Friday, 7 March 2014

Friday again. The 7th I believe and March. Did someone make pancakes this week?

I forgot to make pancakes for Mardi Gras or fat Tuesday, Tuesday Fat, the day to start LENT and eat up all the perishables in a fiesta and then fast for a length of time before more chocfest extravaganza or if you are religious then I don't have to tell you what it is all about.

I did not get any pancakes and that is all there is to it.

I bought a few more pencils today and relished the joy of knowing they are my pencils and only mine and wont go missing and that I no longer have to make art with crayons and shoe polish, mud and broken stale lipstick I never had time to wear. I did some fabulous on the run art with those materials and funnily enough they were all stolen. Someone liked them obviously.

Today another PB idea came and I jotted it down and put it to one side. I also read a post online about finishing projects before starting a new one and I am applying the strategy to ensure I have manuscripts to submit in the not too distant future.

I was reading the unbelieveably tedious transcript of a twitter conversation I have been missing. Of the 498 tweets only six had any content worth reading. the rest was greetings and excuses and oops gotta go statements. It worries me that people will reduce conversation to 46 characters and the language will evolve into gabble. Jabberwocky eat your heart out.

No art today. All those pencils and no art? I uploaded my happy sad boy to an illustration critique group. I will be interested in seeing what they have to say.

I think I need to do some flash fiction....I shall go seek some out. (time lapse with mood music inserted here)

I went to Write To Done who do 'scene stealers' which are writing prompts. They want us the writers to use their exact opening lines and write a story in 350 words. This is Scene Stealer #20 which is to practice 2nd person point of view.



You’re surprised when the usher hands you an envelope with your name on it. How would anyone know you’d be watching this movie here, now?
You open the envelope but don’t take out its contents. You gaze around the mostly empty seats in this old place. You don’t even have your phone with you. It’s locked in the car. It seems it is impossible to escape the ever watchful eyes these days but you had hoped this place would be remote enough. The price you paid seems too high. You fold the envelope closed again and relax against the dusty faded cushioning. You are determined to see this film alone without distractions and the message in the envelope can wait. The advertising bores you and you gaze at the familiar old fashioned chandelier and plaster carvings around the walls. Quaint disappearing d├ęcor of yesteryear makes you smile and recall the easier days of your youth. A time you could not wait to escape from and here you are more trapped than ever you were then. No one knew your name or face; you were just some pimply kid riding a bike down to the sea. You clamp a lid on your sentimentality. You have made it to the top. So what if you lost a bit of privacy. You have everything else. Everything that pimply kid had dreamed of. You watch the movie and smile a little cynically. You open the envelope during the credits and suddenly you remember what it feels like to be that kid again. Anxiously with sweating palms you exit the cinema. The salt air tickles your nose and you walk down the old street and turn left. You nervously enter another building of yesteryear and there she stands. I knew it was you slinking into the theatre she says and her voice slices years away. Here she says and takes the envelope, I never forget. Pay your library fine today before you leave town again.  305