Victoria Pearson's Blog

It has been far too long since I last shared a story on this blog. I could blame lots of different things; the general chaos of life with children, the interfering tech gremlins that have refused to allow the laptop to connect to the internet, or just plain good old fashioned laziness. All of those things would be true, but in all honesty it is mostly due to pregna-brain, a curse I had heard of before but didn't really believe in.

Having got through my last three pregnancies with no interuptions to the creative process or strange behaviour I assumed I would be ok this time too. Now I am 35 weeks pregnant and wondering what on earth 8 months ago me was thinking when she told people that maternity leave would be a great opportunity to finish the novel and draft the next short story collection. Not only have I made little to no progress on Before Digital Dreams, I don't even have a theme for the next Strange Stories book, much less an outline. My subconscious has been far too busy hiding my keys in the fridge and stealing sachets of sugar from cafes without my knowledge to do any serious plotting or characterisation work.

All isn't completely creatively dead though - my muse may have packed her bags and stomped off somewhere but as I look back over the last few months worth of notebooks (as well as my twitter account) I have managed to unearth a few small snatches of poetry and thought bubbles of prose that may have some promise when my brain is working again. And since you have stuck by me through my dry spell, I think you deserve to see some of them, even if they are still very unpolished and very different from my usual style.

I will see you on the other side of pregna-brain, when I shall no doubt be blaming my lack of creative output on newborn tiredness brain fog, when I'm not putting the cat in the cupboard and the vaccuum cleaner out for the night.
;~)

Twitter Micro-Poems

Your name,
Tattooed,
On a secret spot,
Of my soul.
Indelible,
Defining,
And slightly sore.
#micropoetry

Too soft for life,
I retreat into my shell,
To hide from the world
And its sharp edges.
Yet there you are still,
A splinter of ice
In my soul
That will not melt
#micropoetry

Poetry Pieces

Burning

A spark
Not much
Barely an ember
I watched
Knowing I should get it under control.
But enjoying
Feeling the heat
Mesmerised
By dancing flames
And now the blaze rages
Running free
Untameable
No way to smother it
It has taken me
My fault.

Untitled

I want to run my fingers through your soul
Make you whole
Kiss in the lashing rain
Until we merge into one being
One flesh
A tangled mess
Of passions
And sensations
Under a crying sky
And let the rest of the world
Just fade away
Into nothingness
Because all that there is
Is this moment
These feelings
This time
And us.

Butterflies

You hold my heart in your hand
Gently
Like a child holds a butterfly
But
Like a child
Sometimes you forget
How easily you can crush me
Destroy me
With a careless moment
Without meaning to.
Still I stay
Poised on your palm
I'll not fly away
You are worth the pain.

So as I said, these are only little thumbnail sketches of ideas, and thought bubbles that have burst up through the brain fog. If you enjoy micropietry you can find much better examples by far more talented poets on twitter under these hashtags:
#micropoety
#mpy
#fireyverse
#heartsmeal

I'm blaming any typos I have missed on the fact that the terrible tech gremlins are making me type this on my phone. If you'd like to let me know what you thought of any of the pieces above then do let me know in the comments. Thanks for reading! :~)

I have been craving you for weeks. I know we are bad for each other, that's why I have been so strict with myself, refused to see you. I have been so good, but I don't know how much longer I can deny myself.

It has been building like a thunderstorm, the need for you, for weeks.  Your scent, your taste on my tongue, the two of us melting into each other, becoming one. You are all I think of at my desk at work, pounding the treadmill at the gym, sitting in traffic. I need you, I want you so much, every cell in my body is calling to you.

I see you with that girl on the bus and something inside me snaps. I can't deny myself, deprive myself of you any longer. I need you. I want you. I'll have you tonight. Oh, I can't wait until tonight! I've got to have you now.

My heart is racing as I reach for you, my fingertips trembling as they caress your familiar contours. I pull you close to me, take a deep breath and inhale your delicious scent. My mouth waters in anticipation and I hold back just a moment more, knowing I am committed now. I will have you and I will hate myself for it tomorrow. It is too late to stop it. I don't even care. I just want to devour you.

I rip off your wrapping and shovel you in. Sod the diet. You, Chocolate, are well worth it.

My daughter exists only here now, trapped in this yellowing photo, her features scarred with fold marks caused by her long imprisonment in my wallet.

The memory of her face hovers at the back of my mind; a vibrant sweetness that I can't ever touch again. This likeness is but a pale reflection of all she was. I hate it for not capturing her essence, but it's all I have now. I cling to it like a lover that I've lost interest in, but daren't give up.

Will I still carry this imitation in my pocket and my heart when it stops conjuring her in my mind? Will I ever forget the perfection of her smile? Will the trust in her eyes fade to a shadow of a dream?

I can't imagine ever casting it aside, even though it just taunts me with my ultimate failure. It will be my personal millstone forever.

I fold the photo back into its tiny, safe square again, hold it to my lips. My fingers grip it tight, pinching like I'm trying to stem blood from a wound. I wish I'd held on to her small hand this tight in that crowd all those years ago.

I wrote this story for the monthly writing competition in the Amazon Kindle Owners group on Goodreads. The theme was "old photos" and the word count limit was 200 words.  I was  surprised and delighted when it won.

I want to wear your mind for a day,
walk the world your different way.
I want to feel sounds with your skin,
to taste the colours and the noise ,
and the chaos all around,
feel it knotting and winding inside,
and overtaking all.
Feel my tongue tie to my mouth,
and my language dwindle,
and finally understand the answer,
that you cannot give or cannot know
or cannot birth with words.

I want to feel the rain as shards of glass,
when it falls upon your face,
know the utter pain of soft grass
on your bare, exposed feet.
Experience the utter security and rightness
of a silky label on an old vest.

I want to feel the unfettered joy,
when the world clicks and the cloud parts
and, for a forever moment, all is well
and calm and ordered
and simple and it works
and you fly.

I want to go to that place you go,
when it is all too much here
but your body has to stay,
when you sink into colour
and fade out of sound.

What it is like in that place
that only you can go,
only you will ever know?
Is it better than here
in your other world?
Is it safe and kind and all silky labels?
or is it just colour and nothingness?

I want to know if you want to see
what it is like to be me,
how all that is impossible to you
is at my feet with ease,
if you envy it or hope for it
or are indifferent to it,
or if it is just another thought
your soul shrinks from.

I wonder because I want to understand
to be you for a day
to get you
to know what the weather is like
inside your mind
so I can make that smile happen
again and again and again.

So here is the cover for my upcoming book, A Tale Of Two Princes.

I will put a full blurb up soon here and on my website, but I thought I'd give you all a sneak peek first. A Tale Of Two Princes is a modern re-telling of Sleeping Beauty and The Frog Prince and will be available very soon.

What do you think of the cover?

I hope you have the very merriest of Christmases, however you choose to celebrate (or not), and that the new year is good to you and yours. Thank you all so much for your support and kind words over 2013. It really does mean a lot to me :~)

Check back here in the new year for news of A Tale Of Two Princes, which should be with you soon :~)

Love unconditionally.

 




My dog is a mongrel, but the most obvious breed apparent in him is Staffie. For this reason lots of people are frightened of him. Once, when he was a puppy, a parent dragged her child into the road saying “stay away from that dangerous dog!” when he was on the lying down and on a lead. My dog did his signature head-on-the-side smile and the child said “but he is so sweet.” I then explained to the parent that my dog is brilliant with children as I have three of my own. The parent and child then gave him a fuss, and he rolled onto his back to gratefully accept the belly rubs. The parent then said to me that it was the breed she was frightened of, but she was glad she had given him a chance. Just by being his normal tail-waggy loving self he won her over.

Nobody is liked by everybody all of the time, but if we show
people loving kindness even when they are judging us unfairly, we can win them
over (or at least not compromise who we are by responding in kind).















Chasing your tail
gets you nowhere.




Sometimes life feels like we are just chasing our tails,
doing the same thing over and over. My dog taught me that you’ll never catch
your tail, however much you chase it, and if by some miracle you do, it will
probably hurt.

If you find yourself chasing your tail, gong around and
around in circles getting nowhere, change your approach. Otherwise you’ll just
end up very dizzy, with a slightly soggy painful tail at the end of it.




Loyalty pays off




Nowadays loyalty doesn’t seem like it gets rewarded. You can
get the best deals by switching utilities and credit cards constantly, and many
companies offer rewards to new customers 
while neglecting their long term clients.

My dog has taught me that loyalty does in fact pay off. He is unswervingly loyal to our family and as a result we put up with his noxious farts. Seriously, his bottom burps are so bad when we first got him we thought we had a gas leak. But we put up with it, because he is loyal to us. If you show loyalty towards others they put up with your terrible habits, whether that means awful gastric gasses or a tendency toward zoning out mid conversation because you’ve just had a eureka moment on your WIP.




A walk solves most
things




My dog is always up for a walk, which is one of the reasons I
got him. I have a tendency toward depression, and getting out and about really
helps. The thing is, even though I know a walk will make me feel better,when I am
very low I can’t bring myself to do it, but when my dog is whining at me with
his head on one side I can’t say no. Then I feel better.

We all have times when we have gotten ourselves into a rut, and the daily routine has become the daily grind, especially when we are writing. When was the last time you went outside? I mean properly outside, not just popped to the shops or got the milk in. If you are scowling at your computer screen trying to make that sentence make sense, or trying to convince a reluctant character to do what you are asking them to, perhaps you need to power down for a while. Turn the laptop or computer off, leave your phone at home and get yourself into an open space – the greenest one possible. Even though you might be shattered when you get home, your mind will be refreshed and you’ll feel like you can handle anything. Just make sure you take some poo bags (if you have a dog, that is. You might look a bit odd picking up poo if you don’t have a dog with you.)




Always chase the pigeon




My dog must know he is never going to catch the pigeon that
lives in our garden. I think the pigeon knows too – that’s why it is always so
tantalisingly just out of reach.

The thing is, chasing that pigeon is the something my dog
really really enjoys, and he has a whale of a time trying to catch it. I think
he would actually be really sad if he finally caught it, because then the game
of chase-the-pigeon would be over.

Whatever your pigeon is, writing a bestseller, making your
first million, starting your own banjo based punk band, don’t give up on it.
Accept that you may never actually taste the feathers, but you can have great
fun having a go. Throw yourself into it, run after the pigeon until it stops
being fun, then give it a rest and carry on another day. You haven’t failed at anything;
you chased it out of your garden. Wait for it to come back, and chase it again
tomorrow.







What things have your pets taught you? I'd love to hear about it in the comments section :~)

Hello my blog reading friends (yes, both of you)!



Firstly, an apology. I haven't blogged a short story for ages, and I feel terrible about it.I do have a good reason though.

I have been so caught up in my novel WIP that I haven't been able to write any short stories at all.  I have just hit 49,000 words, and the story is still flowing really well. The characters took me somewhere I didn't expect to go, but it worked out rather nicely and all of my different plot threads seem to be coming together neatly. I almost can't stop.


My WIP has in fact taken over my life somewhat. When I am cooking or eating or daydreaming or trying to sleep I am thinking about it. I know these characters better than I know some of my neighbours.  I daren't start thinking about a different type of character from a different type of world in case it pollutes the world of my WIP or makes it vanish like a dream on waking.



When I have got my first draft completed and it is resting before revisions I will return to blogging short stories but until then I'll be staying faithful to my WIP. No shorts on the side. Sorry.



Secondly, an opinion poll. What would you like to see appearing  here in the meantime? I could muse on my mundane life and writing process (though that may get a bit repetitive) or I could get  some other authors in here to guest post or be interviewed, or some combination of those. Or even something else entirely. We'll call the comments section of this post the suggestion box - I'd love your input on what you'd like to read. This blog is for you, after all.



Normal service will be resumed shortly. Thanks for hanging in there :~)



Victoria



X

This was written for a Goodreads writing contest (in the amazon kindle group), and it didn't come last (always a positive). The theme was "memories inspired by colour" and the word count limit was 200 words, so I had to cut it a little more than I'd have liked to. Here is the slightly expanded version.




The Reunion

I order a glass of rosé while I wait and regret my choice immediately. The swirling soft pink in my glass takes me back 22 years in a moment. I swallow down the lump in my throat. This is supposed to be a happy day.


I was so excited to be
having a girl; as soon as the scan was finished we went to the DIY store
to pick up pale pink paint. After three boys I was finally getting my
little girl. I was so happy.


I bought her dollies and princess dresses, but she only played with them when I wanted to play with her. she suffered ringlets and ribbons with an impatient tolerance, when I had begged and pleaded with her.



 She was never a girly girl, was happier playing football with her brothers, rolling in the mud, fighting with her brothers, making friends with the boys. It is normal for a girl with so many brothers to relate better to boys though, isn't it?


My little girl, gone forever.


She went abroad two years ago. The phone calls slowed, then stopped, replaced with the odd e-mail instead. That last e-mail stabs at my heart, the one where she explained to me that I'd never see her again. Why hadn’t she told us? Didn't she know we'd never have judged her? We'd have understood. She didn't have to leave us, hide away and do it. I would have held her hand.



I breathe unsteadily. This is supposed to be a happy day.


My son breezes in then, I spot him as soon as he comes through the doors, and we hug for a long time, almost too long. I am putting off looking into his eyes, my daughter’s eyes.


My Jennifer, who is now my Jonathon. I have lost a daughter, but gained a son.