A Dress Code?

We are going away at the weekend and I’m making a start on the packing. I have a dress I’m going to take that after I bought it caused me regret and dilemma. Looking at it again has made me ponder; something like this.

I bought it on impulse in a sale. I suppose the keen price tag and in my size was why I gave it a second look. But the real attraction was the feel of the soft material, the way it hung in easy flowing lines, and the swirl of colours, shades of blue and mushroom. Small details also caught my eye, covered buttons, slinky belt and small cap sleeves. I just loved it, and bought it.

Unfortunately the dress has hung in my wardrobe for a couple of years unworn, apart from a couple of times in the house when I’ve ‘tried it out’. Why? Because it's too short, just on the knee. Or rather I think it’s too short to wear with only a pair of tights and shoes for support; what a wimp I am!

Then I noticed the younger girls at work looking very smart in similar styles. I asked myself, what was the difference? On closer inspection it was the layer-look, boots and leggings. I had boots, suitable fine tops, all I had to buy was a pair of leggings and put them altogether. Hey Presto!

You’ve probably worked out by now what I’m trying to suggest in relation to writing. Rarely do first ideas and drafts work, as I can testify on a weekly basis; they always lack something, or plenty. Most of the main points are usually there, characters, style, plot, setting, dialogue, but they might be in the wrong order or need another ingredient to fuse the various elements together; like I said, it’s just a thought.

Don’t throw anything away, look at it from another angle, tweak with a fresh addition. I did, and was described as looking ‘cool’ by those same young girls in the office; I’ve been studying my writing more closely too.

Till next time.
PP

Still dreaming ...

A few days ago I ended my blog in the bath, dreaming. I had also digressed because I meant to say that while we were strolling around Morrab Gardens in Penzance, we passed the little French bistro we occasionally go to for a treat. Sitting at a window table on her own was a lady, presumably waiting for her food to arrive, drinking a glass of white wine and reading a book. The sun was streaming in through the window and she was oblivious of my envious backward look as husband dragged me away from gawping at her.

I know there's nothing unusual about someone reading a book at a table, but something always stirs in me, an irrational jealousy almost, as if I cannot do that. I think it is because I am witnessing two of the things I like to do, reading and drinking wine; the act of putting them together is heaven.

Watching her reminded me of an evening in the summer when we went on the spur of the moment into St.Ives after work. We took Max and walked along the front, around the headland, across the top of the beaches, and stopped off at another favourite eatery. Sitting directly on Porthgwidden Beach it is a perfect spot. We tucked Max under one of the tables on the terrace and ordered food and drinks.

The early evening sun was still warm and we had uninterrupted views out to sea and the expanse of clean white sand below us. We had completely forgotten about our individual stressful days at work but chatted and laughed, marveling at how lucky we are to live so close to such a special place.

I must sound as if I work for VisitCornwall but what I wanted to say was, that I noticed sitting behind us, a man at a small round table, cutlery laid out for his meal and he was enjoying a glass of red wine, but he too was oblivious of us and others, he was quite content with his own company and his book in which he was immersed; a perfect image.

Of course through the summer I'm sure you must have noticed many people relaxing and reading. I saw lots on sun-loungers around the pool on holiday, on deckchairs on the beach, and even someone floating in one of those blown-up plastic chairs in a pool. The sheer enjoyment I saw on those faces, not a television or computer in sight, made me more than ever want to succeed at writing, to be part of giving people pleasure.

I dream of one day seeing someone reclining happily reading a book of mine, what could be more thrilling? But you've got to write it first girl, stop dreaming and blogging and start real writing!

Thanks for reading this of mine.
PP

My zing is coming back ...

Saturday was a crisp sunny day here in west Cornwall. We decided to walk through the park in Penzance - 'we' being hubby and Max who we had just collected from Angela, (otherwise known as 'Tufty'), she had given him his regular clip and looked adorable; Max that is, he's our dog. He always seems to prance about (max that is) more when he's just had a cut and blow-dry,like a spring lamb, but he's fourteen!

I left them briefly in the park while I popped into the library to look for a reference book which I couldn't find, and came out instead with three books I wasn't looking for: Selected Poems by Carol Ann Duffy, Someday I'll Find Me, Carla Lane's autobiography - great title - and The Manchester Affair by Elizabeth Elgin, written in the 70's. As soon as I got home I ran a bath and started to read it, with glass of dry white close by; the book was the perfect accompaniment.

Why I selected the latter I don't know, possibly because it's set in the North, my birth home, but maybe because when I picked it up, the water-coloured images of two women with expressions of consternation appealed straight away. Also, it was in hardback (a proper book) and, though covered in plastic, it felt good to hold, do you know what I mean? I'll let you know how I get on with it, I should really be reading more contemporary novels that will benefit my studies on my writing course, I won't tell if you don't.

I cannot help but dream that one day someone will select my novel from the thousands on the library shelves, will rush home, run a bath, pour a glass of wine and sink into the bubbles with me for company ... but in reality it will be so many years hence that I'll be downloaded from cyberspace onto a waterproof gadget that will hang on the bathroom wall like a flat TV screen, strategically placed for the bather to read and sip their tipple to their heart's content - but who will turn the pages?

Thanks for stopping by, see you soon,
PP

I've lost my zing ...

I cannot believe that three weeks have gone by since I last blogged. I was having such a good time chatting away to you, but then I dried up. Life got in the way. A bug came and went. Real work clogged my brain. Days on end of bad headaches, and suddenly it is now and I'm without fizz. Not the bubbly variety, maybe that's what I do need, but now I'm blaming the dark mornings and nights with only daylight at the weekends.

So now I flip through my diary to remind me of significant happenings, anything worth sharing, but I find that October was quite empty; just one-liners.

And then I notice the entry on Tuesday, October 12th, 'first of the Chilean miners should be freed tonight ...' I can hear the hope in my words and realise that while I was miserable, not firing on all cylinders, feeling sorry for myself, looking for my fizzing zing, those trapped miners were pacing their underground prison, praying for the rescue to be successful so that they could finally go home.

I am now going to give myself a firm, metaphorical kick up the backside - perhaps that's where my zing is!

See you tomorrow, I've just remembered something ...