Conversations|Reconstructed

1 Exhibition

1 Writer

7 Visual Artists

10 reconstructions

20 poems

1,048 words…x3

4 April-19 April 2014

The Culture Box, Temple Bar, Dublin, Ireland

Dublin Ireland

For the next few weeks I’ll be talking more about this exhibition, its artists, the art, the words, the poetry, the places…It’s all very exciting!!! Hope you’ll join in the fun!

Hand Sanitizer, A Child’s Sled, Succubus, Semaphore Flags…Say What?!

So what do all those things have in common? A story of course! This week I’m participating in The Iron Writer ChallengeThere are four of us in taking part in Challenge 22. I had 4 days, these 4 prompts and 500 words to make it happen. It’s been a fun experience already. 

Semaphore Flags

Go check it out! If you enjoy my story, The Event, please VOTE. And if you really like it, pass it along to some of your friends. Here’s a sneak peak:

The Event

The wind echoed in the darkness and ricocheted off the surrounding jagged peaks. It was the sixth month of the sixth year. The time had come. Ashal waited. 

 

In the days leading up to the Event those at The Refuge lived on as normal, though it was never far from their minds… 

 

CLICK HERE to read the rest of The Event. (The fourth story listed)

I’d also love to hear your thoughts so if you have anything to say drop me a comment here…or there…you know where to fine me. =)

Voting is open for the next few days. Thanks Everyone!

I Had A Brother

I had a brother.
His name was Roger.
He was born on April 2, 1980.
I was 2 1/2 years old when he was born.
I don’t remember life without him around as a child.
He was my annoying little brother. We fought and endured sibling rivalry like many do.
I know we played too, although I would have never admitted it when we were young.        He liked to push my buttons like little brothers do.

For a significant portion of my teen years my brother was not around.                          Addiction introduced itself to Roger. They got involved, really involved.                        Things changed.                                                                                                                      It was hard.                                                                                                                              A couple of times it was scary.                                                                                               It was definitely messy.                                                                                                            I was 16 at the height of things. My baby sister was 6.                                                           It was hard – for everybody.

Eventually Roger found a sub-culture he seemed to fit in. For a few years he would visit from time to time when he passed through town.
He met my first son as a newborn and held him so gently and carefully, being aware he wasn’t the cleanest. It meant a lot to me that he came to meet my son and hold him.

Being himself, he would tell us wild stories of the adventures he had. They were never dull. At the same time you could see there were many more stories that went untold simply because they were painful and we became, whether real or perceived, too distanced to relate or even make the attempt.
For a majority of the time since they met, addiction stayed involved.                                  He tried hard, over and over but it’s grip was strong.

Eventually, his addictions caught up with him.

An overdose…revived at the scene…vegetative…1,177 miles from his birthplace…surname given…family contacted…days…decisions…waiting…

I had a brother.
His name was Roger.
He died on April 2, 2004.
I was 26 1/2 years old when he died.                                                                                        I will remember life without him now and wonder what may have been.                                He was my annoying little brother. He liked to push my buttons like little brothers do.

I miss him. Especially today.

Stacey & Roger

I Need A Name – The Drafts

The DraftsI’ll be honest. I’ve been having a hard time lately. It seems when there are certain challenges going on in my life I find other things that normally are very enjoyable to me, overwhelming. This is where I’ve been at with posting lately.

But by no means are things here, or YOU, forgotten!

So, back to The Drafts.

On a very happy note, I’ve submitted a short story to two journals. Now I will wait the 11-12 weeks to hear a reply. Since it’s the first I’ve done this I’m holding things very loosely. Mostly I needed to do it to have the experience of submitting a creation of mine for unknown eyes to read (and evaluate). That’s worth a lot to me no matter what the outcome!

Today I’m going to share the opening of a short story I’m working on. It’s very new and it’s already been causing me a lot of tension. I’m hoping that’s because it’s going to be important. Again, time and putting in the effort will tell. 

It still needs a name. Leave a comment giving your suggestions! It will be a challenge with just this little peek but that will make it all the more fun!

Also, tell me what you see when you read it. What do you imagine the main character to be like? What does the apartment look like? Where do you think the story is headed?

______________________________________________________________

He didn’t need anyone to lay next to him most nights. His heart was full. It didn’t matter if she was near or far. It didn’t even matter that she didn’t know this. He loved her. And each day of doing that was enough to fill him for the next. Sarah was the most beautiful creature. She was strong and virulent. She felt things greatly and inside out she was wonderful. There was nothing about her Luck didn’t love. Each day with her made him a better person; more whole, more complete. He would never forget the day he met her. She’s been walking down the road. He’d been walking down the road at the same time and came upon her since he’d been walking faster than her. They both turned to go into the coffee shop to their left. She’d gotten to the door first and was attempting to open it. He’d been able to reach out and hold the door for her.

“Well, aren’t you the Renaissance man. It’s not like I need you to do that for me or anything,” she’d said. He had smiled and she walked right through the open door.

That day had changed everything for him. Was it love at first sight? He wasn’t sure. But he was sure he was now different now. It was at that moment that he’d felt himself start to become more himself. His true self, there all along, but had lain stagnant since the times he’d had to set it aside to survive. Sarah was fire. Or better put, she was the heat source.

Stretching Luck got out of bed, pushed the curtains open and opened every window in the apartment. He loved morning air. It was the first air, the freshest air. Humming along as he went, he showered, dressed.

“What the hell Luck!”, His roommate said coming into the kitchen, “It’s freezing in here! Close some of those damn windows!”

“Don’t you just love the first air in the morning?”

Ooooh No!” We are NOT having this conversation again! Close the damn windows before we all freeze to death!” James said as the door to the bathroom closed behind him.

Making some toast for himself he took in the sun streaming in the windows. It wasn’t sunny everyday but when it was the apartment lit up inside. It was sunny the day he’d viewed the apartment and was probably the main reason he’d bought it. He finished his toast and then for James’ sake, he closed the windows. All but the one right outside the bathroom door.

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Talk to me in the comments!

See you there!

The Writing Room – The Drafts

I’m fortunate enough to have a space available to devote to work in my house. It was formerly a basically unused office that became full of things over time (anyone know what I mean?). Recently I started to make it mine. I want the space to be light and airy and have bright pops of colour with some quirky touches. It’s not there yet but I’ve started. It’s the first draft so to speak. So this week for The Drafts I thought I’d give you a picture of this working draft. I’ll update as I progress if anyone is interested (and probably even if no one is.) Whether it’s a first draft of a writing piece, an unedited photo, or a room, it’s always fun to see before and after shots.

Becoming white

Becoming white

The room was formerly a greyish blue. It was soothing, but for me it was too cool. With all the grey outside I need things to be bright and I’m in love with the idea of bright splashes of colour. The above photo is after the first coat of white paint. It will need at least one more coat, maybe two.

Sky blue

Sky blue ceiling

I’m pretty excited about the ceiling. I’ve never painted a ceiling before. I’ve seen photos and read up on how dark ceilings can bring a big room down (no problem with that situation here) and light ceilings can lift small spaces. I thought it would be pretty cool if I could make the ceiling look like the sky. I picked a really light sky blue. (The actual name!) and went for it. I’m really happy how it’s turned out. When the light hits it it gets lighter and the hues look like a morning sky. Big smile here! :-D

The scallop design on the walls is a reflection from the ugly lamp shade in the centre of the room. It needs to go even though the reflection is kind of fun.

So there you have it. A peek into my writing room. It’ll take me a few weeks to get it in working order but I’ll put up some more pics once I do.

Dublin Time Lapsed Beauty

Sometimes after you’ve lived in a city for a while you can forget what makes it beautiful. You get caught up in the things that are frustrating about it. Then something happens. The wind shifts, a new song plays, and you are reminded again why it’s beautiful in its own way. You remember why you love it.

Matthieu Chardon’s video just did that for me. It’s made up of time-lapse sequences but truly it’s made up of so much more. It really captures the history and a heartbeat of Dublin.

It was striking. The stillness in the movement and the changes in the constant.

All at once. Separate. Together.

Watch it and think about it. (I promise. It’s short. And lovely.) Tell me about it. Do you know Dublin? Have you been there? If you haven’t been yet, what did you see? Or if film and media are your thing, tell me what you saw in the film. What was your one beautiful thing?

(yes, the clouds really move that fast. and yes, they are there most of the time)

Love – Weekly Photo Challenge

Oh man…Love…

I’ve been spending every day since Friday trying to come up with something that isn’t the typical depiction of love. It’s really hard to do that! So far I’ve got….

Nothing.

I’m not happy about that.

I am happy I have so many things and people that I do love in my life. So back to the Weekly Photo Challenge. What to do…what to do…

Here are a few things I love:

I love imagination.

Hello!

Hello!

I love a challenge.

WestSouthWest Trip May '12 601-001

I love rocks!

Burren, Co. Clare

Burren, Co. Clare

I love paths not taken,

and the ones that are.

I love accidental beauty.

Inis Mor Aran Islands

Inis Mor Aran Islands

I love touching history.

and of course I love my guys.

Early 2012 212

The Landfill Harmonic

Usually when someone asks me, “Hey, did you see that video online…” my answer is, No. The Landfill Harmonic trailer is a different story. Literally.

You don’t have to visit here long to know we’re ALL about beautiful things. Even more so when they have come from unexpected places. This is the epitome of all these things. It’s One Beautiful Thing‘s heart in music and so much more.

See for yourself. It’s three minutes that still have my heartstrings an hour later. I suspect it will for a long time.

I Want To Say I’m Sorry – The Drafts

My Part: Each Monday I will post a piece of my own that is a work in progress. Sometimes it will be a new piece, sometimes it will be a new edit of an existing piece.

Your Part: Read it and comment. What stood out to you? Did this make an impact on you?Where was it hard to follow? Could you identify with the characters? Where did you just not buy it? Your feedback (even when it’s not easy to say or to hear) helps me be a better writer!

I Want To Say I’m Sorry

I want to say I’m sorry.

To the hurt. To those I’ve hurt. To those I’ve broken.

To the shunned, the forgotten, rejected.

To those dismissed.

You know who you are.

I want to say I’m sorry for the things I have done.

Because not enough people say it.

I’m sorry I told you that I didn’t like you any more.

I’m sorry I treated you as if you were unimportant.

I’m sorry I hurt you,

that I forgot,

and those other times that I didn’t when I could have chosen to.

I’m sorry someone told you your failure cancelled all the wonderful ways you made a difference.

I’m sorry someone wouldn’t let you be yourself and said you aren’t good enough.

I’m sorry that in your courage to be open, they told you they couldn’t love you anymore.

I’m sorry that love for one has often sacrificed love for another.

I’m sorry for the times the name of love has been used as an excuse to hate.

I’m sorry I didn’t do more, defend more, speak up more.

I’m sorry I treated my own fears as if they were your issues to resolve.

I’m sorry I try to change you when I really need to be trying to change myself.

I’m sorry too, that the person who needs to apologise to you isn’t here.

I’ll be here now, You put on the face you need me to be.

Because not enough people say it.

Because you need it. Because I need it.

I’m here to say, I’m sorry.