From the mind of a pacifist

By my fourth post, I feel I really should have touched on writing. Especially, considering I put in such effort to justify my motives for this lark.

I love description. This isn't any news. What I don't enjoy quite so much is dialogue. It doesn't help when you're as socially hushed as I tend to be. I am a Smiler; I sit to the side, smiling and nodding, letting others rattle off their stories. Only those who appreciate long-windedness get the privilege of my anecdotal goose chase. So when talking isn't a sport that comes naturally, it stands to reason that I should find creating fictional dialogue challenging.

However...

And, first, let me predict that I am not the only person to do this...

Earlier, I was stomping around, still bubbling over a fresh conflict, replaying the conversation in my head, analyzing tones and expressions. Then I realised that I was still arguing. Getting my word in edgewise was feeling good, and getting opinions off my chest felt even better. I won't go as far as to write exactly what I wanted to say for, probably, the same reason I could not bring myself to say it in the first place: too profound for words. Of course, this was all taking place in the asylum of my mind, which is mighty good as I'd be admitted to an actual asylum if they'd caught me acting it out in public.

But I seized the lines and practised them over, and over, until they were no more my insults, than an argument between characters. And then it escalated, and I was rebutting myself. Only, this wasn't me. It was the other character. And the exchange was no longer where my conflict had started from, but had become an explosion of imaginary dialogue.

I'll go back to stressing how thankful I am that this played out in only in thoughts. I just hope I didn't make the accompanying facial contortions. Now, that would have been a sight.

Tittles and Crosses [12271]

P.S. Mr Quinn would completely disagree with my acclamation to peace-keeping.

Men can't pick fruit

It's true. Well, it is in the case of Mr Quinn, at least.

Last weekend, I was cleaning the kitchen and heard a little voice over the pass saying; "This one... and another one... and this one..." When I went to investigate the commentary I discovered one very satisfied little madam and a bowlful of teeth-marked fresh fruit. By 'fresh' I mean 'purchased the day before'.

And then yesterday, I was clearing the table to make room for MEGA PLAY DOH time, and once again found that that every single piece of fruit in the bowl had been sabotaged. Only this time, they were spoilt by disgusting little bruises, and so, were relocated to the bin. I cannot look at bruised fruit; it is vile and offensive, and only acceptable when making banana loaf.

This batch of apples and pears (not stairs!) had also been purchased just days before. We were traipsing the supermarket, Alastair [Mr Quinn] with list in hand and Georgia shot-putting a punnett of strawberries into the trolley. Alastair had taken the fruit and veg responsibility and was turning over a bag of Royal Galas, presumably assessing for impacts and indentations. I even recall thinking "He knows to check the fruit; I'm impressed." Now, I'm not so sure... Knowing Alastair, it could be just as likely that he was eliminating the possibility of a Granny Smith packaging invasion.

Anyway, our day yesterday.

We did play doh. Turtles, hippos, caterpillars and the classic snail. We lost an entire morning to making, and what better way should it be lost.

Whilst supervising dough leaf shaping (caterpillar and snail food) I spied these little characters:

I can't say I'm a fan of Alastair's Buddhas as they are, so I was thinking of painting them an allover black or white. I don't think that would be rude or distasteful, would it? Of course, I need the all clear from Mr Quinn first. 

Also, this lovely Matryoshka Doll caught my attention. Georgia has acquired it from one of the grandparents and carries it everywhere. It gave me an idea for Easter craft. Fill with bags of sweets as presents for all the princesses? Toy and customary comestibles all in one? I'll have to find dolls without that shrill squeak, though. Every hair on my arms stands on edge just thinking of it.

I am now being beckoned to an invisible tea party, so I'll wrap up quickly.

Always at hand:

Trusty post-its and notepad for the muses, which often form alongside Georgia's creativity.

And the Very Hungry Caterpillar

 

Taking Play Doh too seriously since breakfast.

<3 Eric Carle <3

Tittles and Crosses

Welcome to the fallout

"It is humbling to know that I will never be bigger than what I want to do."

- This is a personal quote, which is, in itself, ironically pretentious. Nonetheless, it fits my bill.

I'm late onto the blogging bandwagon. Honestly, in recent years I have rapidly become a version of my grandmother. At twenty-three, I seem to have already lost grip on the simplest of technologies. For example, I am rubbish at touch screen - I have been known to send flirty texts to unintended recipients, i.e. The Mother - and the frontpage of my blog currently remains in its original template design (and will do until I dare to experiment, which could have calamitous results). Long gone are the days of designing my own Myspace profile!
I even had to Google What are blogs used for? Spoiled by small-mindedness, my initial view was that blogging must be for people with too much to say for the 140 characters that Twitter allows. 

But having now considered the benefits and usages of blogging, I decided to add one to my Google account. But, why?! You don't even know what its for! Clearly, I haven't much personal logic.

In my GCSE year, I typed up a list of all outstanding coursework and revision tasks, plus some work that I had already finished. Using a traffic light system, I highlighted these tasks to reflect the work that was complete, incomplete and untouched. Gradually, the greens grew until they filled the screen, and I do believe it was this process which helped motivate me to achieve the best results that I could. 

It makes sense, then, that I would have a need for results and visual progression, hence my decision to blog. This isn't meant to  be some 'come, look at what I wrote' page, or an endeavour to appear savvy at writing. I might just post pictures of the home as it comes to resemble, sort of, the grand design that I envision (there is only so much scope for unlockable potential in your modest, three bed dwelling). Otherwise, I expect I will record all manner of things that capture me. The things that may well inspire future writing projects. 

*************

It is my opinion that words and novels, art, and everything else that goes hand-in-hand with literary interests, is something like an endless well. Imagine if you followed it downwards and found yourself in China or Oz, there still won't be a bottom, or an end, or limit. You can only dream to find yourself amongst a whole new world of perspectives and creative practices. There is such immeasurable potential. Description is not restricted to second and third dimensions. You can create something so much more than that contained within the box of known. 

I love how authors can delve into to those unthought-of capacities of the mind and step, with ease, into fictitious shoes. At best, I am an amateur and always will be; I could never hope to go on Mastermind in 10 years time, professing to be an expert in my chosen field. I fully accept that I will never be top of 'the Game'. 

My goal is, simply, to create something of my own.  

And, so, that is my first post. 

Speaking of things I created: my pretty little monster wearing her Daddy's medal.

Daddy, daughter races are the cutest.

P.S. I debated using this cheesy sign off. People laughed. I liked it. I don't really care. It is very Me.

Tittles and Crosses :)