Several years ago I remember waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare about EastEnders. I think it was about Sonia Fowler – that sweet brainy trumpet-playing girl who fell in love with bad boy Martin after he’d accidentally killed her lovely previous boyfriend, then didn’t realise she was pregnant until she went into labour, gave the baby up for adoption but then had a breakdown and kidnapped the child back. Continue reading
It’s Sunday night, so time to share a song. Helen’s prompt this week is ‘pain’, which I suspect is exactly what I’m going to be feeling tomorrow morning, after I walked up this bad boy this afternoon (Pendle Hill in Lancashire if you’re interested).
By sunset I’d reached the border. The traffic thinned as the road climbed towards the mountains. On the other side, a new life was waiting.
We chose freedom. Got bitter isolation.
Only United fan in City family.
When we two parted
In silence and tears
Half broken hearted
To sever for years
Pale grew thy cheek, and cold
Colder thy kiss
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
“Show, don’t tell” is a piece of advice often given to creative writers. It’s the difference between:
“The novice writer sighed gloomily, as she picked up her red pen, and prepared to cull adverbs”
“No, crap, it’s all crap!” she hissed, hurling another piece of crumpled paper towards the bin.” Continue reading