Out of Sight, Out of Mind - Angel Babies!

'I can still see products of pregnancy' said the sonogropher. 'You mean you can still see the baby' I snapped. I had lost my second child within eight months and this stranger couldn't even do me the courtesy to acknowledge it's existence. I had a right to be angry but, as I have discovered, my experience was neither isolated nor the worst.

Mostly Haunted, Totally Unhinged.

If there was ever a need to get motivated it was now. She was forty three, unemployed and somewhat unhinged. Days ran into weeks that ran into months of procrastination and self loathing. A typical day would consist of sleeping, drinking copious amounts of coffee, posting mundane Twitter updates and general lethargy. Spiders spun webs in the corners of the room with wild abandon and pyjamas became the ‘must have’ fashion item of the year.

Now, as I write this, I’m beginning to lose the will to live. If it bores me it will bore the reader too. I’m desperate for a flash of inspiration, for the theme tune to ‘Murder She Wrote’ to pulsate around the room while I feverishly type a competition winning story. But the only sounds I hear are the clickety clack of the reluctant keyboard and the droning silence of a dull, empty house.

So where is my head today? It’s battling with a myriad of niggles that form an impenetrable wall against dreams and imagination. I have unfinished stories and embryos of ideas filed away in a mental cupboard and I’ve lost the key. It’s an endless struggle not to get sucked in to the black whirlpool of failure so I’ve moved onto the prehistoric computer. It has no internet connection. I’ve gone cold turkey and am now pushing, pushing and pushing my word count toward the one thousand mark. (Note how I typed the word ‘pushing’ three times. Is that cheating?).

The best writing advice (apart from ’open the wine’) seems to be to just start to type and see where it takes you but I suspect that this was written by those annoyingly prolific wordsmiths who are never stuck for ideas. Jealous? Me? You bet I am!

*At this juncture, the mind has gone blank so Kate gets up to make yet another coffee*

I’ve decided that I’m not going to edit this wild ramble; instead I’m going to post it on my much neglected blog. Perhaps I just want to prove that

1) I’m still alive
2) I’m still writing (albeit self indulgent drivel)

I’ll let the literary masters pick feverishly over the dull theme, the terrible grammar and any spelling errors.

Going wildly off tangent here, last weekend I was playing at being a domestic goddess. As usual my precocious five year old was doing his utmost to undo any progress I was making. My bedroom is a much neglected area, clothes strewn everywhere, coffee cups dotting every surface, dusty books languishing under the bed. You get the picture. So after much folding, picking up, dusting and smoothing down bed covers I turned to plug in the hoover. It was at this point that the boy whirlwind ran into the room knocking over a pile of books and landing ‘plop’ right in the middle of my bed. Cue mums ‘death stare’ and a now pale faced boy exited even faster than he arrived.

After a rather liberating spin around the room, picking up orange peel and tiny plastic daleks along the way, I surveyed my now sparkling domain with a sense of pride. I admit I also toyed with the idea of crawling under the freshly laundered sheets for the rest of the day, lazy cow that I am. I bent down to wind the cable neatly around the hoover (as you do) when the corner of my eye caught a speedy pair of legs once again making for my bed. ‘Death stare’ became ‘primal howl’ for about a split second. That was until I realised that the little legs had disappeared. Slowly I backed out of the room, my logical mind whizzing at breakneck speed through all the possible explanations until it slowly dawned on me that, once again, I was living in a house that wasn’t quite empty.

Now reader, you are either staring at your screen in shock or thinking ‘this woman is utterly bonkers.’ That is, if you’ve made it this far of course. It happened at three o clock on a Sunday afternoon so you can rule out alcohol, thank you very much. Just to clarify, my boy was at this point sat downstairs with his nose pressed up to the TV and chomping on a banana.

In my mind it all fits together. The feeling of being watched, little things being moved around, hearing someone say ‘mummy’ but never quite knowing if it came from outside or not. And it’s definitely not the first time it’s happened to me. Now please don’t imagine for one moment that I’m going to go all Doris Stokes on you. I do not profess to be ‘sensitive’ or ‘gifted’ in any way. It is what it is and I’ve spent most of my life having strange episodes and I deal with it in my own way. Why do you think I write horror?

So now I’ve laid myself open to possible ridicule/detainment at Her Majesties Pleasure, I can happily report that, from a writing perspective, today has been productive.

*At this point, Kate checked her word count, smiled and shuffled off for yet more coffee*

Don't Tell!

It's a backwards kind of story.

I found another sore on my foot, a pustule. Not a pretty word or image.

I've become used to them over the last couple of years and they have intrinsically become part of me. They seep blood, but not the red kind we all envisage. It's the creamy yellow of the white cells, the defence cells, sent out to fight anything that is attacking my body. According to the doctors mine are working overtime. They've gone into Terminator mode and now reject and attack my own flesh.

They are a physical manifestation of what has always been there. I lance them for relief just as I once lanced my head. The prick of the needle or the slice of the Stanley knife. What's the difference? It's pain relief. It's the purging of a poisonous invasion.

I have a high pain threshold that developed over many years. My eyesight is poor because my brother decided one night to punch me so hard that my eye rolled to the back of my head. Six weeks wearing an eye patch and Mother placating with chocolate until I felt sick.

Don't tell!

The same brother who laughed at my childish attempts to do handstands then decided to kick my arms from underneath me. SNAP! Broke my wrist. Cold compresses applied, a sling made from my Mothers head scarf, three weeks before I was taken to a doctor.

Don't tell!

Oh, there's so much more.

Hush now.

Don't tell!

Blood, pain, sores, attack, rejection.

I'm used to it.

But don't tell!

Not ANOTHER NaNoWriMo blog post???

If you haven't heard all about NaNoWriMo yet then check out your Twitter stream or just Google it. There's a plethora of information out there, blogs are full of it and I have nothing to add to the reams already written on the subject.

Whether the phrase NaNoWriMo strikes fear into your heart, makes your stomach flip in excitement or just plain bores you one thing is for sure, November will never be the same again. Why am I doing it? Good question. It's like asking why anyone would want to conquer Everest? Because it's there.

So there you go. I blogged about NaNoWriMo. Do you feel enlightened now. No? Me neither and I'll probably be none the wiser by the end of it all. But that's just me. Holds nose, takes one step forward and WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

See you on the other side.

Pound Shops and Charity Shops: My Top 10 Winter Tips

Yorkshire has definitely been icy today which spurred me on to, finally, buy a winter coat. I managed, much to my delight, to purchase a brand new waterproof jacket for a mere £8 from one of the many good charity shops in the city. Granted, it is two sizes too big (necessary though for the layers of woollies it will need to cover) and it's the usual black ensemble but I will always go for warm and practical over the latest useless fashion fad. It can easily be 'jazzed up' with a brightly coloured scarf and gloves,perhaps even a jaunty deer-stalker type hat. Yes, the preparations for Winter are well underway here.

The last two winters have personally been extremely bleak. During the first I was left by an unscrupulous landlord with no heating, sleeping in one room with a toddler. For three weeks over Christmas the snow and the biting cold were relentless and I was ill prepared. The following year we were in a new house where the heating did work but deep snow and my inability to walk meant I ran out of basics and, at one point,  I was boiling rice in the last chicken stock cubes for my sons dinner. Bad times.

This year there will be no such traumas and I've compiled a handy list of winter essential for those 'just in case' moments.

1) Tealights
It's surprising how much heat these babies can kick out. If you live near a Pound Shop a bag of fifty will set you back (you guessed it) a pound. Great for saving energy and make lovely ambient lighting but, as with any type of candles, use with caution, never in bedrooms and place out of reach of little hands.

2) Powdered milk
I can't tell you how many times I've ran out of milk at the worst possible moment. Okay, it's not as good as the real stuff but you will appreciate it when your gasping for a cuppa at 3am and the snow is two feet deep. Also great for mixing up to make........

3A) Porridge oats
or even Oats So Simple which is currently on offer in the Pound Shop. As are......

3B) Tinned Goods
3 tins of HP Baked Beans, 2 tins of custard, 2 tins of Rice Pudding,  2 tins of chunky soup, Fray Bentos Steak and Kidney Pies, tins of Bacon Grill,  stock cubes, rice, pasta, all a pound....the list goes on. I've been slowly filling a large box for the last few weeks just by spending an extra couple of pounds.

4) If you have heavy winter curtains get them up now and make radiator panels. Simply cover an appropriate sized piece of cardboard in tin foil (Pound Shop) and slide down the back of your radiators to reflect the heat back into the room. An old trick my Grandma taught me.

5) Get down to the charity shops, grab some bargains and help good causes. Some of my creative friends have found random fleecy baby blankets and stitched them together to make bed and sofa throws. You can also stock up on inexpensive woollies. Forget about having the latest fashion items. You can treat yourself in the January sales with all the money you've saved on heating costs.

6) Flasks
In our house the kettle is seriously abused, especially during winter. Make up a flask of tea/coffee at a time and save electricity. If you need convincing just switch your kettle on and go watch that electric dial spin like a Strictly Come Dancing contestant on fast forward.

7) Check your first aid kit and medicines.
This is winter in the UK folks. Those dreaded lurgy is bound to pay you/the kids a visit and you'll be lucky to get away without at least one slip, trip or fall (think ICE). Dispose responsibly of all the out of date stuff and restock. Once again, the Pound Shops are ideal for this.

8) Hot Water Bottles
I couldn't be without mine.They linger in the back of the under sink cupboard for months but, boy, do they come into their own when the weather turns. Unfortunately, a quick look in my two local Pound Shops failed to locate any but I'm sure you can pick them up relatively cheaply and they are so worth it.

9) Matches And Spare Tin Opener
The one basic item that many people seem to forget is a box of matches (store in a high place away from children). You just never know when you're going to need them. But also, unless you can guarantee all your tins are going to be ring pulls, don't forget the humble tin opener. Once again, it's one of those items that you never miss until you really need it.

10) Check On Your Neighbours
The snow might look rather pretty when your wrapped up toasty warm indoors but please spare a thought for the elderly and disabled for whom snow and ice is a real danger. But don't wait until it's snowing before you say hello, do it now. There's a lot of warmth generated by a friendly smile.

Tea at 3am - Friday Flash #3

It doesn't taste right, tea at 3am, it cools too quickly but I drink it anyway. The fridge hums and pulses too loud, strip light hurts the eyes. The season has changed. I can't hear the birds anymore and there's a chill in the room.

Perhaps that's the sign of the house ghosts subtly objecting to my presence at this ungodly hour. It's their time to dance and I'm intruding. But I can't sleep anymore so they'll just have to put up with me, slip around me, I don't mind.

More tea as I fix a blank stare on the page. The words will not come out to play. They still snooze, somewhere in the darkest recesses. I envy them that.

The End Of A Parenting Era

September The Fifth fast approaches and marks the end of an era in my little world. For the past twenty five years I've experienced the pleasure and pain of raising children. It has, so far, been the most challenging, frustrating and amazing experience of my life. From that first heady aroma of newborn skin right through to the not so heady aroma of toilet training traumas I've stumbled along the path of parenthood never thinking about that inevitable day when the party would be over. My youngest child will soon don his shiny, new school uniform and be unleashed into the world of full time education and my arms suddenly feel very empty. My child bearing years are over.

I console myself with knowledge that there are exciting, new opportunities waiting for me. I will have more precious hours with which to indulge in my second love, writing. I can concentrate on getting back my health and building new social groups. I wont have to listen to endless, grating ditties via the CBeebies channel. My home will stay clean and tidy between the hours of 8.30am and 3.30pm. Luxury indeed. But still, I ache to remain surrounded  by 24/7 happy chaos and feel trepidation at this strange, untrodden path that I find myself upon.

Tears will be shed.