Category: Thoughts
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Everybody has a story,
What’s yours? Last week I noticed that Facebook have a new thing where they show people’s ‘stories’. Maybe it’s compensating for the fact that a single snapshot of a pouting thirty year old does not tell us anything about them, but I doubt it.
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The good ole days
When I was growing up there was no TV in the house. I used to hide the fact because it was so out of the ordinary.
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A chair, a chair,
My Kingdom for a chair.
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Forget black and white.
For a long time I tried to cover it- only unfolding my walking stick at the last possible minute, surreptitiously leaning against walls, not ticking boxes that would slap a label on me, seeking out quiet streets where there were no eyes watching.
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Walls, prickles and hackles
I’ve been thinking about defences today. Our dog discovered a very foolish hedgehog in the garden this morning. It was the unknown intruder to her, the prickly thing she didn’t understand. She danced menacingly round it, barking. My husband stood in front of the terrified creature, waiting for a chance to grab the dog. Her…
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Ach sure,
It’s only a bit of fun. They’re just having a laugh. They don’t mean anything by it. Boys will be boys. And everyone else’s heart breaks.
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The terrible and wonderful power of time.
We still delude ourselves we can control it. But, here’s the truth: we can’t. Children screw their eyes shut and wish it was Christmas three months early. Their parents watch the days flying past and wildly hope it will be cancelled this year. Holidays end too soon. Work days crawl towards home-time. Appointments written up…
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Shoes, shoes everywhere.
I’ve been thinking, browsing, obsessing, even dreaming about shoes. But not with pleasure or anticipation. With sheer terror and sadness. Why? Because I can’t walk well in anything other than trainers. Even the walking shoes I was recommended make me stumble over my feet. Several months ago, I told myself with all the Pilates I…
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The problem with Mary Sue
Is she appears in all of my stories. It was only recently pointed out to me that my books have a tendency to follow the same pattern: drop a girl into a difficult situation, and use her to fix it. Mary Sue: the perfect, capable miracle worker who no-one dislikes and has barely anything wrong…
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‘The rat, on the other hand…
was running round the room busily, with his arms full of weapons…saying excitedly under his breath as he ran, ‘Here’s-a-sword-for-the-Rat, here’s-a-sword-for-the-Mole, here’s-a-sword-for-the-Toad, here’s-a-sword-for-the-Badger! Here’s-a-pistol-for-the-Rat, here’s-a-pistol-for-the-Mole-here’s-a-pistol-for-the-Badger!’ And so on, in a regular, rhythmical way, while the four little heaps gradually grew and grew.’ Reading this to my daughter last night, I was reminded of myself, and…
Ruth Writes 