Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘Penshift Fiction’

Family

butterflyFor the one’s passed on

And the one’s still here

May the tears we shed

Illustrate the bond we shared

Lasting long beyond our

Years.

 

Art is a very honest medium. Good poetry, painting ect. They all reflect emotion, whether its something we feel while creating it or something we feel because of how we’ve created it.  Most have a story behind them, though we are not always aware of them. The story behind this one is simple – the first anniversary of my cousin’s passing has just gone by.  This one is not just for him but for the family who miss him.

On a completely unrelated note, this is my 201st post on this blog. Wow.

Advertisements

Trickster: Friday Fictioneers

Little bit of Flash Fiction inspired by photo promt provided by Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers. For other Friday Fictioneers fics please head over to her blog and click on the blue frog under photo prompt to see other links. I was going to try and embed the code here but I’m too tired to remember my account details without resetting them.

 

Time.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

Engines spark; sputters, rumbles, and roars.

Stately procession purrs along tarmac.

Dusty relics? Vintage? Classics?

Terms don’t matter to onlookers; admiring invention, progress and change.

Unwittingly worshipping time.

At the head of the procession – Chronos: slurping in belief.

Wily Bastard – Surviving the fall of the pantheons.

Should have known the Old Man had a trick up his sleeves.

Loki smirked. It had been soo very long since he had greeted another god. How could he not say ‘Hello?’

The Trickster dealt wild cards, the pranksters in the parade.

Loki skipped, chaos where he tread.

Look: Poetry!

Change

Dash through the tempest

Ride the hurricane

Life entwined with chaos

Order down the drain

 

Chancing Fate

Born to Prophecy.

Brushed by Fates.

Burdened, Blinkered,

Bridling Destiny.

Birthing chance.

Blood boiling.

Battle rage.

Fate and Chance

Flirtatious smirks.

Snatching, Clawing,

Stretching, snapping.

Shredding golden threads.

Freedom,

Choices,

Time.

Chance and Fate,

Turn a page.

Tussle? Tango?

Only they know.

 

 

I’m on school holidays!!!! Wooo!  As of the 25th I submitted my last assessment piece for summer ‘se’mester. On the 29th I start ‘se’mester 1 for 2016.  No real break and they really should give up and call them trimesters.  I haven’t posted anything creative this year, so this is me blowing of steam and killing a second bird with the same stone.  I wonder what these two little pieces of poetry same about my state of mind at them moment. 😀

Off to either write or too start scheduling releases of old news articles. Dunno which yet! 🙂

Pet Project

charlie4

Coat from the back.

Now for something a little less fiction and a little more crafty – a handmade Dog Coat from re-used materials.  Charlie was so well behaved during the production of this even though she was afraid on the material.  She also did not know how to take me measuring her.  Poor dog.  Made me feel as though I was picking on her. 🙂

It has been a busy few weeks for me so I decided to switch to a slightly less headache-y project to give my brain a break.  I designed, and fashioned this little coat from an old mattress protector.  Just had to figure out how to operate the sewing machine. No Problem.  Not like I’ve used one recently or anything.

The finished project is a bit rough and only looks good at a distance but should keep her warm at night. The old girl used to sleep in the garage but because she kept waking us up at 3 in the morning needing a toilet break we started leaving the garage door open. So, of course, she must now sleep upstairs on the exposed porch.

I think I’m going to start doing more sewing projects.  It has helped my head relax from all the reading I’ve had to do since uni started last week. I also had the local RSPCA Adoption phone, so a stress relief device was needed.  I’ll save my writing for when I need to get my brain in gear for study. 🙂

Hope

deccay

copyright to Dale Rogerson

I’ve kicked my Nanowrimo off rather slowly with this little piece based off last weeks prompt for Friday fictioneers.  I’m a little out of practice when it comes to writing a story in 100 words, but I consider this part of my story/character intro for my current work. Not sure yet as to whether future fic will be related; it tends to get confusing if small sections are added sequentially.

*edit – Chissick is my best estimation of metal being drawn over a wet stone for sharpening.  I would re-write to clarify this better but it ends up too long.  This is the only problem with the use of ‘sound effects’ in writing; the audience has to recognise them in the first place. Oops on my part.
Chisssick.
“Deliah…?”
Chisssisk. “Yes, Isolde?”
Chisssisk. “The river is barely a trickle… The woods contain nothing but the corpses of trees…” Chissisk. “…Our fields can’t sustain the cow; let alone crops…” Chissisk. “I understand father’s tools but why keep the hunting tools sharp?”
Deliah gently placed her tools away. “Hope,” she paused, stroking the oiled, leather tool-wrap, “The rains will purify the land.  The river will swell; life will bloom.  Our field will be flush with crops.” Deliah smiled ruefully at her sister.  “When that happens I wish to hunt again.”
Isolde shook her head, and stirred the bubbling gruel; wondering how it would feed their family.

The white rose

Another trip into a morbid mind. But when I saw this photo prompt provided by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (original source of image is Pixibay.com) I couldn’t get past all the… red!

redgown

Graceful twirls caught the eye; leaping, pirouetting across the ice. Sweet fragrances further to further entice. Ruby leotard, coral blush, and a sweet conceit of tone to bring trophies home.

Upon her doorstep a scarlet Rose.

Sweet scent, finger prick.

Coppery taste of blood.

Unwary.

Taken into the dark.

Amongst Geraniums, Cardinals, in still repose.

Raven hair,

crimson lips,

sanguine streaks on pale…

lifeless…

skin…

Upon the glass the Dark Prince bestows

a single white Rose.

Published!!

IMG_20151026_210102736My News Article was published! They’ve cut off the last paragraph (which was just contact info for the playgroup) and have left out my by line; but that’s all they’ve done. The rest is unaltered – it was fit for press use. ^_^

Now to write this weeks one… bleargh… I now have a standard bar…

Lucky stack

bike

I was very determined to do some fiction today, it seems.  Here’s a short fic which makes it obvious I’ve been working with RSPCA today.  If you’re familiar with Banjo Paterson’s ‘Mulgar Bill’ another influence will be quite clear.  If not I’ve added it as a quote for those non-australians who are interested. It’s not as well known as ‘Waltzing Matilda’ but still an interesting poem.  The photo is provided as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. *Edit Note on my usage of Stack/stacked: a more common aussie meaning means to stack is to crash. (Been back 4 months and I’ve gone native on you.) Okay, going to give up on coherency now.

Lucky Stack

Linda glowered at her Father. Their locked glares became an emotional battle which chipped away at her willpower. Then, with vision blurred by tears, Linda fled the room, grabbed her bike and sped off into the dusk with her Alsatian, Marco. The gentle whir of wheels counterpointed by panting of Marco as he raced joyfully alongside the bike could not calm her tonight. The wrong was too great, and her mind became a maze as she struggled to find a solution. Suburban terrain gave way to rougher bush track but the pair paid no heed; this was their realm, in it they were free. For the briefest of moments Linda forgot her worries. It was then, with a shriek and a yelp, that the pair came to grief on the twilight track. Bike crumpled, and lost in the dark, it was Marco whom found his way from where his mistress stacked. Though he nudged and licked, Linda did not stir. The worried dog let out a sing-song whine as he waited for her. As the temperature dropped he snuggled close to keep her warm, and kept the night life at bay. When Linda was rescued in the light of a new day, her Father uttered not a word of sending Marco away.

MULGA BILL’S BICYCLE by A.B. “Banjo” Paterson

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"

"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dean Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

The Sydney Mail, 25 July 1896.

Molding our young.

And here it is, my second news article!  I see no reason why it shouldn’t be published in some fashion if The advocate can’t find room for it in the already full broadsheets.  My writing seems to have focused strictly on the non-fictional at the moment.  While this is a learning experience, I’m missing fiction.  I’m going to make myself do so flash fiction this week, damn it!  The following article is one I submitted last week for possible publication.  I’m currently working on another on behalf of Welcoming Interculteral Neighbours Inc.

Gladstone cultural diversity has seen a steep rise over the past few years, yet we only have one playgroup that reflects the changes within our community. The Multicultural Playgroup, run jointly by Playgroup QLD and WIN Inc., establishes a safe niche for children to learn and play while creating a place of mutual respect, and dignity for family groups. For these families, the playgroup makes a refreshing change from normal as children are encouraged to use both languages in the very same social activities provided by other playgroups. Through exploring the various cultures in a social context these children form an accepting community at an early age – preparing them for a future where communities are certainly going to become far more diverse.

The early years of childhood are important to the development of a child’s social awareness of their world. It is during these formative years that children learn how they should cope with others who are ‘different’ from them. This makes is the best period for forming healthy inter-cultural interactions. As such it would be a mistake to think that the Multicultural Playgroup is purely for those of different ethnic origins. Many Australians could benefit from a deeper understanding of our neighbours, and this playgroup provides a perfect forum. Any and all are welcome to join us. The Multicultural Playgroup is free and runs at the Neighbourhood Center on 105 Toolooa st every Friday from 9:30-11:30.

For more information please visit us at Welcoming intercultural Neighbours at 10 Tank st, Gladstone. We can also be contacted by email at admin@win-australia.org.au or by phone on 0487 422 142.

I feel that this one is an improvement on the last article; flowing more fluently with the structure of a proper news article.  This style is not a bad fit for someone already experienced with the concision of flash fiction.  Hopefully, practice will make perfect and I will be able to get fiction written.  Of course, I’ve been keeping myself busy with work for both WIN and the RSPCA and prep for my course starting in November.  I like to be busy, clearly.

Growth spurt of the Digital Age

I’m trying to get ahead of the curve for my Summer course, due to start end of November, so I’ve been familiarizing myself with it’s E-learning environment.  A safe choice since I will be studying mostly online.  I was asked to comment on the video for an E-learning orientation. I ended having a good giggle because I went to a public primary school in an under-funded socio-economic area in the 90’s. How things have changed!

When I started primary school the use of devices for learning was extremely limited. Mobiles had only just come into existence.  Most of them were built like bricks and were limited to calls only. Touch-screen tablets were a flight of fancy fit only for sci-fi.  As for my primary school’s computers? Those were old for the 90’s… and use was restricted to early teaching games and touch typing programmed.  The idea of searching ‘the web’ for information was in its infancy and the few, now-forgotten, search engines were blocked on the few internet capable computers. It was to the school’s outdated textbooks children were referred, some of which were decades old in the 80’s.  I am 28 and the world has experienced a digital revolution.  I now walk around with a mini-computer more commonly known as the ‘smart’ phone. I have a table that is used, not just for on-the-go computer function, but as a media consumption tool – an idea that would have seemed ludicrous in the 80’s.  The essays and assignments that once had to be submit in awful handwriting on physical paper can now be completely drafted, revised and submitted via Electronics. Gaming platforms have advanced from the pixelated atari to 3D realistic platforms of Xbox to Ps4 with Virtual Reality on the near horizon.  The transition has not been seamless but the state of technology has been so quick we have not had the chance to grumble about the change.

The use of electronics as advanced so quickly that a growing percentage of successive younger generations no longer understand how to cope without tech.  Social scientists debate as too the nature of this revolution. Is it advancing our intelligence or is it limiting it?  While we know, do we understand; do we over rely on the knowledge that is so readily at hand.  Will future scientist become so adjusted to using software to do their thinking that they no longer understand the knowledge they seek?

The only answer I can give is a personal one: the digital age has opened up more doors for education then the world ever did for me, and my pursuit of knowledge will be coupled by a desire for deeper understanding.

Tag Cloud