Breakfast bar

Too cold to it still for long, the squirrels are on the go like me. I can see their breath cloud into the air as they run and slip on our first snow fall.

Breakfast is chunks of apple dug out, super fast speed. They hurl their diggings behind them, heads down, faces flaked with white. And I guess it's survival for them, except it starts to look like a game when a squabble turns into a chase, turns into a slide, turns into a pile up, ice hockey style. The victor is doing a slick lap of glory, cleaning up, stuffing his cheeks full of pickings before racing off along the phone wire to his twiggy nest.

The rest of the gang move into the vine, where bunches of black grapes droop as if the weight of snow is about to make the boughs break. And while the adults sit back to feast on selected bunches, it's back to the game for the little ones. I look down on them as they leap up and grab with tiny hands. The juice drips onto the snow like purple ink.

Appearing elsewhere

Celebrations all round.

There's a great collection of poems by Gordon Mason for you to read here. Gordon's collection, Thunnerplump, is the latest ebook at The red Ceilings. And the cover artwork is one of mine, from one of those wild days painting up on the Lancashire moors.

Go on. I know you're dying to know what a thunnerplump is.

And, my nanowrimo 2010 was verified today as having exceeded 50,000 words. So, I'll continue as and when at a slower pace, possibly at a more thoughtful pace, instead of a blur beside a go faster line.

After the wordrush

Handy that it's the right time of day to enjoy a celebratory glass. I just passed the 50,000 word target on nanowrimo.

Leaving it for today at 50,587 words, I've been on a bit of a roll with this, so I might treat myself to a day off tomorrow before adding a few more chapters. We'll see how it goes. But it's great to know I can slow down a bit now and just enjoy the rest of the ride.

There have been so many times when my words have just run away with me in this project. An hour here and there has built it into something huge. I wasn't sure I could do it this year, given that life has been complicated lately, but here I am looking at my total.

I'm smiling at today's last line - An hour later, I was drinking a large Scotch in the station bar, standing at the tall window to watch the 8.10 slide away towards London. I caught the next train to Newcastle, decided I needed to follow some plans of my own.

I was going to have a beer, but maybe I should change that to a Scotch instead?

Poetry 2010 collection

Here's the link to a free to print selection of poetry put together by Gwilym Williams aka Poet in residence. Poetry 2010 collection. One of my pieces - Summer's End was included, but there are many other poems and poets to read there. Thanks to Gwilym for putting it all together.

If you do read the poems or print them, hope you enjoy them!

And nearly forgot - nano currently at 37025.

Last line - We are identical, after all. Were.

See, told you I seem to be writing a mystery!

Seascape

You can hear the tide right across town as the first of the Winter storms crashes in, hear this kind of seascape being dragged to shore as you fall asleep.

You know the sort of scenario - running for cover, hiding in doorways and under the railway bridge when you only popped out for a few groceries. Coming back an hour later soaked through. There's a row of wet shoes under the radiator that makes it look like a small army has just moved in.

The gale pushed at me as I looked out from under the trees at the chaos of my allotment. And as always in such weather, the plants look like they don't mind the deluge and the battering.

There's some very fine purple sprouting broccoli doing well in a bird proof cage. Three rows of leeks getting greener by the day. Parsnips which taste like heaven. The rosemary is in bloom again. And best of all, four rows of the brightest thing around. 3 inch high shoots of Winter garlic.

Good weather to stay indoors and do some writing.....Nanowrimo currently at 28402 Last line - A stack of old newspapers faded back to tired yellow. Some from 1953.

Wordrush

This is how my week felt. Not that it was such a surprise, as I'd seen what was in my diary well ahead of time. October into November was always going to be full on!

Seems like only moments ago that I was sitting on a big step in Yorkshire sketching the view up the valley, in a break from wild weather and workshops.

Home on 1st November meant straight into the weird and wonderful world of nanowrimo. Currently on a roll at 18533, I've discovered that what's emerging is a mysterious thriller type of piece. Not sure how that happened, but I guess I will let it run a way with me a bit and we'll see if I make the target this year.

Last year, I was determined to write in my usual fashion - an hour here and there, fitting it around work, going out, walking, rehearsals etc. with absolutely no burning the midnight oil. So, I'm aiming to use the same tactics again. Here's the link to my nano profile page.

Last line - It was etched on the secret screens of her eyelids in permanent tracery.

Then, yesterday I took part in an improv poetry and music workshop which has thrown so many ideas into the air that I might have to give in and lie down.

Luckily, there are still some wonderful and vivid memories of wooded tracks like this to help me slow down a bit. (I know you've seen this shot before, but it brings the best sighs!)

Lumb Bank

The colours took my breath away.

Looking down the valley, this was the kind of scene that was waiting in Yorkshire when the rain clouds lifted. And the elements made me wait for a lift to the clouds, for a pause from the window rattling gale, for the light to shift. Then it was time to be out for long walks in scrunching leaves down wooded valleys, beside gushing streams and out into the wild open spaces of the moors.

You'll be amazed to know that I, Annie Inkhaven, sat at the desk every morning for 3 hours. YES!! Workshops and study were planned for each day and I was stunned by the power of what came out of my pen. It was a different kind of desk to any I've experienced before. Although I was indoors sitting with everyone around a huge oak table, the energy was still wild.

......sky the watercolour has been washed from

back to the pink yellow grey of colours gone wrong

and paper dumped to rinse in the stream

because it was your last piece

and the grey seems to suck away all the colours into itself

holds them

except from that distant place

South of here

where a whiteness leans in

and draws the eye

the brightest colour there is

in the dull palette of today........

I spent one of my happiest afternoons sitting on the big step that led out from my little door. Little box of watercolours, sketchbook, a robin visiting each strut of that fence, tutting at me.

A couple of mornings, I was up and out at first light, running through the rush of these colours. It felt like some part of me just drank them in.

And there was excellent tutoring, good company and lots of giggling that had me in tears.

I guess you won't be surprised to hear that there was a little bit of magic as well..........

Thank you Arvon.