How We Forgive

Some forgive by sitting on the suitcase lid,
Forcing the jumble down ’til the catches click
And lop shouldered from their weight, cram it under the bed.

Some forgive by pulling the tiny pieces to pieces.
A post mortem scrutiny.
Then cremate it when they understand what the cause of death was.

Some forgive by stowing away the abuse,
Cling film wrapped for freshness,
To be dragged from the fridge for citation and later use.

Some forgive by taking time to cross examine inner thought.
Analyse, dissolve, debate, resolve
Publicised in an open session in court.

Some forgive with a childlike bundling smile,
If you ask me,
That takes real style.

Some do not forgive.
They carry it around like a sharpened hatpin
Waiting to push it in the eye of the person committing the sin.

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The Best First page you have ever read?

First impressions count.

And, like it or not, people will consider whether or not they will like your work just by reading the first few lines.

With that in mind I would like to ask you Who wrote your favourite opening to a book / best first line?

I like Stephen King’s ‘The Body’ (Stand By Me) and Neil Gaiman ‘The Graveyard.’
Something about those two stories that means you have to carry on reading.

Interested in your comments.

It was the best of blogs, it was the worst of blogs…

Death and Disney – a shocking list!

Disney films – go straight for the heart of kids and parents’ darkest fears. Though they are mainly kids films it surprises me to think of how many of them have orphans or children estranged / lost from their parents as a theme. Check out this list. Its from the top of my head so, there may be inaccuracies or omissions. Feel free to add or correct me in comments.

Here’s a quick, and by no means exhaustive list:

Anna and Elsa – Frozen (orphaned)

Bambi (Mum dead, Dad posing in the woods)Nemo – Finding Nemo (lost)

Dumbo (Separated from Mum (gets me evreytime!))

Simba – Lion King (Dad dead)

Peter Pan (Lost boy, no parents)

Tarzan (Orphaned and raised by monkeys)

Mowgli – Jungle Book (orphaned and brought up by bankers)

Aristocats (No Dad)

Snow white (Evil stepmother)

Cinderella (Evil stepmother)

Sleeping Beauty (Put into sleep and taken far away from family),

Rapunzel (Stolen by witch)

Belle (No mother, Dad kidnapped)

Pinocchio (No parents and an insect for a conscience.)

101 Dalmations (Stolen from parents)

Little Mermaid (No mum)

Oliver (Orphaned)

Penny – Rescuers (Orphaned)

Tod – Fox and Hound – (Orphaned)

 

I know, I know it isn’t all Disney – Harry Potter, Despicable Me, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – The list goes on and on…..

Past, Present and Future

A brief poem from the beginning of my novel about the passing of time…

Tomorrow is virginal to
Yesterday’s whore.
Not yet spoiled or tainted
By what came before.
The present our mistress,
Who we flirt with
And paw.
Yet never know fully,
Or ever adore.

Do something

Another quote from my book..

Inaction galvanises our opponents’ resolve, it motivates them, abets them, speeds them towards victory; as apathy dishonours ourselves and the causes we fight and die for. Doing something, even the wrong thing, is better than nothing. Doing nothing creates a vacuum, where light and sound and hope do not travel. It is the black hole that grows in the space of our cowardly hearts.

Death of a friend

Dying is about the person.
Death is about everyone else.

It is 15 years since I lost my Dad.

Whenever I look back, it is with fondness. Great memories of holding onto his stubbly chin for a shoulder ride. How he always smelled of creosote or just plain old outside. How he used to do a 14 hour shift then fall asleep reading me and my sister a bedtime story. How he could build a shed in an afternoon and still have a bit of wood (and time) left over to help me make a crossbow to fire Mum’s clothes pegs at the neighbours windows. He’d even fetch me the pegs.

I can remember near the end, when he was fighting to stay around to see the cherry blossom. Prolific this time of year.
Whenever I see it I think of him.
How he fought, his breathing machine rattling on for one more breath. His family rattling alongside him through the dark, painful, destroying hours where we clung onto him as he dwindled away. Where we fought to stay awake, to hear his next breath; to make sure he did not die alone in the dark.

Like I said, Cherry blossom is prolific. It brightens up our world for a few days then fades away. We remember the vivid colours it shouts into spring, not the brown, desiccated remnants that lie on the floor then disappear on the breeze.

Though cherry blossom saddens me, just a little, the colours and joys prevail. Like death and life I suppose.

Like father like son.