Thursday, 31 December 2015

New Years Eve

Happy New years Eve everyone :)

So in a few hours 2015 will be all over and we'll all be pushed headfirst into 2016! This is the time of year we all start looking back on what we've been up to for the past twelve months. What has changed? What have we achieved? What have we lost? What have we gained? Who have we met? Where have we been?
Then of course there's new years resolutions to consider. An interesting principle and perhaps a good idea, but does anyone really ever stick to them?

Personally I think as long as you remember the good things that have happened, learn from the not so good things, and go into the new year being as good a person as you can and with a positive attitude then that's a pretty damn good start!

Time now for drinks and merriment :)

Tuesday, 29 December 2015

Monday, 28 December 2015

The Walrus and the Carpenter

I love this one;

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax,
Of cabbages and kings,
And why the sea is boiling hot,
And whether pigs have wings."

Bliss

Sometimes I hate you. Especially when you're asleep. That’s when I hate you most I think. When you're lying there, completely oblivious. Lost in your own bliss, entirely ignorant of what I am thinking or feeling. It’s a selfish emotion of mine, this one. But I can’t help it.
I want so badly for you to care. I want you to understand what is going on in my head. But you won’t, you’re asleep. You’re lying there, all innocent, without a care in the world, happy because for you - lost in your dreamworld - nothing is wrong. But i’m not happy. I’m lying next to you, I can feel the heat of your body, I can hear your deep sleep breathing. You roll over and push me slightly farther away, pulling your arm out from beneath my neck. I lie still. Slow and silent tears slipping from my eyes and rolling languidly over my cheeks.
I hate you.
Because in this moment we can’t communicate. And even if we could what would I say? And what would you say in return? No, i’d roll over and hold my breath to stop it from jumping, at least until you were asleep, then it doesn’t matter. Then I can cry all I like because you sleep heavy and I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse at this rate. Because part of me would love for you to wake up and wrap your arms around me but even if you did that I still wouldn’t be able to talk to you. No, I think i’d rather you stayed asleep. But I still hate you, for being asleep, for not understanding, even though I never explained.
In this moment, I almost wish I didn’t know you. I certainly wish I didn’t know me. Stuck going round and round on this carousel inside my head. But even if I could stop time right now, even if I never had to get up or go to work or talk to anyone ever again, what would I do?
I think this is the worst kind of upset, because i’m not just sad, i’m also helpless. Helpless and lost in my own terrible nightmare. Where even my head doesn’t make sense.
I hate you. I hate your stupid face, with your eyes closed and your mouth slightly open. I don’t want to be here. But it’s two o’clock in the morning, where am I going to go now? And when I got there I would only crave the warmth of your body next to mine.
I don’t want to wake up tomorrow. Even though I’m not asleep yet.
Time is my enemy. It’s the big bad wolf, coming to eat me up. To devour me in it’s continual onward march. I wish it would stop. Because I don’t want it to be tomorrow. I don’t want to drag myself out of bed and pull myself through another day. I don’t have the energy for it. I don’t care enough anymore. What’s the point?
I certainly don’t want to reach the end of tomorrow and find myself going to sleep again, knowing that the next day i’m going to have to wake up and drive myself back to the nightmare I work in. Every day. Dragging in and out. Full of things and people that I don’t care about and don’t have the energy for. Send me to sleep and let me sleep through it all. Please.
No wonder I hate you so much. When all this is going through my head and your sleeping blissfully by my side.

I want to go to sleep. I also want to go home. But i’m not so sure where home is anymore

Sunday, 27 December 2015

Why I love to Write

I've always been a writer, ever since I can remember. Even as a child my room was always littered with countless pieces of paper covered in my untidy scrawl, detailing story ideas or just random chapters I had written. They were never whole stories, they were all just exerts, and it was a running joke in my family that I'd write a thousand stories but never finish any of them. It wasn't that I didn't have enough ideas, I always had ideas, so many that they were constantly spilling out of my brain, dripping down my arm and falling out the nib of an old Biro. I always had paper and pens on me, and as I got older and lost interest in my school classes I was a constant source of annoyance for my teachers as I sat in the back of the class and wrote. I think that must be one of the worst kinds of annoying pupils, because it wasn't like I was being disruptive, although some of the other kids would often want to read whatever I was writing at the time, but because until they come closer they think that I have spent all lesson taking notes.
When I hit teenage my writing took a strange turn. I believed I was a troubled teen and began to wear black and listen to rock music. I loved the poetry of some of the songs I listened to, they were deep and meaningful and sometimes beautiful (of course some of them were complete rubbish as well!). During this period of 'depression' I experimented with writing poetry - something I had never tried before. Safe to say that some of what I came up with was OK, but most of it was mediocre at best so I went back to writing stories. It was around about this time that I decided I wanted to write a novel, a big, thick, chunky one. So I started writing one, handwritten on lined paper I'd stolen from the supply cupboard at school, I carried it everywhere, adding to it in my classes and at home after school. Then I got bored of it, I left it at home and decided I didn't like my characters any more. A few months later I started another one and took it everywhere until I got bored of it and decided I no longer liked my characters. Repeat to fade.
When I left school and started college I decided writing was a childish hobby and there were better things I could do with my time. I no longer carried pens and paper with me. I studied performing arts at college and dreamed of singing on the west end. The course was terrible, I dropped out four months before the end, somehow still managing to walk away with a qualification. I spent that summer 'hanging out' and going to parties. At the end of the summer I met a man and we quickly moved into a flat together in a neighbouring town. I signed up for some A levels at the local college, he signed up for job seekers allowance.
Safe to say it was not a healthy relationship and only lasted a year before I had to move back to my parents house. During this time one of the courses I took at college was Art, I was convinced that if I could be an artist I'd be a success, but somehow I could never paint scenes as beautifully as I could write them. I only went to four hours of my ten hour art exam and I failed the course.
The next year I went back to college to do my A2's in law and sociology, two of the subjects I had taken as A levels the year before, I was convinced I would go to university to study law and eventually become a barrister. Halfway through the year I dropped out of college. I was good at law but it lacked a creative element, something I needed in order to stay interested.
After that I found myself sitting at my kitchen table in front of my laptop, in my head was a string of words and I had to let them out. My fingers tapped away at the keyboard and I used the words to paint a picture. Soon I had the first chapter of my novel.
That was nearly two years ago now, since then I've worked in retail and I've worked with children, but I keep coming back to my novel and bit by bit it's growing into something exciting. Sometimes I go for months without looking at it but then I get that desire, that undeniable impulse to play with words, arranging them like mosaic tiles or fitting them together like jigsaw pieces until suddenly I've created something that sounds beautiful. A piece of writing you could lose yourself in.
Over the past eight months I've really rediscovered my passion for writing, and the more I let myself write the more I find I want to write. Even just short pieces of descriptive writing with no particular meaning and no place in a story. I write for the joy of it. And when I'm lost in my writing it's as if I'm no longer writing but reading, discovering a story no one else has ever heard before.
Now I'm working on a series of short stories, dark fairy tales, I've started this blog, I'm still adding to my novel and I've started to enter competitions. For the first time in many years a huge portion of my life is devoted to my passion and it feels really good. I don't need to look elsewhere to find what it is I should be doing, this is it, and even if I never make a penny from it it will still be worth it, because it is the best feeling in the world.

Saturday, 26 December 2015

After Christmas

This year I've done a lot of thinking about Christmas, as a social season, as a religious celebration, as a retail advantage and what it means to people personally. I think Christmas is special to different people for different reasons and that's great. And I also think that regardless of your reasons or thoughts on it, an excuse to let loose, get together and celebrate is fantastic.
But it's a lot of fuss for just one day really isn't it? Months of festive decorations, songs, products, parties, all leading up to this one day. And then suddenly it's over. No more Christmas, not until next year. Of course a lot of people consider boxing day as part of the celebration, but for many more people - especially those with jobs in retail - work starts again on boxing day and it's straight back to the daily routines.
Now Christmas is over again and although luckily I don't have to go back to work yet I have still been struck by how quickly it seems to have come and gone, how suddenly it seems to be over. Is it over this quickly every year? I suppose so, although I don't remember thinking it as much last year.
So now what do we do? Now we've been left with the aftershock, our ears are ringing slightly and we're not sure whether to try and hold on to the Christmas spirit for a while longer or get down on our hands and knees, clean up the after-party mess and get back to work. We've had fun, we gave and received gifts, got drunk and ate really good food. But I guess it's time to find homes for our presents, to think about what's next, to take out the rubbish and take down the Christmas tree.
So now we're looking forwards again, once again Christmas is behind us but we've got some great new memories to keep and some good times we can always look back on.
Have we learnt anything this Christmas? What are we going to take with us into the new year? Me personally, I'm going to take my sense of fun, because I feel as though I've lost it a bit over the last six months and this Christmas I've found it again and I'm damn well gonna keep hold of it this time!
I hope you've all had a fantastic Christmas :)

Thursday, 24 December 2015

Apparently plastic bags make very good sleep spots!

This is Suki, my beautiful bengal cat, she is nearly two years old, makes lots of noise and enjoys finding odd places to curl up - such as a sainsbury's bag :)

Merry Christmas!

Surviving Christmas in Retail


With long hours, busy days and an endless supply of hectic customers all wanting your attention, working in retail during the festive season can feel like a pretty tough gig. It can be one of the hardest times during which to work, so now we're nearly at the end of the festive period I thought I'd share with you some hints, tips and tricks I've learned working in retail at one of the busiest times of the year. So here's what I've learned over the past couple of months.


1. Don't Panic

Everyone around you is panicking, your boss is stressing out, customers are rushing around like it's their last day on earth, the phones are ringing, that display you filled only ten minutes ago is already nearly empty and the stock room is an urban jungle of crates, boxes and items of stock that don't seem to appear to have a home. It's busy, there's not enough time and your boss has asked you to do another three jobs on top of the eight you already have.
Don't panic. Stop and take a breath. Just because everyone around you is going crazy doesn't mean you have to as well. It's good to get stuck into your work but don't take it too seriously. Work your way through your jobs list calmly, get what you can done but don't freak out about not doing everything. There is always tomorrow and it's not the end of the world if the scarf display doesn't get filled up until the morning. Breathe.


2. Smile

Not just at the customers, at your colleagues too, but most of all smile for yourself. Even if your feeling absolutely bogged down and miserable, stick a smile on your face and be the positive colleague. Before long you will not only have cheered yourself up but most likely cheered someone else up too. Positive thinking is key and if you try you can find fun or at least a joke in almost anything. Focusing on the negatives won't make your day feel any better.


3. Housekeeping

And no I don't mean you should go home and tidy your room - although having a clean and tidy environment at home does help to alleviate stress and boost mood.
That messy stock room that you hate, the one jam packed with crates and boxes of stock, so many you can hardly move? Make that stock room (or your bit of it) your project. Keep it tidy, put things away where they belong. Move things around so they fit better, get rid of any rubbish or unnecessary boxes, they're just taking up space and causing you to be more stressed out as you have less space within which to work. When your stock room is orderly and tidy it will be much quicker and easier to find what you are looking for. Those piles of stock won't seem quite so daunting and it'll feel like a much nicer space to work in and from. Just half an hour every shift can make a lot of difference.


4. Let it out

Your colleagues are all having a good old moan about work? Join in. It's good to let your angst out and these people know exactly how you feel, they understand. Before long you'll probably find you're all laughing about something. It's good to talk and get things off your chest - even if it is just how annoying customers can be!


5. Don't Skip Lunch

It's super busy, you've got so much to do and not enough time to do it in. You think to yourself 'I'll just turn this next bit of stock, then I'll go to lunch' and before you realise it your shattered and it's time to go home. No. Don't do that to yourself. Make time to have a break. That time you get to have a bite to eat, have a cigarette, play on your phone, read a book, whatever it is you do on your break - make sure you do it. That's what keeps you sane on a busy day. That twenty minutes or half hour or however long you get, that is just for you. That's time for you to take a step back from all the crazy and have a breather. That's important, it chills you out and readies you for the second part of your shift. And we've all gotta eat!


6. Leave work at work

You work in retail, your not a lawyer, don't take your work home with you. When your sat in the pub with your friends sipping a nice cold pint don't be thinking about that stock you didn't get to out or that job you've got to do tomorrow. Relax, enjoy your time out of work with your friends. That's you time, don't let work rule it.


7. Treat Yourself

You've worked hard today. You've put up with angry customers, hectic bosses and a stock room that just might be hell itself. So have that glass of wine this evening, eat that extra piece of cheese cake, treat yourself, you deserve it!

Tuesday, 22 December 2015

The Fear

I came up with this one my lunch break at work today, it's a short piece of descriptive writing with a small twist at the end that I thought you might like, let me know what you think :)

The Fear

I run. My bare feet slap hard against the concrete floor. My breath tears painfully through my chest, forcing it's way out of my body. My heart beats loud and fast in my ears, desperately pumping blood through my veins. The muscles in my legs burn, begging me to stop and rest. But I cannot stop. I am afraid, and I must keep going.
Further and further I run. Until the concrete beneath my feet disappears and I find that I am running on grass. Soft, damp grass. I can feel the droplets of water that cling to the blades of green, they are cold between my toes.  It is harder to run on wet grass. I am afraid I will slip over. Another thing that I am afraid of.
My chest is tight. It is getting harder and harder to breathe. The muscles in my legs feel not only painful now but stiff as well, as if they are made of clay. I clench my fists and unconsciously grit my teeth, willing my body to keep moving. The fear pushes me onwards.
There is a strange buzzing sound in the air, like electricity. But I don't know where it is coming from because I am in the forest now and only trees surround me. Huge towering trees all around me, stretching their branches up towards the night sky as if desperate to touch the glistening stars.
I wish I were a tree, tall and strong and immoveable. Trees are not afraid.
I wish I were a star, glittering high above and far away. Stars are not afraid.
I push my body onwards but I know I cannot last much longer now. Fear grips my chest, white hot and ice cold at the same time. It tingles unpleasantly through me, making my skin prickle and sending a bout of sweet nausea rocketing through my stomach. I feel bile rise in the back of my throat. My mouth is dry. I try to swallow, choking on my own tongue, gasping for air again as soon as I have done so. I imagine licking the tiny drops of moisture off the blades of grass beneath my pounding feet.
My head is spinning. The stars are no longer in the sky. Instead they are all below me, twinkling in a sea of black space beneath my feet. Now the trees are stretching downwards, reaching out below me. From above drops of water fall from the blades of soft grass, landing on my head, on my cheek as I raise my face to look upwards.
I can't feel my legs any more, they don't burn or ache. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet any more. Because the ground is above my head. Pain tears at my chest as I try to suck in more air, try the quell the panic rising and spreading out through my body. Everything is wrong. Everything is very very wrong and I am afraid, so very very afraid.
In the back of my mind a small voice asks me a question. "What are you running from?"
Suddenly there is nothing.

I open my eyes. I am lying in my bed. My room is dark but I can just make out the familiar furniture. I roll over, the person asleep next to me is warm, and he is familiar too. My heartbeat is slowing again now. I snuggle closer to his warmth and close my eyes.

Monday, 21 December 2015

Between The Moonlit Trees

Hello lovely readers!
I don't usually write much poetry but the idea for this one popped into my head the other night and after working on it for a couple of days I thought I'd share the finished product with you.
Leave me a comment and let me know what you think :)

Between the Moonlit Trees

Through the darkened woods she stole,
Butchers knife in hand,
Following a single groan,
That was the only sound,

All night long she sought her prey,
With calm and steady steps,
Waiting for the hour to come,
Upon which she could act,

The hunted knew his time was near,
Could feel it on the wind,
The ragged breaths that followed him,
The stench that filled the air,

She caught him once before that night,
With silver flashing blade,
Now ruby drops fall from his side,
As he fights to stumble on,

Between the moonlit trees at last,
She saw her chance had come,
And letting out a fearsome screech,
She leapt upon her prey,

The hunted felt his life force flee,
As the blade cut through his skin,
And the last thing that his eyes did see,
Was her frightful manic grin,

The trees that night bore steady witness,
To the crime between their trunks,
And as ruby drops sprayed through the air,
A life that night was lost.

Saturday, 19 December 2015

Goodbye Piper

My cat died today, he got hit by a car. I think it was a quick death, there were no marks on him.

I had a day off work today, we slept in till late, it was lovely. Then I decided to take my man out for lunch so we drove to a local pub to get some food. Their kitchen was closed so we sat and had a pint. We were sitting having a chat when my dad rang me and told me he had some bad news. My cat - Piper- had died, he had been hit by a car on the main road near our house and had been taken to the vets where they had identified him through his microchip and then rung my parents house.
"They want to know if you want him cremated for £33 or cremated and to keep the ashes for £111".
That's a lot of money for cremation and ashes right? £111?
I'm crying by this point and my partner has his arm around my shoulder. My dad understands, he says I can sleep on it if I want, we can make a decision tomorrow.
I say they should get him cremated for £33, I can't afford £111, but can they bring the collar home please, I would like to keep the collar.

I'm really sad, just really really sad. I love that cat. He was the son of my other cat - Jinx, so I'd known him since he was born. He was the mildest cat, really friendly, really chilled out, loved company. You could pick him up and he'd just sit there looking at you, meowing occasionally, letting you move him around and stroke him. He was only a year and a half old. I'm really going to miss him.

I Lie for a Reason

Hello! This is a short piece of descriptive writing I did a little while ago, I had to start it with the sentence 'The difference is, I lie for a reason'. I was rather proud of this one, leave me a comment and let me know what you think :) 

“The difference is, I lie for a reason!”
Kayla’s jaw jutted out as she spoke, spitting the words across the small sitting room. Her green eyes narrowed as she glared at Tom, an uncomfortable silence stretched out between them.
Tom looked away, wilting under her harsh stare, unable to meet her eyes and see the hurt that burned in them, the hurt that he had caused.
He knew Kayla, knew her better than anyone, and he knew now that she would never forgive him for this. He glanced up and could see her decision. It was written all over her face, her beautiful face, the face he loved more than anything else on the earth. He imagined her smile, how it lit up her eyes, in his mind he could almost see it, but in a blink the image was gone.
“So?” Her voice was raw, he could feel the venom in it, as if it stung his very skin. “Do you not have anything to say? After all this you can’t even find the words to defend yourself?”
Tom looked inside himself, but he was blank all over, like a brand new page of crisp white paper. Except he wasn't crisp, he was crumpled and smudged and someone had dropped him in a puddle at some point so he had dried a funny colour.
He opened his mouth, half hoping that the right words would somehow fall out, but they didn't. The air remained void and quiet, the only sounds the harsh intakes of his breath and the blood thrumming through his ears. He closed his mouth and swallowed, his tongue stuck to the roof and it felt like he was trying to swallow a ball of cotton wool.
She shifted position slightly, moving her weight from one foot to the other. He found he was acutely aware of the noise of her shoe on the hard polished wood floor, a slight squeak, followed by the rustle of her coat lightly brushing against her jeans. He tried to swallow again.
She sighed, the sound carrying through the still and quiet room, her impatience impregnating the air. He could feel himself starting to sweat, the flush of heat, the tiny cold wet beads of liquid beginning to form around his forehead and across his back.
He snuck a quick glance at her, she wasn't glaring anymore, she was looking down at the floor, her soft brown hair falling across her face, hiding her expression. Suddenly she seemed small and vulnerable and he was filled with the desire to take her in his arms and hold her, hold her and never let her go. He could almost feel her head on his shoulder, her soft skin beneath his fingers and the sweet smell of cherries, she always smelled of cherries. He almost moved, but he knew better than that, she wouldn't want him to touch her, not after this.
Tom stayed where he was, still, as though he were carved from stone. He looked away as she looked up, not wanting to meet her eyes. He raced for something to say, a word, a sentence, a reason, anything. But there was nothing.
“Tom…”

He looked up and met her eyes, moss green and sparkling with unshed tears. She shook her head slightly, breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor. She pulled her coat tighter around her small frame and turned. In three short steps she had reached the plain wooden door and Tom could do nothing. He watched her as if in slow motion, her small pale hand reaching out and grasping the door handle, turning it until it made that small soft clicking noise, then push. The door swung open, gently, gradually revealing the corridor beyond the room that had, for a short space of time, become his whole world. She stepped through the door, impossibly slowly, one foot in front of the other, she didn't look back. The door swung closed lazily, as if mocking him, slowly cutting off his view of her retreating figure, until all that was left was him and the small sitting room and he could do nothing, without her, he was nothing.

Thursday, 17 December 2015

Long Day

Today has been a long day and I am very tired.
I've got an hour of my shift left to work before I can get up, walk out of the big double doors and across the car park, get on my motorbike and ride the half an hour back to my warm house, my lovely man and my cosy bed.
I would like this hour to go quickly.
To be fair single hours themselves do usually go by fairly quickly, if you look at them as single hours and not multiples, and if you break them into fifteen minute sections, then they seem to flick by at a far more interesting rate. It's amazing what the brain can do isn't it? If you watch each five minute section of the hour drag by it's going to feel like it's taking forever. But if you look for fifteen minute progressions, and find small things to occupy your mind during those progressions then all of a sudden half an hour has gone by and you've only got half an hour left. And half an hour is totally manageable by anyone's standards.

I think it's the last ten minutes that are always the worst though. When you've reached the end of a boring and lengthy shift and you've finished the last job you were doing, you look up at the clock but you've still got ten minutes until you can go home. What do you do for that ten minutes? It's not enough time to start a new job because any other job will take a lot longer than that, and there are no small jobs to do because you did all of those when you arrived that morning, bleary eyed and desperately in need of some small mindless tasks to get you going. So you push some paper around. Maybe you empty the bin. You straighten out the pictures on the wall, fiddle with the paperclip in your pocket, put the pens on the table in size order, make small talk to the nearest colleague. And all the while you glance at the clock, watching minute by painful minute slip slowly past. Until finally you judge that it is time to begin the slow walk towards the colleague locker rooms.

Yepp, the last ten minutes is definitely the worst, and I'll be there soon, forty five minutes to go.
I am looking forward to my bed tonight. I work two jobs, by the end of today I will have done a fourteen hour shift, the same as yesterday. This job finishes tonight until after Christmas, but i've gotta be up again and at work for nine tomorrow morning, it is only an eight hour shift tomorrow though and then a day off on Saturday, can you believe it, a day off... on a Saturday? That's almost unheard of!
Then begins the madness of Christmas week...
My advice to you kids... don't get a job in retail over Christmas... It's not good for your health...


And stop clock-watching... (it doesn't make the time go any faster)  ;)

Wednesday, 16 December 2015

First Blog Post?

The word 'Blog' always makes me think back to being in school. You know when the teacher is stood at the front of the class fumbling to find the right words to explain a scenario. Then suddenly they've got it and out comes good old 'Joe Bloggs' the dependable example, forced into many a strange situation by desperate teachers attempting to catch the interest of their absent minded students.
I guess I feel a bit like Joe Bloggs right now, a randomer, another person amongst the sea of bodies that is the human race. And now I'm in a strange situation too, because I have decided to write a blog, because I want to write a blog, but I have no idea what to write about, I just want to write! I suffer from the simple, overriding, annoying desire to put words on to a piece of paper (or laptop screen if you will) and arrange them into interesting sounding phrases and beautiful expressions.
This desire has lead me to starting a couple of interesting projects, the third of which is this blog. The first project started about a year and a half ago when I sat down at my kitchen table with a blank Google doc in front of me and just started writing with no idea what I wanted to write about. That project is my novel, and no it is not finished, I am taking my time with it (I think that's the best sounding way of saying 'it was going great but then I got writers block so I put it away for a while and haven't picked it back up again yet although I do of course think about it all the time'). I do, think about it all the time that is.
The second project I started about six months ago. I was getting that uncontrollable urge to write again but was beginning to get sick of trying to figure out what I should do with the characters in my novel. Then one weekend I went to visit my Nan and as I was sitting in the car mulling things over in my head I realised I had a story plot, and I wanted to put it on paper really badly! That weekend was the first time I had ever attempted to write a short story and I wrote two of them. Since then I have written a further thirteen short stories on the same theme under the umbrella name of Tales Noir. No one has seen these stories yet. (That is a lie, I have actually sent a couple of them to competitions but heard nothing back). What I meant was none of my friends or family have seen them yet. I think they are still very much 'raw' material, by which I mean that the first draft was great but they definitely still need a lot more time and some editing before I can realistically think about doing anything professional with them. I'm so excited though! The whole project fills me with excitement every time I think about it. And if I could get them published? That would be a dream come true.
So finally we come to my third project, this blog, which came about because of a conversation I had with my mum a few months ago about how much I hate my job (I work in retail). My mum suggested that I pursue a career in writing, seeing as that is what I love doing, which was odd because I had never really thought about it like that, I had just written things because I felt the urge to write. She followed this up by suggesting I try out different styles of writing and post them on line for other people to see and comment on , then I'll discover what my strengths are and what my weaknesses are, and I'll learn a hell of a lot on the way. So this is project number three; Breathing for Words, my blog. And I guess I don't really know what exactly I want to write here yet, maybe just things that interest me, things I've learnt that I think might help other people, funny things, sweet things... I guess we'll find out.
My idea for a fourth project is travel writing (which I have absolutely no idea about), but me and my partner both want to get out there and see the world so you lucky readers might be getting some interesting stories from around the globe at some point! (Stress, 'might').
That didn't go nearly as badly as I thought it would. I had visions of me sitting staring blankly at my laptop for hours praying for inspiration, something exciting for my first blog post! But this has all just kind of come out, and to be honest, I think it's an alright little introduction. I'll try and think of something more interesting next time I promise. 

But really, what do you write for your first blog post?