods are easier for the body to digest and use than foods loaded with chemicals, excess salt, fats and sugar. Eating well can help your body to function well, heal, build immunity and lose excess weight. A basic guideline is to eat SOUL – Seasonal, Organic, Unprocessed, Local.Do - Conscious Thought & ActionThis relates to becoming more mindful about ones thoughts and actions. A focus on what has to be done in a day, and getting it done, can mean we fail to meet our time (and the people, animals, places, things and opportunities in it) with the presence of mind that enables our highest good. Encouraging our students to become more present in their asana practice, and thereby in the rest of life can help self-awareness. Noticing our emotions, triggers and stimulants, increases self-awareness and self-knowledge. All of this helps us to overcome any barriers we may have which have obstructed us getting what we really want in life – leading us to abundance.SleepSleep allows the physical body to repair and recharge, and takes the gabbling mind and ego off-line, bringing breathing to a full, restful rate. The body generally needs between six-and-a-half to eight hours sleep per night, preferably with lights out at 10pm, to access the best time for this rest and recuperation to take place.So Breathe, Meditate, Move, Eat, Do and Sleep represent the major areas people can make small changes to create positive changes in their life. Even then you will just have scratched the surface; just imagine if changing the way you breathe can significantly improve a health issue you had been having (and all the amazing effects rolling out through the rest of your life), just imagine the happiness, contentment, and abundance waiting for you after a few more self-caring changes in the way you do things…Yoga can change your life in a holistic sense, changing how you feel, think, the results you get in life, the happiness you experience, your fitness, even what you look like…So seek out a yoga teacher who will share more of what yoga is, and embrace it in its entirety.Namaste…