tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39179661656707735142024-02-14T12:55:10.613-08:00Rose McClelland - Author Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-38940641674238517182021-01-09T03:30:00.001-08:002021-01-09T03:50:31.508-08:00I banjaxed my back on Boxing day <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvozzVZ0Eh36wj8mHu02LN8AYN9SsRHwTXRBtWIH9pf9JqOlo2YPM4X4lw0lkjOT-sLaCHt21mn5jNhMirpOggT-4xLKrQBcdB-vb2ETvXjJBkYQvBxubCCZEtrKud6kWCnbz7d9AjZg/s344/1.+ambulance.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="344" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvozzVZ0Eh36wj8mHu02LN8AYN9SsRHwTXRBtWIH9pf9JqOlo2YPM4X4lw0lkjOT-sLaCHt21mn5jNhMirpOggT-4xLKrQBcdB-vb2ETvXjJBkYQvBxubCCZEtrKud6kWCnbz7d9AjZg/w200-h141/1.+ambulance.heic" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"><p><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ambulance service, is the patient breathing?” </span></span></p></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">"Yes, she's breathing." </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkzyierMcgM2DB6Y3SAs-Vb_xIQuhPWGSF5iTJlSLxrY0Sa-hBamcXBdfEW4_5hi97mE6UdFSjUhazVWE0f_KQEs1qL5qJtq6cRBgkTpjY-zToBkJ8SQhyeawgWsHBByZ_cBOtbiPsAE/s344/1.+ambulance.heic" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><br /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">My sister was standing next to me. She was on her mobile phone making the 999 call. I was lying on the floor, my head on a pillow.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes, she’s awake.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“It’s my sister.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">By listening to her answers, I could work out what the
questions were. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“No, there’s no bleeding.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes, she’s conscious.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“It wasn’t a fall, no.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was lying there, just listening. I’d been there for well
over an hour. It’s odd when you’re lying in that position for so long, unable
to move. You start to notice the small details around you. All I could see was
my sister. She was standing in front of the heater. She was wearing her work
uniform – a Christmassy top and black leggings. She had good
legs; very slim and shapely. How odd to notice the most bizarre details in
the middle of a 999 call. You expect these things to be all blue flashing
lights and mad panic but actually there was a surreal calmness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ui2K__SmAJwYZJg9ubdlGLa1ND9i7ewxVRqmPZWA2zgEZvWbQB3hZzlgClzi2SiCLrgBZZcf2CU_PFfLRql41wtzWL-E8BYQ3dhkU6uaV5UKwlhtrqvHgLuuqiNBTq3MURZepOToyYo/s323/2.+ambulance.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="323" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ui2K__SmAJwYZJg9ubdlGLa1ND9i7ewxVRqmPZWA2zgEZvWbQB3hZzlgClzi2SiCLrgBZZcf2CU_PFfLRql41wtzWL-E8BYQ3dhkU6uaV5UKwlhtrqvHgLuuqiNBTq3MURZepOToyYo/w200-h170/2.+ambulance.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">You might be wondering what my accident was. Perhaps some
major risky occurrence. An adrenaline-</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">fueled</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> sports activity. A tragic car
accident or a spine-chilling slice of the kitchen knife.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No, not quite. It was very simple. I was hoovering. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Hoovering. </i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Who knew that housework could be so dangerous? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I bent down to scoop up some dried cat food with my hand-held
hoover and *crack* - my back just went. Something snapped and I keeled over on
the floor. My spine just stopped working. As though a short circuit had cut and
the power refused to flow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoGbQcA1-jBbkrOYBLu1NlGMXxx7shqCS4CZzEXOXiYKGxLvOKFmInNq49mdx_SEpzIW1tyF5bpZ9Bu883FnfJL2Zp0dTF2xp5g0qdeBmkTx3JdTDBO04xbvBnEfofm7MHtgk6eq21Ng/s270/3.+back.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="270" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoGbQcA1-jBbkrOYBLu1NlGMXxx7shqCS4CZzEXOXiYKGxLvOKFmInNq49mdx_SEpzIW1tyF5bpZ9Bu883FnfJL2Zp0dTF2xp5g0qdeBmkTx3JdTDBO04xbvBnEfofm7MHtgk6eq21Ng/w160-h152/3.+back.heic" width="160" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I lay there on the ground, thinking that this would surely
pass. A little rub of deep heat on the pain might sort it out. But I couldn’t
move. I couldn’t straighten my back out and I certainly couldn’t weight bear enough
to walk. I could only crawl. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, there I was, ten o’clock on boxing day morning, crawling
on all fours towards my bedroom to retrieve my phone. I waited for a while,
hoping that it would pass, but forty minutes later, I still couldn’t move. I
couldn’t straighten my back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My anxious mind started to play tricks with me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Maybe you’ll be paralysed forever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps this is it. Perhaps your time is up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh dear, well you did have good innings. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">* I can be a bit of a drama queen, can you tell? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I phoned my sister. Luckily, she is a care assistant. Luckier
still, she was at work and sitting next to a nurse. She put the nurse on the
phone to me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Can you move your toes?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Your legs?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Your arms?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh good, perhaps I was just a major drama queen after all and
this was nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“But you can’t stand up and you can’t weight bear?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“No.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“You’re going to have to phone an ambulance.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh no, really? I didn’t want to waste the ambulance time. And
I didn’t want to spend a day in hospital. I had editing to do; work I wanted to
get on with. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes, you’re going to have to. They’ll assess you. Can you
crawl to the front door to let them in okay?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">What a fabulous boxing day morning. Crawling to the front
door to enable access for the paramedics. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No sooner was I off the phone to my sister, than she sent a text two minutes later: <i>I’m on my way up x<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bless her. She was going to clock off work and take the time
to drive half an hour up the road to help me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She arrived in and saw me lying on the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Awk Rose…” her face was full of sympathy. Immediately she
clicked into care assistant mode, putting a pillow under my head and fussing
gently around me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When she got off the 999 call, she said, “Right, a paramedic
will be phoning you back soon. They need to determine what kind of chair to
carry you out in. And you’re not allowed to eat or drink anything.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh jeepers, I thought. The neighbours will be all agog. A big
bulky ambulance rocking up in our quiet cul-de-sac on a lazy Boxing day
morning. They’d all assume I was on the drink on Christmas day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“And I need to put the outside light on for them so they can
find us okay.” She was all biz, whizzing around the place, full of life and
vitality. She whipped out a piece of paper and a pen. “Now the cats, what food
do they need?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cKv-XYqbel9dPnMgQZFk6Dk8HWRKhKNWIjBXfaQASHAWM5t_aADBoRFHZnzlCRxEhmnvLYsvvC4lfoJUDgq52S1Rd8yfLoqLHFm_XpCOYZ7z9lpGarwNKzRK3BhHId7_3RvPjIaK5vI/s1001/5.+care+assistant.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4cKv-XYqbel9dPnMgQZFk6Dk8HWRKhKNWIjBXfaQASHAWM5t_aADBoRFHZnzlCRxEhmnvLYsvvC4lfoJUDgq52S1Rd8yfLoqLHFm_XpCOYZ7z9lpGarwNKzRK3BhHId7_3RvPjIaK5vI/w200-h200/5.+care+assistant.png" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I relayed all the information. <i>Soots has the tuna in
spring water. The tins are in the cupboard next to the fridge. Toots has one of
the Whiska pouches</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She was writing everything down dutifully. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Right,” she nodded, all breezy. I could see why she’s a care
assistant. There was no moping about here. No anxiety or fear. She brought a
whiff of energetic vibrancy with her, dispelling any despondency or depression.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I heard the kettle being switched on. “Are you making
yourself a cuppa?” I called. “There’s some chocolate in the cupboard if you
want some.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“No,” she said sheepishly. “I noticed you had some dishes so
I’m just going to give those a wee wash.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bless. That was the second job I was going to do this
morning. After the hoovering. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I continued to lie there, listening to her bustling around in
the kitchen, washing the dishes, feeding the cats, chatting to Toots and Soots
as she worked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When she sorted the cats and the dishes and the lights for
the paramedics, she was back at the heater, nursing a coffee in her hand. Her
phone rang. It was the paramedics phoning back. A guy called Stephen. She passed
the phone down to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Hello Stephen,” I said, lying on the pillow. This wasn’t the
kind of pillow-talk I expected on boxing day morning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Stephen sounded very pleasant. He asked me another heap of
questions. I think he was trying to determine if I’d had a stroke or if I was lying
in a pool of blood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nKxeD3-pvwpZ4HvCSXOLlcAuKucSnXtkneoLSvkJ4oxHyE1q_koCnUp9kyFgejvhkK-G9jIv9DtNfa8XqDysOvWrZdvJ2jv-CbvsTFqRKHv2WHb3NhtFEcH9pZUUP75tsCftGfiOmbw/s540/4.+paramedic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nKxeD3-pvwpZ4HvCSXOLlcAuKucSnXtkneoLSvkJ4oxHyE1q_koCnUp9kyFgejvhkK-G9jIv9DtNfa8XqDysOvWrZdvJ2jv-CbvsTFqRKHv2WHb3NhtFEcH9pZUUP75tsCftGfiOmbw/w200-h200/4.+paramedic.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">“Hmm, okay, we have two options,” he surmised, after he
finished the questioning. “We can either give you gas and air and carry you out
on a stretcher. Or we can phone the out-of-hours doctor and get him to give you
an emergency prescription. Sounds like your back has gone into spasm and you’re
going to need something to relax that.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“What do you think is best?” I asked. Clearly, I’d lost the
use of my decision-making skills as well as my back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I think the doctor’s prescription would be best. No point
carting you into hospital if you can be comfortable at home. If you had been on
your own, obviously we would have sent the ambulance out. But as your sister is
able to drive and get the prescription for you, you might as well stay put.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was on loudspeaker and my sister could hear all this. Ruth
was nodding eagerly; she was happy to do the drive to Forestside to get the script.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYWkMfUKoxjvqYfu_W0Qn14sm_-Vnqrut_dSBFmYy9CYd47FvOT7uCkgrMYf3GnbuvYDtH1x_AmT1PUe8_MyaOcb9oxFFjGB_yP2jS5bQ8vQedbg0tphB4y9dvoCYyFjgC81PKiiCilw/s512/7.+GP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="512" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYWkMfUKoxjvqYfu_W0Qn14sm_-Vnqrut_dSBFmYy9CYd47FvOT7uCkgrMYf3GnbuvYDtH1x_AmT1PUe8_MyaOcb9oxFFjGB_yP2jS5bQ8vQedbg0tphB4y9dvoCYyFjgC81PKiiCilw/w200-h178/7.+GP.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">“I’m just worried about you lying on the floor so long,”
Stephen added. “Do you think you’ll be able to crawl on to your bed or get a
bit more comfortable?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Yes, I’ll do that,” I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I got off the phone, Ruth helped me on to my bed. It was
well seeing she’s a care assistant. Her handling and moving training came in to
play. She had one arm under my armpit and another under my leg. She was
manoeuvring me onto my bed and I couldn’t help but giggle. I felt about
ninety-one. She started giggling too and then she let out a snort. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“You snorted!” I laughed, nose-diving onto my bed in a fit of
giggles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">She pulled my duvet up around me and tucked me in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Jeepers, whatever they’re paying you, it’s not enough,” I
told her, gratefully.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdmy4JD_eMyljO5859b4LMDwlJP8eP2t4C0qr1w7lYw1clYt2pAUCfgc7ktptV3VtaVRqtimCY7dZtyiqbd0wl0KYggenzq1mXX-UDdjatxUCFwAVIpk7OuW97x0ym7aVbAO2_GkqPTo/s600/6.+care+assistant.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="600" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdmy4JD_eMyljO5859b4LMDwlJP8eP2t4C0qr1w7lYw1clYt2pAUCfgc7ktptV3VtaVRqtimCY7dZtyiqbd0wl0KYggenzq1mXX-UDdjatxUCFwAVIpk7OuW97x0ym7aVbAO2_GkqPTo/w200-h186/6.+care+assistant.webp" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">Then she was away off to get my prescription but not before
she phoned my family to tell them the news.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Get Voltorol!” my dad advised. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“You poor love!” my mum soothed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ruth returned shortly with the prescription and checked if I
needed anything else. She brought me a glass of water with a straw and my
chocolate stash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And that was her. Away back to work again to carry on with
her shift until eight o’clock that night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I lay cosied up in bed, making calls and talking to friends
about what happened. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">What had happened exactly? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Well, I had to think about how I had been treating my back.
My poor posture. Sitting on the bed with pillows propped up behind me; too much
pressure being placed on my lower back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had to start thinking about solutions. Natural remedies that
wouldn’t involve addictive medication. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The more I talked about it with friends, the more I learned
about solutions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Voltorol, Tiger balm, Ibuprofen, a tens machine, walking,
yoga.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0jFthY_c594QtlCz5Ak2gimYEkD0H21Kfa53fqgjWrOGFtrSD-32AEXBPhuDJ5DxJDgnjRKvHXW6wkcP5ZTpSjIMYh7it6rrgdsgoL_DV5ND_abadCY7BFAGsh4TtK8iWENrO_zkrWE/s800/9.+posture+.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="800" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0jFthY_c594QtlCz5Ak2gimYEkD0H21Kfa53fqgjWrOGFtrSD-32AEXBPhuDJ5DxJDgnjRKvHXW6wkcP5ZTpSjIMYh7it6rrgdsgoL_DV5ND_abadCY7BFAGsh4TtK8iWENrO_zkrWE/w200-h120/9.+posture+.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">It’s about two weeks now since the accident. My back is much
better. I can bend over and everything! I’ve even been out walking and I’ve
managed to hoover the apartment successfully.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">If I think back to that boxing day morning, my body told me
it was about to seize up. I felt stiff and sore and thought briefly to myself
that I could do with some yoga or gentle stretching.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That one quick movement was too much and my back just went
into spasm. Too much lying around on Christmas day and not enough moving. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I listened to my body and I responded. I’ve been treating it
with tiger balm and gentle walks. Every day I wear my tens machine which is
basically a gentle massage on my back, neck or shoulders. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1nL3WgA9MjdHi-2vq8AajxQtyyn8xbPuNWlJ_XhTL1KFOflVqsC-OnpMV3_5OlYtMVjV5HLu5TG36MTeAxieeAyD056c830K9vPqncKgrjoWRQIHtrFwc5jsoIGjSvoPtk1w-kWOyTg/s400/8.+tens+machine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1nL3WgA9MjdHi-2vq8AajxQtyyn8xbPuNWlJ_XhTL1KFOflVqsC-OnpMV3_5OlYtMVjV5HLu5TG36MTeAxieeAyD056c830K9vPqncKgrjoWRQIHtrFwc5jsoIGjSvoPtk1w-kWOyTg/w172-h172/8.+tens+machine.jpg" width="172" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 14pt;">Apparently, you can
even fix the pads to your abdomen and let it massage your abs into a six pack.
You know what they say, every cloud has a silver lining!</span></p>Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-5794212860379814522020-10-22T03:11:00.000-07:002020-10-22T03:11:42.543-07:00On Love ...<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkm8vuuzoLTQrDtlormk-KikVIHUuNO_BegNxgprMdseT3GtFaIEzA_sCVN6M2sCeKV_a7ud4xYQZvlTGJl7jmVxGAcdzc5OP3fmrwmPO9kiqGBlV31Jou2tptYOvShQAB-FPu9HmWjg/s230/love+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="219" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGkm8vuuzoLTQrDtlormk-KikVIHUuNO_BegNxgprMdseT3GtFaIEzA_sCVN6M2sCeKV_a7ud4xYQZvlTGJl7jmVxGAcdzc5OP3fmrwmPO9kiqGBlV31Jou2tptYOvShQAB-FPu9HmWjg/w191-h200/love+7.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">I love waking up next to you.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81ARrdbDjwsoI9PR8ZKAtEId94o2JCevFSGAAweh8UI3xgGDYUcUmJrZjVn9var5GQams1eFjaP4mJofBjbogBW2VHYJi5x5HpIDZJJoa1D8l_eD_6OQoG4_dGHzlrDIVMaYZsaz_p3Q/s284/love+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81ARrdbDjwsoI9PR8ZKAtEId94o2JCevFSGAAweh8UI3xgGDYUcUmJrZjVn9var5GQams1eFjaP4mJofBjbogBW2VHYJi5x5HpIDZJJoa1D8l_eD_6OQoG4_dGHzlrDIVMaYZsaz_p3Q/w200-h125/love+5.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">Seeing your face on the pillow </span><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify;">next to mine.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Your eyes all sleepy and cute. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I give you a little cuddle and
you stretch out in appreciation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You give the best cuddles; cosy
and warm and contented, as though there’s no other place you’d rather be. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Your love is the unconditional
sort. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You don’t mind if I’m slopping
around in my pyjamas or if my hair’s a mess. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You don’t care if I’m not wearing
makeup or if I’ve put on a pound or two. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You don’t even care if I laze
around all day, do no housework and binge watch reality TV. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You do sense my moods though. You
pick up on it if I’m feeling a little down. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Those are the days that you’ll
sit next to me and cuddle me more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;">***********</span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RIaGsl-jqD3j36beBAXrZsEWnnAGSoaWtG_KuVGXn6iWkCnyGcpdCjwwakR2q4Fq6ABlLhNtcWYWIPdZ5Z1GfqvKTNFQB-qD3qKIaEPv6Y-6yZVcAf3rZ5dmC-B1_QXo_9R1gAO679s/s311/love+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RIaGsl-jqD3j36beBAXrZsEWnnAGSoaWtG_KuVGXn6iWkCnyGcpdCjwwakR2q4Fq6ABlLhNtcWYWIPdZ5Z1GfqvKTNFQB-qD3qKIaEPv6Y-6yZVcAf3rZ5dmC-B1_QXo_9R1gAO679s/s0/love+6.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In fact, you do like to follow me
around a lot, my little baby.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You even follow me into the
bathroom and I joke that I can’t even pee in peace. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whatever food I set out for you;
you will eat – you’re a good boy like that. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sometimes I have to take you out
in the car for appointments. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You don’t like it and you’re
scared but you’re a brave boy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You don’t huff with me later. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You still come to me for cuddles
and show me that I am loved. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I think you know that deep down,
I just want to protect you and keep you safe. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">After all, you’re my wee baby. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcKWfPUXOo4d1TpGBmQiJLVIv8edZQp38Wrl1sSFZjvQBD4FghEXSCUviIH30K9VeWcFHBtrmTWiE8VOZhTGGzbVikg7qzvegyv2nBs7QUYxDFLQTBy0WLc6kU5x5IfDIVD5zDhXn7m8/s275/love+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcKWfPUXOo4d1TpGBmQiJLVIv8edZQp38Wrl1sSFZjvQBD4FghEXSCUviIH30K9VeWcFHBtrmTWiE8VOZhTGGzbVikg7qzvegyv2nBs7QUYxDFLQTBy0WLc6kU5x5IfDIVD5zDhXn7m8/s0/love+2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> ***********</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You knead your paws on my tummy
to show me you feel safe. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I’m working too long in my
office, you’ll come and sit on the desk as though to say, “That’s it! You’ve
worked enough! Now cuddle me!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I love you, my little fur baby. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKvoUMWWrJDJ7W4u2kEDl9c9utqv7biMr3zEmP8WlzwOgA24uADVKEdjK3ErMhr5flrwSICPmfbYu3EPKTSazeNasoKtgAyR4lke0HsPKzKaK1lqa1L_RH4SC9H45Oq4Vk6fYX_xat8A/s301/love+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKvoUMWWrJDJ7W4u2kEDl9c9utqv7biMr3zEmP8WlzwOgA24uADVKEdjK3ErMhr5flrwSICPmfbYu3EPKTSazeNasoKtgAyR4lke0HsPKzKaK1lqa1L_RH4SC9H45Oq4Vk6fYX_xat8A/s0/love+3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPlq97P-ac9p5Ns_ziTluyzlxF2CADW6Q8Es0nLmzFhkfqBJbbjRjs8ruZFoQyFzAbwjAcb7zafDwMCv-jFELeuVOZj4wWZEbcSy8aZDt9Gm6KBDoQS-BGRFtl_nxtroxTczNFeuC7kM/s2048/love+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPlq97P-ac9p5Ns_ziTluyzlxF2CADW6Q8Es0nLmzFhkfqBJbbjRjs8ruZFoQyFzAbwjAcb7zafDwMCv-jFELeuVOZj4wWZEbcSy8aZDt9Gm6KBDoQS-BGRFtl_nxtroxTczNFeuC7kM/s320/love+11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjUfohO-sl-r9J82MWn4de3r-h5TnhZAQfEzQ-eVE7gAd_Gzx6HQOi3MO8TbiW2JS_YFS_dU27P62mGnzZWPjDrEE1NzN3AFpgrO8Zn0RJIC6BfM8orMNzeRjw40WW007NmGQ7GuPasI/s2048/love+9+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjUfohO-sl-r9J82MWn4de3r-h5TnhZAQfEzQ-eVE7gAd_Gzx6HQOi3MO8TbiW2JS_YFS_dU27P62mGnzZWPjDrEE1NzN3AFpgrO8Zn0RJIC6BfM8orMNzeRjw40WW007NmGQ7GuPasI/s320/love+9+.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_WbSDL_9SVtoM4UX2Fqd1i3Gu0I0hPI9fZ1UfuEMfrqxDHN9iGWCKISv01FbXrp1d5SeAiEcyR3hglYjdS-T4FvAB6r-NRYNZ27a13QwUEo_GrhS_i9pQruXkSPcjr3lZNJ1lO_SOqE/s2048/love+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_WbSDL_9SVtoM4UX2Fqd1i3Gu0I0hPI9fZ1UfuEMfrqxDHN9iGWCKISv01FbXrp1d5SeAiEcyR3hglYjdS-T4FvAB6r-NRYNZ27a13QwUEo_GrhS_i9pQruXkSPcjr3lZNJ1lO_SOqE/s320/love+12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-24961681243108090102020-09-08T07:02:00.006-07:002020-09-09T03:22:45.073-07:005 tips for a great radio interview! <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOs7t9TonYL0vS521rvbpYL5eXh_4guRbZ4xJFk8uRRkIb4RQyaRuURC4P8TIEzT8orhE43IpFtT0aaD60OlGcOIYMxEZliLRKD2AHf23LGMyFdSI0Oapa8oTVJ6_yw6cK-XogcjHB0Ao/s311/2+radio+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOs7t9TonYL0vS521rvbpYL5eXh_4guRbZ4xJFk8uRRkIb4RQyaRuURC4P8TIEzT8orhE43IpFtT0aaD60OlGcOIYMxEZliLRKD2AHf23LGMyFdSI0Oapa8oTVJ6_yw6cK-XogcjHB0Ao/s0/2+radio+2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Recently I did a series of radio interviews to chat about my latest novel <b><u><a href="http://mybook.to/underyourskin" target="_blank">“Under your Skin”.</a></u></b> I managed to get slots on BBC Radio Ulster, Cambridgeshire, West Midlands, Leicester and Hereford & Worcester – as well as a slot on Dublin City FM.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjON0nGEVM7kCHOQZqdeJ7SrSEHTQrcfyj_85rpzKF_Qf7iF0IshCwyTzVg455yfP9kG_HgEc_Am5-moLioXGv4NoCS1nn3XK07kI80_VNNK8x84D-w1EMA3fxmrMmxyvpim-EQkJjNEHw/s425/1+radio+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjON0nGEVM7kCHOQZqdeJ7SrSEHTQrcfyj_85rpzKF_Qf7iF0IshCwyTzVg455yfP9kG_HgEc_Am5-moLioXGv4NoCS1nn3XK07kI80_VNNK8x84D-w1EMA3fxmrMmxyvpim-EQkJjNEHw/s320/1+radio+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here are 5 things I learned from doing those interviews:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">1. Nerves are good!</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Some people can’t imagine going on air for fear that the nerves
would overtake them. They have negative fantasies that they would clam up or worse,
stumble over their words and appear flustered. But I have found that it’s good
to embrace that nervous feeling! Nerves are just a rush of adrenaline; nervous
energy that perks you up and gives you the ‘oomph’ and motivation to stay alert
for the interview. Imagine if you had no nerves at all; if you felt so bored
and lethargic and really didn’t care about how you came across – that would be
terrible! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Embrace that nervous energy – have a listen to one of the
presenter’s previous programs so that you can get a feel for his/ her
interview style. When they play music, have a little dance around your room –
burn off some of that energy! Try some relaxation tips that actors use; force
yourself to do some big yawns – that tricks your body into thinking that you
are relaxed. It works! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Tell yourself that when the interview is over, you can do
something nice for yourself – something relaxing. What you will find, is that
all that nervous energy will turn into euphoric relief afterwards and you’ll be
buzzing! You’ll be so pleased with yourself for facing your fears and doing it
anyway. And you might find you enjoyed it!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINRLs-EQOD6473e477TLOhp_V4fp1D_e8j6EYGs2iD7x_k3QDi07bb7TkAlXf2EzgZ2Nt63a2Hkz9GZA6bpn2XrCs_tXvIbb7QJ2mYDaIPfXeQ0AizN1a8ffAplaQeWv0V7kX3wmBkIY/s276/3+radio+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINRLs-EQOD6473e477TLOhp_V4fp1D_e8j6EYGs2iD7x_k3QDi07bb7TkAlXf2EzgZ2Nt63a2Hkz9GZA6bpn2XrCs_tXvIbb7QJ2mYDaIPfXeQ0AizN1a8ffAplaQeWv0V7kX3wmBkIY/s0/3+radio+3.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">2. Focus on the presenter</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every single presenter I have chatted to was friendly, chatty
and welcoming. Funny that, they are paid to talk – that is their forte! They
have asked you to come on the show, therefore they think you have something of
importance to add to their program. They want you to talk. They will ask open
questions to get a conversation going. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Imagine that they’re sitting opposite you. Imagine it’s a friend
or acquaintance who has a genuine interest in your book and wants to know more
about it. Chat away to that presenter as you would to anybody. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7Hmz5xtL1bs5jSUpKymVBqlPNXU-lZWDVuZXqnawRUxjBrzTF7bZNg80NrHQ8YbyAybEJn_y97Jfyb4EGM7O6ZcBSoI7uzoTTwqInIoG_iNwVrSIDgYFWPKnOaEOeC50V-OcS_uDfBM/s960/4+radio.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7Hmz5xtL1bs5jSUpKymVBqlPNXU-lZWDVuZXqnawRUxjBrzTF7bZNg80NrHQ8YbyAybEJn_y97Jfyb4EGM7O6ZcBSoI7uzoTTwqInIoG_iNwVrSIDgYFWPKnOaEOeC50V-OcS_uDfBM/s320/4+radio.jpg" /></a></div><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></span></p>3. You know your stuff!</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Remember that you know your stuff. Have confidence that there
is no-one more equipped to answer those questions than you. They’re asking
about your book – the book that has taken you months to write and has lived in your
head for all that time. It’s unlikely that there’d be any question that you’d
be unable to answer. So have confidence that you know your subject! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6nbUZ3MRmbwn4j6zuYo9XKeLfbIsK9s1PigfaTayMNOCMSVKE6XHeOqlokrklnpmEs5bor9MFK2TSNORPBtYEPPq06CVWGSZCRoWPNZYeHVUDQL-JcfBv5EuFJggOf_caUusA4isA68/s960/5+radio+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6nbUZ3MRmbwn4j6zuYo9XKeLfbIsK9s1PigfaTayMNOCMSVKE6XHeOqlokrklnpmEs5bor9MFK2TSNORPBtYEPPq06CVWGSZCRoWPNZYeHVUDQL-JcfBv5EuFJggOf_caUusA4isA68/s320/5+radio+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">4. Be tech ready</span></b></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The only slight panic I had was with a technical issue. Radio
presenters generally prefer to phone you on a landline. My landline however, is
rarely in use. It is also a handheld device that nestles in a cradle. For some
bizarre reason, halfway through the interview, my phone completely died! How strange
is that? When does a landline ever die? I think it was something to do with the
handheld set. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, I quickly phoned the presenter back from my mobile
and she was the ultimate professional. Without any fuss or drama, she simply
picked up the interview where we left off and carried on. Thankfully it was a
prerecorded interview but I learned my lesson – always make sure you’re tech ready! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It’s also important to make sure you’ll have complete quiet; that any other phones are muted and that the pets are in another room with the
door closed so they can’t walk in and miaow halfway through! Also any
potential visitors should be told to keep away and not ring the doorbell! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyI9RUNCmId9Ba8altHHLrvROKPypF0Mgroqf2lsmqOanWn8eIPiyGM8V1S-kKokQ-f_Any6PT-ERP7TY7L_XwHuINgVRUD9iXgQW-yNDPL4AOyERnFJ3gE6daIMjsZg8gDHGHyskkMM/s1424/6+radio.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="1424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyI9RUNCmId9Ba8altHHLrvROKPypF0Mgroqf2lsmqOanWn8eIPiyGM8V1S-kKokQ-f_Any6PT-ERP7TY7L_XwHuINgVRUD9iXgQW-yNDPL4AOyERnFJ3gE6daIMjsZg8gDHGHyskkMM/s320/6+radio.png" width="320" /></a></div><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><b style="font-family: verdana; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></o:p></span></p>5. One click links</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here’s the bad news: radio interviews might not equal sales. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Think about it: If you heard someone chatting away on the radio
about a book that sounds really interesting, would you think to yourself “Oooh,
I must remember that author’s name and the title of the book so that I can go
home, open my computer, look her up on Amazon and order the book.” Of course
not. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That’s why it’s important to have one-click links advertisements
on social media. Make it easy for your reader to have access to your book’s home.
Like here: <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u><a href="http://mybook.to/underyourskin" target="_blank">"Under Your Skin" - available on Amazon - click here! </a></u></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixIJTGKm3omhuiNMPygxZEorDvdj2uVJ3FijxpStapqUFT1gUHQsNsCnZxFVXLut48VUfd8bPtbf2igBXdI-43-zy37UUeoKYIhtKEo4dY03yQ6cyoLz8kSDM9kLWG7Ai6M2kEzPTj-3k/s1243/3+paperback+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixIJTGKm3omhuiNMPygxZEorDvdj2uVJ3FijxpStapqUFT1gUHQsNsCnZxFVXLut48VUfd8bPtbf2igBXdI-43-zy37UUeoKYIhtKEo4dY03yQ6cyoLz8kSDM9kLWG7Ai6M2kEzPTj-3k/s320/3+paperback+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hope you found these tips useful. If you’d like to check out
any of the interviews I did, please see these links below:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>BBC Radio Leicester:</u></b> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xrWABgZ4V_0" width="320" youtube-src-id="xrWABgZ4V_0"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>BBC Radio Cambridgeshire: </u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LxEX65yRFso" width="320" youtube-src-id="LxEX65yRFso"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>BBC Radio Ulster: </u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5oYcHwKAEgc" width="320" youtube-src-id="5oYcHwKAEgc"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>BBC West Midlands: </u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Vk0jKl56QX4" width="320" youtube-src-id="Vk0jKl56QX4"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>BBC Hereford & Worcestershire: </u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9C_0g1ypMcY" width="320" youtube-src-id="9C_0g1ypMcY"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><u>Dublin City FM: </u></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UvJd56EW0fc" width="320" youtube-src-id="UvJd56EW0fc"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thanks for reading/ watching! </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bye! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rose xx </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-80904990639501163492020-07-20T05:17:00.001-07:002020-07-20T05:17:40.400-07:00Author Interview - Sarah Davis <br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hey Sarah! Thanks so much for joining me on my blog today! I'm really excited to hear about your writing process and about the inspiration behind your new book! </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9bvRmMaTBi0H-DZKPi9J6i1AaG7MnVN7cb_9ndD5cnhBAok1pe3CbCP1dGg4FoA7QOArw8uYcc6ceQjFXoIXOClEZp2KWQZI02KRJX54XEmxX9RF24fQxQIslTMvyBzcx_IXBqfaywE/s1600/sarah+davis+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="958" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9bvRmMaTBi0H-DZKPi9J6i1AaG7MnVN7cb_9ndD5cnhBAok1pe3CbCP1dGg4FoA7QOArw8uYcc6ceQjFXoIXOClEZp2KWQZI02KRJX54XEmxX9RF24fQxQIslTMvyBzcx_IXBqfaywE/s320/sarah+davis+4.jpg" width="316" /></a><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Can you give us the first line of your new novel and a little blurb as
to what it’s about? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">"The buzzing beneath eighteen-year-old Penny Osborn’s skin started
while she spoke to the officer." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">In one sentence it's a story about a twenty-year-old moving to northern
Alaska for a job. More importantly it's about how she deals with life's
challenges, moving on with grief and survivor's guilt. It's about man's vilest
predator is ultimately man...whether by evil deeds or by the cage of our
minds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4WDMScl2RpkjfT2IuRVux8CS36drrb5iM9U6VJlA9sVQZoCF82koE81ib6c4_FJmHcJu1SEEw-3xwsF6sBoQZQ0bXrcVQaxeSQS8dHqlleGHOLJ6oa8VOiSQBMgmOKHanM-t-fVDLH8/s1600/Sarah+Davis+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="986" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4WDMScl2RpkjfT2IuRVux8CS36drrb5iM9U6VJlA9sVQZoCF82koE81ib6c4_FJmHcJu1SEEw-3xwsF6sBoQZQ0bXrcVQaxeSQS8dHqlleGHOLJ6oa8VOiSQBMgmOKHanM-t-fVDLH8/s320/Sarah+Davis+2.jpg" width="195" /></a><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">What inspired you to write this novel? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I was daydreaming during a long drive about a veterinarian and her twin
daughters moving from sunny southern California to the northern most
reaches of Alaska. What circumstance could lead to such a move? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">From there, the
twin telepathy entered the story and I considered what might the psychological
effects be when the connection is lost (such as with distance, i.e. moving, or
some other circumstances).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Can you tell me about that moment when you decided to sit down and write
your first novel? How did you get over any hurdles of fear or doubt?</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I learned about NANOWRIMO, an ongoing writing competition, that during
November challenges a writer to write 50,000 words. I failed that challenge but
pushed on. My family encouraged me to put it to paper, and so I did. Fear and
doubt are constant companions, but no matter what, I am proud of my story and
of what I have learned along the journey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_auu5g-rEtYgG1to2741ocT-hfzETjLZX4CK2ejUpsaDKYANLPSOzovs_d8tnG_NwIbA4WESUGkTFVc8yNi7-nn1H-SCSNwA-BwcVYGPlu5DzswHY18ZuBH161_-M9HVAbbeuUUrn7w/s1600/Sarah+Davis+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1525" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge_auu5g-rEtYgG1to2741ocT-hfzETjLZX4CK2ejUpsaDKYANLPSOzovs_d8tnG_NwIbA4WESUGkTFVc8yNi7-nn1H-SCSNwA-BwcVYGPlu5DzswHY18ZuBH161_-M9HVAbbeuUUrn7w/s320/Sarah+Davis+1.jpg" width="304" /></a><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Please can you tell me about your writing routine – how do you settle
yourself down to write?</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I put on noise cancelling ear phones (thanks honey!) and turn on music
that fits with the mood. Sometimes I have to hide in my office or bedroom, and
more often than not I'm scribbling notes and paragraphs for scenes to work on
when time permits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Do you have any tips for aspiring authors who would love to write but
don’t know where to start?</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You start by writing/typing one word and follow it with another, and so
on. You don't have to start at the beginning of the story. Write a scene. Write
about a character. It's not scary, the writing process. It's sharing with
someone who will give you honest, constructive feedback that's scary. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjktV-q-5l7kVucZS-oMX_Ec9HYNbStuV3-LqZeGGQ9kG35dpy24bKFgIKsBZXHpO85EtaDY0efu2ADhj0h_d8JCFMerBJ5-M1xI0uoJNiAWtknSXZgtB2lJKhgwu82T3deWQGk0W1SWTw/s1600/Sarah+Davis+3+.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjktV-q-5l7kVucZS-oMX_Ec9HYNbStuV3-LqZeGGQ9kG35dpy24bKFgIKsBZXHpO85EtaDY0efu2ADhj0h_d8JCFMerBJ5-M1xI0uoJNiAWtknSXZgtB2lJKhgwu82T3deWQGk0W1SWTw/s320/Sarah+Davis+3+.jpeg" width="261" /></a><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">What do you love doing when not writing?</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Spending down time with my family (usually we are working but card
games, movies, vacations), reading, playing with my dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Can you tell us about a funny/ embarrassing memory? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Absolutely not. 😉 Okay, so I grew up in a very small town in a German
family. Took German in high school. While studying dog anatomy in vet school, I
asked my study partners what a cha-hua-hua was. Well dunderhead, a chihuahua is
a type of dog. I was very embarrassed but yet told my family. My grandpa
gave me a singing chihuahua stuffed toy for a present...so I wouldn't forget
what one was. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Ever met anyone famous? What were they like? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">A few... I’m actually related to a horse jockey, Dean Kutz, may he rest
in peace. He was an amazing guy from an amazing family. I’ve also met an
actress who played possessed child. She was very personable and funny. There
was a rapper...he smelled like pot. Three country music singers…all very
nice. As a veterinarian, I have worked with a few famous animals,
too! </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 10.25pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><b>Fantastic Sarah! Loved reading your answers! </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">To follow Sarah on Facebook, click <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sarahdavisdvm/">here.</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">To order Sarah's book on Amazon, click <a href="http://mybook.to/insidevoices">here.</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-23925791037096555512020-07-16T06:10:00.001-07:002020-07-17T11:49:48.977-07:00In memory of... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xRNCMmVjraWJ7HcxPBLEJoXCCI2V-HjFGxcMyFqjvY1kxNWiBc3cEApBtJg7aBvRjA1r_ILVcQDp5YsEcUlJkQDe9piPqEKmK4XS6BZ3iW7ToHW1RbxfIaW6nDcZ7qULeGjufVNwkro/s1600/Colin+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xRNCMmVjraWJ7HcxPBLEJoXCCI2V-HjFGxcMyFqjvY1kxNWiBc3cEApBtJg7aBvRjA1r_ILVcQDp5YsEcUlJkQDe9piPqEKmK4XS6BZ3iW7ToHW1RbxfIaW6nDcZ7qULeGjufVNwkro/s320/Colin+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I didn’t think they’d let me inside the church but they did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was early, as usual. I could never be fashionably late like
some people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sat in one of the pews at the back. I recognised some
faces. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Covid meant that some pews were cordoned off to make sure people
sat apart but I was grateful I was allowed to sit inside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A soft music was playing in the background. The altar was huge and
impressive.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hushed voices offered condolences to others. People tip-toed around
quietly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hadn’t expected the tears to come so quickly but they did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM00BpsstIKl6BMrR196JD_Wr1xjZU3bZW0065ZsoUBPXs20BAZRDE4wCiUFARSQUHt6jmv6JHtdgpdPWJwomgy6924VroDssr2vwR7Pe1Zn1TPEB36AxK7oUCqVr7ZYsCy_xOalCyqkc/s1600/Colin+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="665" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM00BpsstIKl6BMrR196JD_Wr1xjZU3bZW0065ZsoUBPXs20BAZRDE4wCiUFARSQUHt6jmv6JHtdgpdPWJwomgy6924VroDssr2vwR7Pe1Zn1TPEB36AxK7oUCqVr7ZYsCy_xOalCyqkc/s320/Colin+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When I had gotten the phone-call to tell me your news, I hadn’t
cried. After all, we had expected it for a long time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But as soon as I sat there, in that sacred space, with that
beautiful music, the tears came. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was embarrassed and tried to hold myself together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">People I knew came to talk to me. I brushed away my tears but they were sympathetic. They said that maybe it was time to let
the tears out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At ten o’clock, I swivelled my head around to look outside
the church. I saw the hearse. And I saw the coffin. I knew you had arrived. I
prepared myself to say goodbye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Four men in black suits began to carry you up the aisle. We
all stood to mark your arrival. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I saw you going past. The coffin seemed so small. My face
crumpled with tears as I imagined you in there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They took you to the front and set you in the middle. It was
your party. We were all here for you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The music was beautiful. You always did have good taste. I
remember so many times you gave me lifts and we’d have a singalong in the car.
You’d turn the volume up high and we’d belt the tunes out, raising our voices,
letting go. You had made a playlist for your car and every song was fantastic. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I could imagine you sitting down and planning what songs you
wanted played today. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Here I am Lord,” the lady sang and I knew why you had chosen
that. I remember you told me about the time that you made that decision.
The decision that you were going to try to serve God and help others. That you
would dedicate your life to trying to be of service. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOnaZnz2IcAla-CYCfmPP9FuBgdYALE1PwV17p2qUFWbZXjBu3Eip5SFqfXYx90AlFeO5N0IX2452r0QI4O0Kl3hcVsV16wjs6Lyo7pzAV_D16WKZCUqH3263WGqBaLoHxumbre6dVGg/s1600/Colin+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOnaZnz2IcAla-CYCfmPP9FuBgdYALE1PwV17p2qUFWbZXjBu3Eip5SFqfXYx90AlFeO5N0IX2452r0QI4O0Kl3hcVsV16wjs6Lyo7pzAV_D16WKZCUqH3263WGqBaLoHxumbre6dVGg/s320/Colin+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">And serve you did. You were always trying to be of help. Always trying to have a kind word and a listening
ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The number of times you gave me lifts; helped me move house and </span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">took mum and I to hospital
when Dad was was sick with cancer. The number of times you took me to Tesco late
at night where we’d do our food shop. You always produced a little gift for me
– chocolate or some other treat. And I’d have always bought something for you
too. It was a pointless exercise – we could have just bought something for
ourselves, but it became a tradition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your brother gets up to say a few words about you. I could
tell it was your brother before anyone even introduced him. He’s your absolute
double. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He said about how much you helped others, how the last twenty
years of your life were dedicated to being of service. He talked about all your
travels and how much you loved life. And he talked about the cancer, and how
you fought it head on, never indulging in self-pity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then they played it. “Make me a channel of your peace”.
And again, my face crumpled inwards with tears. I suddenly remembered the time
that this song had come on. Years and years ago. And you announced “I want this
song played at my funeral”. It wasn’t a morbid statement, just a casual
observation and I had said, “Oh really? Nice song. I want Ave Maria played at
mine.” And that was that, the subject was dropped and we went on to talk about
something else. But now here I was, listening to this song at your funeral, knowing
it was what you had picked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I looked at you sitting up there in front of us. I could
almost see your cheeky grin. I could almost imagine your pride that all the
great music you had picked was being played. That you were getting the proper
send-off that you deserved. That the church was packed despite Covid. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Afterwards when we were all standing outside, I got to speak
to your brother. “That was lovely, what you said about Colin,” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He immediately broke into stories about you, regaling me of
funny incidents, telling me tales of your escapades together. He even told me
dirty jokes that he said he couldn’t tell from the pulpit. It was like looking
at a carbon copy of you. You look the same, you have the same sense of humour; it was as though you were there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">After some time of chatting to people and of getting to hug
Jude, who had nursed you so well in the last few years, I stepped aside to
phone a taxi. I was over on my own and I happened to be standing right next to
the hearse, in which you were inside. I felt your presence very strongly beside
me. I noticed the car tyres of the hearse said “Mercedes Benz” along them. It
seemed like you were standing there beside me with your cheeky grin, saying, “Look
Rose, I’m going out in style. Look what they’re driving me off in.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thank you, Colin, for being such a good friend, for adding to
my life and never expecting anything in return. May you rest in peace. And may
I try to have an ounce of the compassion and kindness you had.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~ In memory of Colin Murray ~</span></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-58835461937639474462020-06-19T01:30:00.000-07:002020-06-19T01:30:12.794-07:00Edinburgh Crime Mysteries series - Author Val Penny <br />
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>I am delighted to have the talented Val Penny on my blog today. She is the author of the bestselling "Hunters" crime series which is set in Edinburgh. She is here to tell me about the fifth book in the series coming soon. Val, over to you! :) </b></span></span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Thank you for inviting me to your blog today. I am
thrilled to be launching my new novel. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Detective Inspector Hunter Wilson is the main protagonist
of my new crime novel 'Hunter's Secret' that is to be published by Darkstroke
on 08.08.2020.</span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hunter’s Secret is the fifth novel in The Edinburgh
Crime Mysteries series. Although the books form a series they can easily be
read and enjoyed as standalone novels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Throughout the series, the readers have come to trust the
main character, DI Hunter Wilson, but in this book, it is clear that he is
holding something back and hiding his actions from his partner Dr. Meera
Sharma. It seems out of character but perhaps his feelings towards her have
changed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">When Hunter is called to the scene of a murder, all is
not as it seems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two members of his
team, DCs Tim Myerscough and Bear Zewedu found a corpse when they were training
in an Edinburgh Park, but when Hunter arrives the body has disappeared.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Hunter recalls the disappearance of a body thirty
years earlier. The Major Incident Team is called in but their officer in charge,
DCI Arthur Inglis, dismisses any possibility of an association between the two
cases. He thinks the earlier murder was too long ago for a connection to be
made. However, Hunter is determined to consider the possibility and investigate
the past and present murders with the benefit of modern DNA testing.</span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Tim has other problems in his life. His father, Sir
Peter Myerscough, has been released from jail. He, too, remembers the earlier
murder. There is no love lost between Hunter and Sir Peter but Hunter may have
to accept help from his nemesis to catch a killer.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hunter’s own secret is exciting and crucial to his
future. He knows it could change his life. He also knows he must not allow it
to take up too much of his time because he must stop a murderer to keep
Edinburgh’s citizens safe once more. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="yiv4182078664"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I very much hope your readers will enjoy the new book
and join Hunter while he investigates this next, important case.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thank you Val! It sounds fascinating! I love that photo of Edinburgh - how nice would it be to be lying on that grass reading your book! </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 105%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hunter has a past. Hunter has a
secret. Can he unravel his past, keep his secret and keep Edinburgh safe today?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 105%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Detective
Inspector Hunter Wilson is called to the scene of a murder. Tim and Bear found
a corpse but when Hunter arrives it has disappeared, and all is not as it
seems.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 105%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hunter
recalls the disappearance of a corpse thirty years earlier. The Major Incident
Team is called in but sees no connection - it is too long ago. Hunter is
determined to investigate the past and the present with the benefit of modern
DNA testing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 105%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tim has
other issues in his life. His father, Sir Peter, is released from jail. He,
too, remembers the earlier murder. There is no love lost between Hunter and Sir
Peter. Will Hunter accept help from his nemesis to catch a killer?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 105%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hunter also
has a secret. His secret is exciting and crucial to his future. Can he keep his
secret safe? Will it change his life? Can he keep Edinburgh safe?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To contact Val or to buy her books, please click on the links below: </span></b></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.authorvalpenny.com/">www.authorvalpenny.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/valerie.penny.739">Val Penny Facebook page</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i><a href="https://twitter.com/valeriepenny">Val Penny Twitter</a></i></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p><a href="http://mybook.to/HuntersChase">Buy Hunters Chase </a></o:p></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i><a href="http://mybook.to/HuntersRevenge">Buy Hunters Revenge</a></i></b></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="http://mybook.to/huntersforce">Buy Hunters Force</a></span></i></b></span><span class="MsoHyperlink"><b><i> </i></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://mybook.to/huntersblood">Buy Hunters Blood</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://mybook.to/hunterssecret">Buy Hunter's Secret </a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://bit.ly/LetsGetPublished">Buy Lets Get Published</a></span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Val Penny is an American author
living in SW Scotland. She has two adult daughters of whom she is justly proud
and lives with her husband and two cats. She has a Law degree from Edinburgh
University and her MSc from Napier University. She has had many jobs including
hairdresser, waitress, lawyer, banker, azalea farmer and lecturer. However, she
has not yet achieved either of her childhood dreams of being a ballerina or
owning a candy store. Until those dreams come true, she has turned her hand to
writing poetry, short stories and novels. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her crime novels, 'Hunter's Chase'
Hunter's Revenge, Hunter's Force and Hunter’s Blood form the bestselling series
The Edinburgh Crime Mysteries. They are set in Edinburgh, Scotland, published
by Crooked Cat Books. The fifth novel in the series, Hunter's Secret, is published
by Darkstroke. Her first non-fiction book, Let’s Get Published is available now.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-57074247060349306292020-05-30T04:14:00.001-07:002020-06-01T02:33:06.099-07:00Short story - "In the queue for the Pearly Gates"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8R-RND2eTCZ3y4qYhgyd8ig2luWMKV3L57oN3aKcOdmI4gxU3qDSiX2ita6clk0qSJksTn9coyGP6lp9876pPNPKjy6Q-9KJypCcJnvX_yLuYbFAHuHaFEjrHTo-fiICiX5JL72IdThg/s1600/pearly+gates+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1183" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8R-RND2eTCZ3y4qYhgyd8ig2luWMKV3L57oN3aKcOdmI4gxU3qDSiX2ita6clk0qSJksTn9coyGP6lp9876pPNPKjy6Q-9KJypCcJnvX_yLuYbFAHuHaFEjrHTo-fiICiX5JL72IdThg/s640/pearly+gates+%25282%2529.jpg" width="472" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It seems as
though I’m in the queue for the pearly gates. The sun is shining down on us. In
the far-off distance, I can see luscious green mountaintops. The air is still
and quiet. It’s so peaceful. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The queue
feels orderly and calm. There’s quite a few ahead of me and quite a few behind
me. We all stand, one at a time, a bit of space apart. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Some people
don’t look too happy to be in the queue for the pearly gates. One woman looks
anxious and paranoid. She’s wearing a face mask and her eyes keep darting
around as if worried someone will jump on her. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>A man is
talking manically to someone on his mobile phone, desperately trying
to fill the time. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Another man
is engrossed in his phone trying to distract himself with emails or
news bulletins. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It’s as if they
can’t bear this waiting time, as though they’re wanting to hurry through life
and get through those pearly gates as soon as possible. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I decide to
just stand there, soaking up the sun, trying to think of nothing. They call it
mindfulness these days. The ability to clear the mind of any chaotic thoughts
and just sit peacefully. Like you’re next to a calm lake with nothing to do but
watch your fishing pole and see if the fish take the bait. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I let the sun soak onto my pasty white arms, let the Vitamin D pour into
my cells.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I put the morning
behind me – the work that I did at my desk before I came out. Instead I just
stand, trying to think of nothing, breathing. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>A doorman to
the pearly gates walks down along the queue. He has a walkie-talkie and he
wears a high-vis jacket. “Any over-65’s?” he bellows. “Over 65’s can skip the
queue.” <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Well that
makes sense, I think. The man who has been chatting on his phone stops
mid-track and smiles wryly. It is a smile of compassion, of understanding. We
don’t mind that the over 65’s skip the queue. We are glad to let them. I make a
mental note that I have another 20 years before I join the 65’s. What am I
going to do with those 20 years, while I wait in this queue of life? <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The over 65’s
pass me, slowly. One has a walking stick. The other is so hunched over her
zimmer frame that her body has taken on a sort of ‘L’ shape, rather than being
upright. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>65 is not
old these days, I think. My parents are in their 70’s and they still seem
sprightly to me. There was that one time my dad was really sick and he clung on
to my hand in the hospital. I thought it was his last hour; it was terrifying.
But he made a full recovery. 5 years in remission and out cycling daily. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I think of
all the lovely things there will be inside. Delicious fresh fruits, luxurious desserts,
rows and rows of chocolate – anything we want to pick. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>But I’m
happy to just wait here for now, to bask in the sunlight and enjoy the moment
of mindfulness. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I look up to
see a huge sign towering over us. You can’t miss it. Anyone could see it for
miles. It must be at least 6 feet tall. Yes, if I was to stand next to it, it
would tower over me. I guess they don’t want anyone to miss this place. I guess
we’ll all have to come here eventually. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The queue
inches forward again. I’m getting closer now. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I can see a
nurse in uniform. Anyone working closely with sick people are at a greater risk.
They’re allowed to skip the queue too. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Again the
queue nudges forward. It’s a slow moving queue but it’s persistent. It does
keep moving. Eventually we will get there. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The doorman
with the walkie-talkie and the high vis jacket gives me the nod. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>It is my
time. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>My time has
come. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I’ve reached
my destination. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I give him a
smile of thanks, pop my pound in the trolley, whizz it through the sanitising
station and I’m in. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>#Tesco<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>#EveryLittleHelps
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>#Lockdown<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-66392249843254086102020-04-17T00:50:00.002-07:002020-04-17T00:50:39.975-07:00"The idea of mixing Jewish students, a Kabbalistic sect leader and a murder just popped into my head one day." - Author interview - Jo Fenton <span style="color: #351c75;"><u><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hello there Jo, I’m delighted
to have you on my blog to</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">day!</span></u></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Hi Rose, thanks so much for inviting me!</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>Congratulations on your latest novel! I'd love to hear all about "Revelation". Can you give us the first line and a little blurb as to what it’s about?</u></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqaGyGL9jEMFX2oyquJli36Iq366W0zlBP16pf4yM6atsbEcPauv5n-eW-Qjy8ZYFHXSyDVJNeUuJCJBF16LOkjwZen4QPbyEDeupuyrZvIdK2d2Wd7u2WrlXn4BGAjjYnT1cbTunA20/s1600/Cover+pic+-+Revelation+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqaGyGL9jEMFX2oyquJli36Iq366W0zlBP16pf4yM6atsbEcPauv5n-eW-Qjy8ZYFHXSyDVJNeUuJCJBF16LOkjwZen4QPbyEDeupuyrZvIdK2d2Wd7u2WrlXn4BGAjjYnT1cbTunA20/s320/Cover+pic+-+Revelation+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<u style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">First line:</span></u></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yellow tape seals the doorway between the lifts and the east wing
of the halls of residence – tenth floor.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>Blurb: </u><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Manchester, 1989<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A student, Rick, is found dead in halls of residence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His friends get caught up in the aftermath: Dan, who was in love
with Rick; and Becky, who is in love with Dan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Their fraught emotions lead them into dark places – particularly a
connection to a mysterious Kabbalistic sect.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;">Will Becky discover who killed Rick in time to save her best
friend?</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>Sounds fantastic! What inspired you to write this
novel? </u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none; color: blue; padding: 0cm;">I was a student in Manchester in 1989, and although nothing like
this happened to me (thankfully), I wanted to capture the atmosphere and some
of the difficulties of the time. It’s often difficult to know what sparks a
specific story though. The idea of mixing Jewish students, a Kabbalistic sect
leader, and a murder, just popped into my head one day.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>It's great when ideas just pop into your head like that! Can you tell me about that
moment when you decided to sit down and write your first novel? How did you get
over any hurdles of fear or doubt?</u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’d been writing short stories for a few months, but had dismissed
the idea of a novel on the grounds of full time job, husband and kids. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But one
day we were watching breakfast TV amongst the usual morning
stress, when an article came on about NaNoWriMo. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnYVDIkjVDmmZN44GRFeH4OPNGc1DfKJJf8-1Tt3FBAcWhuRmpUpqsfh98dCtnEN7DorvA48B5kEUjuZnAWQmtgmu3UCnBSvRBtEzsKrXGwAVfoVzakc4eUx_fqpZBobzfVz2TYDOdwg/s1600/nanowrimo-508x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="508" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnYVDIkjVDmmZN44GRFeH4OPNGc1DfKJJf8-1Tt3FBAcWhuRmpUpqsfh98dCtnEN7DorvA48B5kEUjuZnAWQmtgmu3UCnBSvRBtEzsKrXGwAVfoVzakc4eUx_fqpZBobzfVz2TYDOdwg/s320/nanowrimo-508x300.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National Novel Writing Month is a challenge to write a 50,000 word
novel in a month.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Surprisingly, my husband suggested I give it a go, so during my
morning break, I started thinking about some
ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When the concept of a woman trapped in a religious sect popped
into my head, I got really excited. I did a lot of planning, so by the time I
sat down to write, the
words tumbled on to the page.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The fears and doubts came out many times over the next 6 years
whilst I wrote, re-wrote and edited – simultaneously attending writing
workshops and joining writing groups to learn the craft.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none; color: blue; padding: 0cm;">That first novel was accepted by Crooked Cat on 15<sup>th</sup>
December 2017 and was published in July 2018. I’m still very proud of it.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>That's so impressive! I've never managed to do NaNoWriMo. Please can you tell me about
your writing routine – how do you settle yourself down to write?</u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m rubbish about
routine, but I do try to write before work if I can (my brain is a bit frazzled
by the end of the day). If I’ve got 20 minutes to write, I’ll sit at my desk
with a coffee, order Alexa to play some music (whatever I’m in the mood for –
currently Meatloaf, Adam Lambert, Queen and Tom Odell, and
start typing.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If I've got an hour (usually at weekends or holiday), I'll do the same. I occasionally have to read back through the last chapter if I've not written for a week or two. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>Do you have any tips for aspiring
authors who would love to write but don’t know where to start?</u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I would suggest
to start writing the novel that excites you. Some people are planners, some are
pantsers (seat of the pants writers), many are somewhere in between (like me!)
It doesn’t matter. The first draft should never see the light of day, except
perhaps to be read by someone you trust who can give constructive critique. At
some point in the process, do a course in creative writing – it doesn’t have to
be an MA! I attended a series of brilliant workshops, which evolved into
critique sessions, and is now a monthly writing group.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue;">Most important
though is to keep dreaming. Writing a novel is a long process, and requires
persistence and determination. Having an aim or ambition is a good incentive to
keep going.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>What do you love doing when not
writing?</u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0cm;">I love reading (no surprises there), but also love running and
hiking – both a huge shock, and my younger self would probably not believe it!
I’m very slow at running, but completed a half marathon on the same day as I
finished writing my first book.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0cm;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>Lastly – a fun question: </u></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><u>Can you tell us about a funny/
embarrassing memory</u></span><span style="color: #201f1e;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">My dad was an
entertainment agent, specializing in lookalikes/soundalikes. One evening, he
invited all the family and some friends along to see a Tom Jones act (this was
about 15-20 years ago).</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">‘Tom Jones’ asked
my dad if some of the women in his party would throw some knickers at him (he
provided the knickers – all clean, I hasten to add).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I offered
to do the business, and when Delilah came on, I walked halfway to the stage (we
were at the back) and threw a lacy pair of red unmentionables towards the
singer – well that was the plan. I’ve never had a good aim. The lace attached
itself to the ceiling. I returned red-faced to my chair. But it didn’t end
there. The audience’s gaze remained transfixed to the knickers, which slowly
detached from the ceiling, finally falling onto the table as Mr Jones hit the
last note.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #201f1e;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He confessed to
my dad afterwards that he was so hysterical watching the progress of the
underwear that he almost forgot the lyrics! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>Brilliant Jo! I love it! Thanks so much for coming on my blog today and best of luck with your book! </u></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">About the author:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jo Fenton grew up
in Hertfordshire. She devoured books from an early age and, at eleven,
discovered Agatha Christie and Georgette Heyer. She now has an eclectic and
much loved book collection cluttering her home office.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jo combines an
exciting career in Clinical Research with an equally exciting but very
different career as a writer of psychological thrillers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">When not working,
she runs (very slowly), and chats to lots of people. She lives in Manchester
with her family and is an active and enthusiastic member of two writing groups
and two reading groups.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Revelation
is available on Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Revelation-Jo-Fenton-ebook/dp/B082KS9Y89/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=jo+fenton&qid=1586683675&sr=8-3">Amazon </a></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My
other books are also available on Amazon: </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
Brotherhood: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Brotherhood-Jo-Fenton-ebook/dp/B07CNZNHF1/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=jo+fenton&qid=1586683722&sr=8-1">The Brotherhood </a></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
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Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-91183881961762716542020-03-12T06:47:00.002-07:002020-04-07T05:02:14.895-07:00Finding meaning in sadness<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Grief is
something that isn’t talked about much. It’s that quiet emotion – the one
that’s tucked away behind closed doors – private, personal, introverted.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The raw
grief that I experienced about Snowy lasted for several weeks. Sometimes I woke
up in the middle of the night crying and then went back to sleep again. The
silence and the emptiness in my apartment was overwhelming. I’m not ashamed to
admit that I went to grief counselling to talk about Snowy. I needed a safe
space where I could talk about him for a full hour without feeling like I was
burdening people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After only 3
sessions, the counsellor announced “I think you’re okay now” and it felt like a
rubber stamp of approval on my mental health. I had been able to talk about
what Snowy meant to me; what role he played in my life and about the traumatic
way in which I discovered his dead body. I also began to talk about the meaning
I could draw from the sadness. Clearly I was grieving so much because of how
much I loved him. It seemed a shame that all this surplus love would just go
into an empty vacuum – unused and evaporating.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I began to
think about all the times I worried about Snowy – how that if anything happened
to me – who would look after him? And then I thought of all those rescue cats –
who were living in shelters waiting on homes. Perhaps their owner had passed
away and now they were left alone in a cage, hoping on someone to adopt them.
They no longer had the adorable charm of cute kitten status and might bypass
the many families getting a new cat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I wondered
if I could give a home to one of these abandoned cats and therefore all the
love for Snowy wouldn’t be wasted. All that love I had channelled towards him
could now be channelled towards a cat in need. Suddenly the empty void of grief
was being replaced by something else – a purpose or meaning in all this
suffering. The grief for Snowy was still there – missing him, thinking about
him – but it didn’t feel so raw. Now there was a plan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22OxAsIW1cGlY812reV9Izk03f-2zRp5hWMi00wPentiD0o1P5rFv8gTcFUlPlaHA8wXNNO_tgxAFiiJFoZjmJkteiTmCdvo2lHIMcExct2ni2zN-pv38xwM7PSlVeKgfxUUMXayI1qg/s1600/cats+protection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22OxAsIW1cGlY812reV9Izk03f-2zRp5hWMi00wPentiD0o1P5rFv8gTcFUlPlaHA8wXNNO_tgxAFiiJFoZjmJkteiTmCdvo2lHIMcExct2ni2zN-pv38xwM7PSlVeKgfxUUMXayI1qg/s320/cats+protection.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I made a
phone-call to Cats Protection. I enquired about adopting a cat. I was told
about the procedure. A letter was needed from my landlady authorising a cat in
the property. Forms would have to be filled out. Once the forms were verified,
I could then pick a cat. There would then be a 24 hour resting period and I
would return the following day to collect the cat.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The wheels
were in motion. My landlady came round and signed the letter. After she left, I
did a little happy dance around my living-room. It was the first time I’d felt
genuinely happy and excited in weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then the
first visit to Cats Protection. I admit, I went in with too-high expectations.
I was full of excitement. I imagined all the cute cats and how wonderful it
would be. I hadn’t eaten properly and we had trouble finding the place so I was
probably more flustered and not as calm as normal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZy_S48i87ivH0iZNrfNFwntfm1QT3AaCsHxYOWJAnKYgZtNEuSka9C6fjvF-4JBnmE2TTpSZ0LPTiLfq4Id64VoZP1F15UIOkhvyAaxaFTjS_d6QXSWyLZxFXfl-uiDkugTu3osSUNk/s1600/IMAG2860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZy_S48i87ivH0iZNrfNFwntfm1QT3AaCsHxYOWJAnKYgZtNEuSka9C6fjvF-4JBnmE2TTpSZ0LPTiLfq4Id64VoZP1F15UIOkhvyAaxaFTjS_d6QXSWyLZxFXfl-uiDkugTu3osSUNk/s320/IMAG2860.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A
receptionist took my details and then another member of staff led me down to
the cats. I hadn’t expected how overwhelming it would feel. All the little cats
in cages, all awaiting homes. Some cats tried to put their paws out through the
gaps to get your attention. Others rubbed up against the window as though
wanting to be petted. How </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">on earth could I pick just one cat when they all
needed a home? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The guy who
was showing us around led us to 2 cats – Darcy and May. He informed me that
they had been in the shelter the longest and really needed a forever home. I
started to feel even more overwhelmed. I hadn’t planned on taking 2 cats. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’m not
sure which cat I want”, I told him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s
okay,” he said. “We could fill out the forms anyway to get the ball rolling?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So we did
that. He took me through a series of questions and then went to the office to
check if my form was approved. Meanwhile I was allowed to have another look at
the cats. There was a ginger cat who was rubbing up next to me and giving me
sweet head-bumps but he was one of two and I hadn’t really envisioned getting 2
cats. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The guy
returned and told me that my form was approved. This was good news but my head
was spinning. I was hungry, overwhelmed and indecisive. I asked him if I could
think about it and return another day. He said of course. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I went for
food and talked it over with my friend. Then I chatted to my sister about it on
Voxer. And then to another sister. I decided to sleep on it and return another
day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A week
later, I returned to Cats Protection. This time, I was prepared. I went in with
an open mind, low expectations and a full tummy.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This was a lot easier. Instead of seeing lots
of vulnerable cats in cages, I noticed that in fact, quite a few cats had a
“reserved” sign on their window. This meant that someone had chosen them and
would return tomorrow to collect them. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Also I
noticed how clean the place was and how contented the cats looked. Many were
curled up sleeping. I was also really pleased to see that Darcy and May – the
two longest residents - had been reserved.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The ginger
cat was all over me again. Rubbing up next to me and giving me gentle
head-bumps. That was it. He had chosen me. He was one of two. Curled up in the
corner was his buddy; a black cat with a glossy coat. I petted him gently and
he curled around appreciatively, encouraging me to rub under his chin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“That’s
them,” I said. “They’re the ones”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Cats
Protection guy smiled happily and off we went, saying that we’d return first
thing in the morning to collect them. I had to rush and buy a second carrier as
I only had one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My
excitement was sky-high and I was grinning from ear to ear. I also decided on
names: “Toots” and “Soots”. “Toots” because that’s what I always used to call
Snowy. And “Soots” because he was black like chimney soot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That night
felt like Christmas Eve – the excitement of knowing that the next morning I’d
be collecting my new gifts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
following morning I loaded my 2 carriers into the car with building excitement.
I thought of the number of times this had happened – the day Snowy arrived in
his cage carried by Paula. The day Ann carried Snowy’s body in her arms to her
car. And now, the day 2 new cats would be carried in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At Cats
Protection, the staff looked jubilant. I think they were as happy to see 2 cats
getting a forever home as I was to get 2 new family members. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A nice girl
sat and took me through some paperwork. I was impressed by all the detail.
Every date that each cat had been neutered, vaccinated, wormed and flea
treated. Microchip details, insurance details, the whole heap. This was the
first I learned that the black cat only had 3 legs but it made no difference to
me. The wee critter needed a home and I would provide it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of the
Cats Protection staff took the carriers and said she’d return with the cats.
They were both meowing loudly when they returned. Obviously both were scared
and wondering what was going on. I tried to talk softly and gently to them.
When I put them in the back seat of the car, I placed their carriers in such a way
that they were both facing each other. This seemed to calm them down and they
settled on the journey home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Safely
inside the house, I opened the carriers and let them step out and find their
own way around. They found the beds in the walk-in wardrobe. Snowy had used
these when he didn’t like the sound of the bin men. And now Toots and Soots had
discovered them too.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By the
evening, after having time to relax and having been given tempting Dreamies and
some cat food, they branched out into the living room and lay on the chair next
to me. Having each other for company obviously seemed like a big advantage.
They curled around each other which seemed to comfort and calm them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For the
first few days, we were tip-toeing around each other. I was trying to give them
space and not to make any sudden or loud movements which would scare them.
They, meanwhile, were hiding in the wardrobe most of the time until they
started to trust that I wasn’t going to hurt them. In fact, they started to
realise that I was the lady who would feed them and clean up their poop! After
a while, they began to lie on the bed, or on the cushion on top of the chest of
drawers. I felt so calm and contented having them around. Cats create a vibe in
the home that is just so relaxing. I don’t know if it’s their ability to fall
asleep at any time, or their soft purring sounds, or the way they look so cute
when they’re curled up in a ball, but they’re a joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I kept
thinking about Snowy though. I noticed little differences between each cat and
I realised that the 3 year bond with Snowy will never be replaced. But slowly,
we are getting used to each and that bond will grow too. When I see Soots hop
along on his little 3 legs, my heart melts a little. And Toots follows me
around with an inquisitive little face that is full of so much character. I
love them, my two little rescue fur babies. xx</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-4157958164198173372020-01-23T02:34:00.000-08:002020-01-23T02:34:17.490-08:00Grieving the Loss of a Beloved Pet <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphen_c6tedUdzPyYsLFG1omHj5bsFWSoFO_67FpMFjPBaSAsIWUvRYINDa0Prh2cGQGDkOUx6VPBOOmfpukUtBI11AFcFPzy_Kc4XVy2XgKfByJec981aikSdPUbq1kk26_1HnvVBs-G_I/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="480" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphen_c6tedUdzPyYsLFG1omHj5bsFWSoFO_67FpMFjPBaSAsIWUvRYINDa0Prh2cGQGDkOUx6VPBOOmfpukUtBI11AFcFPzy_Kc4XVy2XgKfByJec981aikSdPUbq1kk26_1HnvVBs-G_I/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This post is written in memory of <b>Snowy </b>McClelland </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">29 December 2016 - 6 January 2020 </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">________________________________________________________ </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I took one look at Snowy and I knew he was gone. Panic set in
immediately. Crouching down, I took a closer look at him; his body was lying
far too still. I phoned my friend Joe who had just dropped me off. “Please turn
back and come in. I think Snowy’s dead.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I couldn’t bear to look at him. I couldn’t believe this was
happening. I tried to phone my sister Rhoda but couldn’t get through. Joe
arrived back in. We sat with Snowy, looking at his wee body; still and
motionless. He’s gone. My panic kept rising. How could this be happening? He
was only 3 years old. He’d been perfectly healthy. What on earth could have
happened? I scanned around, trying to find evidence. Did he choke on something?
Guilt immediately set in. Did I leave something lying around that he choked on?
But I couldn’t see anything. And I didn’t want to think about what had happened
to him; about what pain he had been in. More guilt; why wasn’t I at home with
him? Perhaps I could have prevented it? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Joe tried to reason with me; perhaps when he was playing
outside in the afternoon, perhaps he’d eaten something toxic and it was working
on him? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I felt my body roll forward and my head curling onto the
carpet. How could this be happening? How could my Snowy be gone? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Joe and I looked at his wee body lying there. We decided we
needed to get him comfy. I got the little blanket that Mum had sent me for
Christmas. Snowy had lain on it a few times whilst looking out the window,
watching the world go by. I moved his wee body onto one side of the blanket, then
wrapped the rest of the blanket around him, with his little face poking out. It
looked like he was just lying there sleeping. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I lay down behind him and curled my arm around him. “Oh
Snowy”, I cried. “I loved you so much”. I let the tears flow. I could hear Joe
behind me; he was choking up too; obviously finding it hard to see his friend
curled up next to her deceased cat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love my Snowy. For 3
years, it’s just been me and Snowy. He’s my wee buddy; my wee companion. He’s
been with me through my darkest times and he offers me unconditional love that
no human can. He doesn’t care what mood I’m in. In fact, he senses the times
when I need comfort. There have been nights where he has curled up to me and
stuck to my side when I needed it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rhoda phoned back. “Snowy’s dead,” I said, the minute she
answered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“What?! No!!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I told her everything. I was sounding much too calm. I knew it
was the shock. I knew the grief was in the post and I was in for a rough ride. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rhoda was crying. “Rose, no!” she was saying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“But you know what,” she was saying later in the conversation,
“You gave him a really good life.” Well, that <u>was</u> true. I knew I had
spoiled and cherished him every single day of his life. I never went on trips
because I didn’t want to leave him on his own. If I went out, I was sure to get
back early to make sure he was okay. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Whenever he didn’t like the sound of the bin-men, I played him
“relaxing cat sounds” from YouTube. I had a soothing cat smells plug-in which
he loved and he rubbed his nose against. He had a selection of Tuna, Dreamies
and Whiska biscuits – foods that he loved. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Phone-call with Rhoda over, I felt the tiredness hit me. Joe
was still talking, trying to offer comfort but I knew it was time to be on my
own with Snowy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Joe was reluctant to leave me but I promised him I’d be okay.
After he’d gone, the quietness descended. It was just me and Snowy; Snowy lying
on the blanket, looking like he was just sleeping. It was after midnight by
now. I knew it was too late to be phoning anyone else; but anyway part of me
didn’t want to phone anyone. Talking about it would mean it was real. I wanted,
just for one last night, to lie next to Snowy and to pretend he was just
sleeping. To stave off the grief and to stay in the protective bubble of shock
for a while. I knew what was coming; the having to tell people, the tears, the
grieving – I wasn’t ready for it yet. I lay on the sofa with the duvet over me.
I lay with Snowy and kept him company. He was lying on the floor on the
blanket, facing away from me; the back of his head poking out. Sleeping; he’s
sleeping, I told myself. I lay there, next to him, keeping him company while he
slept. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I didn’t sleep a wink. Thoughts would spin around like a
washing machine on a slow spin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">‘What am I going to do about burial?’ the thought would come. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then it would be looking on Google, doing a search for my vet,
seeing what their opening hours were. 7.30am. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then I would push that thought away and pretend he was just
sleeping again and I would lie there, keeping him company while he slept. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finally, when I could take no more of the thoughts whirring
around on a slow spin, I decided to sit down and write out my thoughts. I
didn’t want to write them, because that would mean it would be true, but I felt
I had to do something. By this time, it was 4.30am and I’d had 4½ hours of
lying next to my cat. As I wrote, I felt my heart hammering in my chest. People
use that expression willy nilly but when it happens, it’s a weird sensation. My
heart literally hammered like a drum.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The movement of my pen was slow and reluctant. I had to admit
to the page what had happened. I could no longer sit in the comfortably numb
bubble of shock. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After the words hit the page, then came the voxer to my other
sister Debbie. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sent her a voice message at 4.30am. This was common practice
for us to vox each other and I knew her phone would be on silent so it wouldn’t
wake her. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The voice message was 11 minutes long. It started off very
heavy and slow. “I have some very sad news to tell you… Snowy has passed away.”
And then as I began to recount the story, the tears came, tears that made it
impossible to talk; so that most of that voice message was just me crying. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then 6.45am came. I wondered if my other sister Ruth would be
up yet; she gets up very early for her job. I sent a tentative What’s App
message. “Morning Ruth, are you up yet?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Yes I’m up x” she replied straight back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Can I phone?” I asked. I knew that would immediately worry
her because she’d know something was wrong but I had to check first if it was
okay to phone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Yes of course”, she replied. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Snowy’s dead”, I said, when she answered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“What? No!” she started crying immediately. “Oh Rose! That’s
awful! What happened?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I recounted the story to her, sounding much too calm. She
was crying. “Oh Rose, that’s awful, I know how much Snowy means to you, this is
just terrible.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was such a comfort to hear her reaction; she got it; she
knew my pain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the dot of 7.30am, I phoned my vet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Good morning, Cornerstone vet”, a woman said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Oh hi” I said, my voice heavy. “I was due to bring my cat in
today at 10am for his yearly injections but… he passed away last night.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The woman’s voice changed immediately from early morning
grogginess to complete concern. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I talked to her about my concerns; my guilt that he could have
choked on something; my fear that he could have eaten something toxic outside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I doubt very much that he choked on something,” she answered
me. “You would have seen evidence of something lying around. And I doubt he ate
something toxic because you would have seen evidence of him vomiting it up. It
was most likely his wee heart not ticking properly or problems with his kidneys
– something internally. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then I asked her, “Do people get post-mortems done to their
pets to find out what happened?” I felt silly asking this question. Part of me
wanted to know what happened and part of me didn’t want to know. I didn’t want
to know of the pain he’d been in and I didn’t want his wee body to be poked and
prodded. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“No”, she soothed. “No, people don’t generally get that done –
there’s no point in doing that. <u>It was just his time</u>.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u><span style="line-height: 107%;">It was just his time</span></u><span style="line-height: 107%;"> – those
few words were such a massive comfort to me. In those few words she had wiped
away my guilt – my fear that he could have choked on something; my guilt that I
hadn’t been in the house that night; my confusion that he was only 3 years old
and had shown no signs of sickness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was just his time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The vet’s words soothed me but Snowy was still lying there,
looking like he was sleeping. I still had to organise a burial for him and I
knew I had to start telling people. I had to face the shock head on and start
to hear people’s responses. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I work from home and my boss turned up at nine. I saw his car
pulling up and I phoned him immediately. I thought it best to warn him what he
was walking into. Snowy was dead. The curtains and blinds were closed. I had
pulled on any old pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was pointless to put on
make-up as I was crying constantly. My face was red raw and my eyes swollen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My boss came in and there was a discussion about burial or
cremation. The outcome of the discussion was that there was no available land
to bury Snowy. My heart sank further. It looked like I was going to have to
take Snowy to the vet to have him cremated. I really didn’t like the thought of
that but there seemed no other option. Just as I was putting on my boots to
take Snowy to the vet, my friend Ann phoned in perfect timing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I told her about my dilemma and she immediately responded with
“But we’ll bury him here at mine!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann lives on a farm in Whitehead with the most beautiful
views. There are donkeys grazing in the grass and you can see fields and
skyline for miles. Relief washed over me. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course
he should be laid to rest at Ann’s! I visit her every Sunday so that means I
can visit Snowy every week. And he will be resting in a perfectly peaceful
place. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFUXCaf3lknS6wSah78RXRdj2gdhzBEvBiHt7yL__njg5Xefypo92xPc-eS2VY6yBucKX6dvEfbOie5sODLyHVizLQj3zgeUAypa9bULpwyY2JvSF8FeFQyrhAvqw_CC55iQKFet_RRE/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFUXCaf3lknS6wSah78RXRdj2gdhzBEvBiHt7yL__njg5Xefypo92xPc-eS2VY6yBucKX6dvEfbOie5sODLyHVizLQj3zgeUAypa9bULpwyY2JvSF8FeFQyrhAvqw_CC55iQKFet_RRE/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Arrangements were made. Ann would drive down to get me at
12.30pm. She’d drive me and Snowy up to hers, we would lay him to rest and she
would drive me home again. That’s FOUR times she was willing to drive up and
down. FOUR times. People like Ann amaze me. I know for a fact that every
morning when Ann has her bath, she gets on her knees and asks God “Please place
me where you need me today.” Place me where you need me. And just when I had
put on my boots that day, she had made that call. How amazing to be a person
like that, who is willing to be there for someone in their hour of need. Please
may I be someone like that. Someone who can offer help to someone when they
need it most. I can’t tell you how much relief it gave me, to know that Ann was
coming to get me that day. I knew that her calming presence was what was going
to get me through.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">While I waited for her, I wrote a post on Facebook: “Rest in
peace my beautiful little Snowy. Every single day I felt grateful for you.
Every single day I appreciated having you in my life. I only wish there had
been more days.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic231kS8IjOHLLeqxbAQZ6AbZH6sd9wV0Jr6PNbC4sl_njfQ37DTshB_AA_PVOlyMv-hDhIf8qWnmWvexAqVkQSPgFtvzhyphenhyphenmRq-r0aKEDmY91B6wSNPcI6l-Iku1Dw5Y7nw-dB3ZAOwDE/s1600/IMAG1388+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1294" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic231kS8IjOHLLeqxbAQZ6AbZH6sd9wV0Jr6PNbC4sl_njfQ37DTshB_AA_PVOlyMv-hDhIf8qWnmWvexAqVkQSPgFtvzhyphenhyphenmRq-r0aKEDmY91B6wSNPcI6l-Iku1Dw5Y7nw-dB3ZAOwDE/s320/IMAG1388+%25281%2529.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I posted a few photos along with it. I knew this was all part
of the “moving out of the shock” phase. I had posted regular photos of Snowy on
Facebook and my friends knew how much I doted on him. Telling the Facebook
world was part of my shock treatment. Likes and comments flooded in. People
couldn’t believe it. Snowy was so young. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann arrived in at 12.30pm with an air of sympathy, love and
yet taking a calm charge of the situation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Okay, let’s carry you boy”, she said, gently scooping him and
taking him to the car. He was still wrapped in his little blanket and tucked in
close to him was the little teddy bear that he liked to play-kick at times. I
watched as his little head bobbed along towards the car. Tears streamed down my
face. I remembered the day I stood at the same spot watching the day he
arrived. My friend Paula carrying this little cage down the steps; inside the
cage a bundle of white fur. That bundle of white fur was, five minutes later,
stepping out of the cage, curiously investigating his new home, then purring
and rubbing up next to me within moments. In no time he had decided he liked it
here and he was going to stay. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And now, 3 years later, I was watching him being gently
carried away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann drove and chatted, I sat and listened, glad of her
capacity to chat freely while all I had to do was sit there and listen. I was
very conscious of Snowy lying resting in the back of the car, hoping that the
boot door didn’t open, hoping that we got him safely to his destination. When
we arrived, Ann showed me the grave she had dug so far. It sat up near a swing,
the view of the fields and skyline beautiful. She had a plant ready to set on
the grave; a plant that would grow into a bush with white flowers. She also had
a cross and an angel statue. We needed to dig a little bit more of the grave to
give him more room. The physical action of setting my foot on the spade and
pushing it down felt strange. I hadn’t had a wink of sleep, I’d cried
constantly. I hadn’t eaten and now I was moving down from my mind to my body,
preparing this space for Snowy. When we had dug enough, we went back to the car
to get Snowy. Again Ann took gentle charge of the situation. She scooped Snowy
up in her arms; him still wrapped cosy in the blanket with the little toy
beside him. I walked behind her as she climbed the incline next to her cottage.
His little face bobbed along next to her. I remember in that moment, being
blown away by her friendship. That this woman would help me so much in my hour
of need; that she would carry my Snowy like a precious baby. I followed her
along to the grave and she gently laid him down inside. It is a sight I cannot
get out of my head. The sight of little Snowy lying in the grave. Tears flowed
effortlessly. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Awk Snowy,” I cried. “I love you wee man”. I stroked his wee
face, not wanting to have to say goodbye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann was starting to move the soil over him. I took the other
spade and reluctantly had to move soil over him too. Little by little, his
little white body was being covered by soil while tears lashed down my face.
Ann kept a quiet dignified strength as she helped me along. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then the soil was entirely covered. Ann was putting the plant
in the soil along with the cross and the angel. She set stones on top to keep
everything in place. My heart was heavy. I felt drained. And yet I knew he was
resting in the right place. </span><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcXGazvpVNhymZl4EMefbufy6qssls8QqT98tmOi30S1T5AjwWDk0i5GUobAhyphenhyphen4t-B3J53YjTFADkCvajywtsN3TCosvn7Oe8NjkhyZBg8EGZL57C_V5lKhqcxpod1nls9x4GkAK2Yuk/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="419" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcXGazvpVNhymZl4EMefbufy6qssls8QqT98tmOi30S1T5AjwWDk0i5GUobAhyphenhyphen4t-B3J53YjTFADkCvajywtsN3TCosvn7Oe8NjkhyZBg8EGZL57C_V5lKhqcxpod1nls9x4GkAK2Yuk/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Ann took me down to her farm to show me her new pony. I’m sure
it was a diversion tactic. Then it was back to her cottage where we sat at the
open fire and drank cappuccinos and ate a peanut butter chocolate slice laden
with sugar and calories. The four dogs huddled around us and one of them curled
up on my lap. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After we had chatted for a bit, Ann took one look at me and
said, “Oh Rose, your eyes are swollen to the back of your head”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I nodded in agreement. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I’ll take you home soon, you need rest”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I went home and had a bath. I forced myself to eat and got
a few hours sleep. But by 10.30pm, I was wide awake again and wondering if this
was going to be another sleepless night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Somehow, from somewhere, I was trying to find some “positives”
in the situation. How on earth you can find positives in something like this,
is beyond me. But perhaps it was my mind’s way of trying not to go completely
insane.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The “positives” I thought of were this:-</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>That I outlived him.</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know that must seem strange but I always worried about what
would happen to Snowy if I died. Would he be put in a shelter? Would some other
stranger look after him? I knew that no-one would look after him the way I
looked after him. He would’ve had to move somewhere else and he wouldn’t have
been so content.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>That I had given him a good life.</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For 3 years of his life, I had treated him like a king. He had
6 different beds to choose from – including one that was high up on top of a
chest of drawers so that he could look out the window and watch the world go by
– and one that was low down tucked inside the walk-in wardrobe, so that he
could feel safe and secure and hide from the bin-men. He had a choice of all
his favourite foods – Tuna in spring water, Whiska biscuits and Dreamies –
along with the occasional piece of fresh ham or chicken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>That he had stability in his life.</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We have lived in the same ground floor apartment in a quiet
cul-de-sac for 3 years. He was an outdoor cat and he went out every night from
around midnight to 8am. He enjoyed roaming around and playing and then he would
quite happily sleep all day. I always worried that if I had to move one day, he
may not adapt to a new area too quickly. So I’m glad that for his entire
natural life, he had stability in where he was living.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>He helped me through my darkest hour</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkS6NXUNBg2J0i2HGJfK4Pfi-Sc4e36bAUMepQdk8TDN8XsQV7P6I9YhN2_kaNyP6ZmhFEvC1r-6U3pZtNlyM5fXlHUS7qqu_DMcY26MuZGh7564oRNoMgzSXBpxE53yfvGnrT3jB2SY/s1600/angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkS6NXUNBg2J0i2HGJfK4Pfi-Sc4e36bAUMepQdk8TDN8XsQV7P6I9YhN2_kaNyP6ZmhFEvC1r-6U3pZtNlyM5fXlHUS7qqu_DMcY26MuZGh7564oRNoMgzSXBpxE53yfvGnrT3jB2SY/s200/angel.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Snowy arrived with me at a time I needed him most (although I
didn’t know it at the time). He offered me unconditional love and he made my
heart feel full in a way I didn’t know I needed. He became my little buddy; my
little companion. I loved coming home to him and seeing his wee face perk up
when I arrived home. He was a beautiful wee soul who chatted away to me in his
own little language. I knew when he wanted outside, or when he wanted water
from the bath tap. I knew when he wanted me to play with him or when he wanted
cuddles. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All these “positives” were great ideas but they felt very
short lived. Very quickly, lots of things felt very difficult: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Coming home at night to a quiet apartment.</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It felt horrible to walk in and hear deafening silence. The
flat, now devoid of a tiny bundle of fur, felt completely empty. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Adopting strange behaviours</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I began to adopt strange behaviours. I’d still be peeping out
the curtain wondering if he was sitting on the window sill waiting to come in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The big pink fluffy cushion became a Snowy substitute. I’d set
the cushion on top of the chest of drawers where Snowy used to sit and I’d go
to it and cuddle it when I arrived home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The “relaxing cat music” sounds from YouTube that I used to
play for Snowy to drown out the noise of the bin men became the music that I’d
play to go to sleep whilst cuddling the pink cushion. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>People began to really irritate me</b></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People who, when they heard the news, their very first question
would be, “Are you going to get another one?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I could feel the anger bubble up inside me at their insensitivity. Snowy was only gone 3 days and people were asking that question. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yup. Anger. Anger is one of the very prevailing emotions that
comes with grief. Anger at someone yamming on about how wonderful their pet is,
when they know full well that you’ve just lost yours. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anger at people who you thought
would have sent a message of support, but they haven’t. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anger at Snowy being taken so young. 3 years old and
perfectly healthy – what’s all that about? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, in summary, what can I say about my early experiences of
grief? What have I learned? What has given me comfort? What has given me
strength? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Perhaps you’re reading this and you have just lost your
beloved pet. If so, I’m sorry – <u>really</u>, <u>really</u>, sorry. I know you
must really love that wee pet – otherwise you wouldn’t be grieving so hard and
you wouldn’t be looking for some comfort. Please remember this:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Grieving means that you really love</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For the huge amount that you loved that wee pet, is relative
to the amount you are grieving now. You grieve because you love. Thank you for
that. Thank you that for the precious time you had that pet under your care,
you loved him/her with all your heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You fed him, watered him, gave him a comfy bed to sleep on,
took him for medical care; gave him cuddles and love. His time on this earth
was precious and loving; all because of you. You gave him a good life.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA2rL5c4zm69qCKga4EKMvlclzkhh5I4A8uY_sBbUqewZbfNG1R-7m90t0Koq5u8XlYkRVg7fulg0J1nib9_zfWjsLsAuZH67Z6kDsFbDySKeaxfXIipUh406MB4ovrQ3FntnNsZEUWY/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA2rL5c4zm69qCKga4EKMvlclzkhh5I4A8uY_sBbUqewZbfNG1R-7m90t0Koq5u8XlYkRVg7fulg0J1nib9_zfWjsLsAuZH67Z6kDsFbDySKeaxfXIipUh406MB4ovrQ3FntnNsZEUWY/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Be super-easy on yourself</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Your emotions are raw at the moment. It feels like all your
nerve endings are inside out. You are super-sensitive. It only takes one
comment from one stupid person to arouse anger in you. Let that anger
out in healthy ways. Punch a cushion, or go out running; anything that will
expend that extra energy that is bubbling up inside you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></u></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Adopt comforting rituals</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Repeat habits you used to have with your beloved pet. You
might open the blind for him to let him look out; you might play relaxing
sounds when the bin-men visit (because the noise scared him) or you might
switch on his relaxing smells plug-in. It’s okay to still do these things for a
while. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You might have a fluffy cushion that you cuddle at night
pretending that it’s him – that’s okay.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4ItzSimkyZKgv4MSJJNBxl5eUgGeoTW0i_0bpOLDjEpK6QjsftjkTsohH6ccH4V0zgqOdTU9jM7O6C5k5ig5HwJLHX95AT_595ILYDPrMauvLBFTcWrR6Ptvza2WsSuSDa55SLg04FQ/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4ItzSimkyZKgv4MSJJNBxl5eUgGeoTW0i_0bpOLDjEpK6QjsftjkTsohH6ccH4V0zgqOdTU9jM7O6C5k5ig5HwJLHX95AT_595ILYDPrMauvLBFTcWrR6Ptvza2WsSuSDa55SLg04FQ/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Your Love will be needed again</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know that at the moment you can’t even think about another
pet but in time, you might consider it. Look at how much love you had to offer
that pet. Look at how much you loved and cared for him. Some other pet deserves
that love and care someday. It would be unfair to deprive another pet of that
love.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRx0q6E9iBG9GxbY2ExjjEGfUjivZKh8BskXrGjivD7Aukfa-f5p0ZaMD6pJilvd5aq9aHgzudw_syP-R4mzvp49Xi2d0JNpZ2sT_TVGPUzT8EgibP11X6PH8eEqpTL-1xK5x-1V8eKfM/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRx0q6E9iBG9GxbY2ExjjEGfUjivZKh8BskXrGjivD7Aukfa-f5p0ZaMD6pJilvd5aq9aHgzudw_syP-R4mzvp49Xi2d0JNpZ2sT_TVGPUzT8EgibP11X6PH8eEqpTL-1xK5x-1V8eKfM/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>Cherish the memories</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is a good time to go through the many photos you have of
him. You can print out photos and put them on a designated space in your home
or set up a Facebook album and put the photos on there. Whilst assembling the
photos, you could listen to inspirational speakers on YouTube. There are a lot
of speakers online who give great advice about coping with grief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I also used this time to remember the positives in his life: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He wasn’t sick.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I never left him with anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I looked after him well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I gave him a good life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I gave him 6 beds to choose from.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I gave him Dreamies & Tuna & Whiska Biscuits & fresh ham.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I got his wee ears all fixed.</span></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvC7kL2ZOUDTew6C1PAYSPJeGWFyKsYsjp4ZkhI_H6GFz2BlVK66BhyoNoDvJTQ3Q6FRM6eSxmcNgtOgyRFqgYSIDvMw23yesONdOuGgRBCnYlT2GCF_z-z8_4WOtP7mFmCLfmXuYLCqM/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvC7kL2ZOUDTew6C1PAYSPJeGWFyKsYsjp4ZkhI_H6GFz2BlVK66BhyoNoDvJTQ3Q6FRM6eSxmcNgtOgyRFqgYSIDvMw23yesONdOuGgRBCnYlT2GCF_z-z8_4WOtP7mFmCLfmXuYLCqM/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b>You are a special person</b></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">You are a loving, giving,
caring human being. You helped another wee soul on this earth. You grieve because
you love. </span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKAGLEoQxFM9JN57OaKCk_pYU1j0CEVo8UMucKYnwuQSKYSxuDtW9_UYwc31ODBQ_v5C9UkRRJo5Pg7LF-GW1MRgrbuFuActttlVXXyyNya8Rhw9_EGo8yFVSKdk7fwAxjEAM0IwjwVcI/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKAGLEoQxFM9JN57OaKCk_pYU1j0CEVo8UMucKYnwuQSKYSxuDtW9_UYwc31ODBQ_v5C9UkRRJo5Pg7LF-GW1MRgrbuFuActttlVXXyyNya8Rhw9_EGo8yFVSKdk7fwAxjEAM0IwjwVcI/s320/4.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></u></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Try not to react to others</b></span></span></u></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My emotions are raw + People make stupid comments = Bad Combo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Try not to react; to know that some people are just stupid and make thoughtless comments. Emotions are raw at the moment.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Allow yourself time to switch off</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Grief is all-consuming. You will want to look at photos and
videos of your pet constantly. Allow yourself a window of time to switch off from
the grief. Allow yourself some time to watch some crap TV just to switch your
head off for a while. </span><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiK9e9SBaeuAtMv-OBCtzeqeXnfjq5FDOo56ZmD8ZuPEDDJSNXnaBfo7ee5lKOvmj5beayUc1uJl4Vze7lMO1feTx-HgpOEEmRDIrt1CetRQabsSG81pYOqUAHkX_u_fBdPq8wkqiP-A/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiK9e9SBaeuAtMv-OBCtzeqeXnfjq5FDOo56ZmD8ZuPEDDJSNXnaBfo7ee5lKOvmj5beayUc1uJl4Vze7lMO1feTx-HgpOEEmRDIrt1CetRQabsSG81pYOqUAHkX_u_fBdPq8wkqiP-A/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Keep messages short and sweet</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People are well meaning and will be texting wondering how you are. You don’t have to send long convoluted messages about
how much pain you are in. You can keep it short and sweet. In fact, you don’t
have to reply if you don’t want to. Keep your own boundaries around your
emotional space – you don’t have to over-share as it just leaves you feeling
raw and vulnerable. </span><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Gratitude </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course you can’t imagine feeling grateful for anything at
the moment but dig deep. There is always something to feel grateful for. Your
own physical health; a roof over your head; food in the fridge; your job; your
salary; friends and family who support you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Live in the moment</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sunlight on the flowers.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The vapour from the tea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This too will pass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It won’t feel this raw forever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_eNQ8Gn_uI3NvnOehdkrV3jQ_qm8N7ZNi6mWwgeYniwZpiL_IH5SNtIig5bnOw92tYEz3vNCzs0i9SSegWQHwGHh2NlnCHm8Vivzxc0Hy8Ps98VqNZWwcBfwGKvY6H6_EJ_kn7nmm_Q/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_eNQ8Gn_uI3NvnOehdkrV3jQ_qm8N7ZNi6mWwgeYniwZpiL_IH5SNtIig5bnOw92tYEz3vNCzs0i9SSegWQHwGHh2NlnCHm8Vivzxc0Hy8Ps98VqNZWwcBfwGKvY6H6_EJ_kn7nmm_Q/s1600/6.jpg" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Easy Does it </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Be gentle with yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bubble Bath. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Good food. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Don’t feel you have to reply to every message
straightaway. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You can keep replies short & sweet. </span><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Self-care is so important </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s okay to set time aside to look after your
physical needs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Take time to organise a food shop delivery. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Spend some time on your clothes washing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Set time aside for a relaxing bath and hair wash. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU420ywkmXPXUUxTRyebsKCXihU0Gx9xY9tn_RMaXLwOl1HieQgbj16zhRvYVwLJqhTFmnqlJQbg9DD-bVVlmAGwvEBzsINxugLiVuY65AMxrfdAyxiN9RvBvA2L8sj93zKgDezG2wHYY/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="937" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU420ywkmXPXUUxTRyebsKCXihU0Gx9xY9tn_RMaXLwOl1HieQgbj16zhRvYVwLJqhTFmnqlJQbg9DD-bVVlmAGwvEBzsINxugLiVuY65AMxrfdAyxiN9RvBvA2L8sj93zKgDezG2wHYY/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Be patient and gentle with yourself</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Grieving takes time. Some people will expect you
to “get over it” quickly – avoid those people. Take however much time as you need to grieve. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Keep your life as simple as possible</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People don’t think and they come out
with stupid comments. Bodyswerve them. Don’t bring up the subject of your pet to
people who won’t understand. Set yourself a simple plan for the day – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eg. Get through work, have a bath, have an early
night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Try to find meaning in your suffering</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One day this raw pain will pass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You will never forget your pet and he will always
hold a special place in your heart, but the pain will not be as raw as this
forever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One day, down along the line, you will get another pet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Perhaps a rescue cat whose owner has gone on to a
residential home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Perhaps you can offer the love and care to a wee
cat whose owner can no longer look after them - t</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">he way that you worried you might not be able to
look after your pet one day.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now you can turn that pain and grief into
something positive and you can offer the love to some poor elderly woman’s
beloved cat. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>You grieve because you love. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Helpful links: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMMjAbH_W8c&list=FLRpvW2X0I0jlhQ0-cV_hqig&index=13&t=0s">" If Tomorrow starts without me" </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQZibL5P0Dg&list=FLRpvW2X0I0jlhQ0-cV_hqig&index=4&t=228s">12 Suggestions for Dealing with Loss & Grief </a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7B34AQVWNc&list=FLRpvW2X0I0jlhQ0-cV_hqig&index=2&t=0s">Grieving the loss of a foster kitten</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-50434235290253937342019-11-26T06:26:00.000-08:002019-11-26T06:27:31.195-08:00Private Peaceful - theatre review <br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Tonight, more than any
other night, I want to feel alive.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">These are
the thoughts that are going through our character Tommo’s mind as he cradles
his watch to his ear, listening to the comforting sound of the ticking. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The watch is
a gift from his beloved brother and Tommo keeps checking to see if the
watch is still working. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Time is
still ticking along. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And time is
clearly very much the essence for Tommo and a recurring theme in this
play. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In fact,
Tommo begins to reflect on times gone by – especially memories of childhood fun
with his brother Charlie and local friend Molly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We begin to
read between the lines and we realise that Tommo had a crush on Molly. We smile
when Tommo recalls the first time they all went skinny dipping and the first
time he glimpsed a female’s naked body. And then we realise, sooner than Tommo
did, that Molly and Charlie were in love with each other all along and poor ol’
Tommo was the go-between – acting as courier of love letters between the two. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tommo is
played by Odhran McNulty and for the entire 80 minutes of the play, Odhran has
no props and no fellow actors – yet he plays 22 characters, a wide range of
accents and numerous scenes. His skill and talent is hugely admirable. His many
accents brought a smile to my face and were a joy to watch. With no props
(except for a few small stools), his energy was unstoppable as he used every
inch of the stage and every permutation of movement to transform himself
through a myriad of scenes. It really was an impressive feat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I began to
notice that the same familiar trademark of Pintsized Productions was apparent
with this piece too – Nuala Donnelly’s precise direction – her ability to use
one actor, no props and yet vividly depict a number of scenes and characters is remarkable. And a vivid depiction it most certainly was. We quickly
forgot that there was only one man on a stage. We were immersed in the world of
Tommo. Does Molly realise that he’s actually in love with her? Will Molly and
Tommo be reunited?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We watch as
Charlie and Tommo get pushed into signing up for the war. We watch the
triumphant leader putting pressure on young men to act for their country. We
watch the old lady taunting Tommo and asking him if he’s too much of a ‘coward’.
We watch these scenes unfold and forget that there’s only one man playing all
of them – McNulty's ability to portray many characters allows us to immerse ourselves in the story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We learn
that Charlie and Molly name their baby after Tommo and it warms our hearts. We
hear how Molly longs for baby Tommo to meet his dad and uncle after the war and
we hope they will all be reunited. And we are catapulted into Tommo’s world
when he’s lying in the middle of the trenches, dodging death. We are
transported into that scene, seeing him crouching down next to his injured
brother, refusing to leave him. We’re behind him 100% when he disobeys orders –
orders that tell him to leave his brother behind. And we’re there with him
facing the consequences and feeling the injustice of his young years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Tonight, I want very much to believe
that there’s a heaven, that death is not a full stop, and that we will all see
one another again.” </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then the
lights go up, and we have tears in our eyes, and we’re transported back to the
present. This is just one man on a stage. But for 80 minutes, we were in Tommo’s
world, immersed in his life, immersed in the people that surrounded him,
immersed in his realisation that time is so very precious and tonight, more
than any other night, we should remember to feel alive. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/uWS4TiUGAiI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uWS4TiUGAiI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Private Peaceful was performed by Odhran McNulty and directed by Nuala Donnelly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Written by Michael Morpurgo and adapted by Simon Reade. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pintsized Productions website: </span></span><a href="http://www.pintsizedni.com/">Pintsized</a></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-85208147539833617722019-10-13T08:05:00.001-07:002019-10-13T08:05:09.741-07:00101001 - Homelessness Awareness <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I am
meeting up with friends to attend a walking theatrical tour. Today it is
raining. “Lashing it down” as my mother would say. Before I allow my thoughts
to drift down into self-pity about how the weather could spoil our day – I quickly
remind myself; this is a tour about homelessness. A glorious sunny day is not a
luxury the homeless can control – it is what it is.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Setting off
with headphones, a tour guide and umbrellas, the drama is narrated into our
ears as we walk along the familiar streets of Belfast. We pass the homeless
hostel, Cornmarket, Joys Entry, Queen's bridge – but unlike previous Three Theatre’s
productions, there are no actors lined along the way to match the words.
Unfortunately, actors are not needed. Instead there are real life characters
who are there, day in; day out. The man sitting on the bench with his bottle of
cider and black eye; his demeanour sad and empty. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There’s the
woman sitting next to the cash-link in Cornmarket, her placement very familiar to our narrator; he recalls a little girl
putting money in his cup – and her mother scurrying away, not even wanting to
make eye contact.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we
continue our walk, I notice that huge damp spots already line along the toes of
my boots. The narration reminds me that these streets are not just passages to
hurry through – from one message to another – these streets have become his
home – day in, day out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Knowing that
the narration has been compiled following interviews with three homeless people
– makes this piece all the more unforgettable. The fact that heroin was offered
to him four times in the first night of the hostel, the quick descent into drug
addiction, being kicked whilst trying to sleep in doorways, being offered money
for sexual favours from other men – the utter vulnerability and insecurity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But more
than that – the invisible cloak that seemed to surround him. People pretending that
he didn’t exist. People afraid to make eye contact. The intimacy of the
headphones made these images all the more striking. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is a
hard hitting piece that made me feel both sad and grateful in equal measures.
An unforgettable experience that deepened my view of the city streets. Those
alleyways are no longer the passages to the next part of the day – they are the
home of someone who may just need a look or a smile. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">~~~~~~</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">10100i is a walking tour of Belfast city produced by Three's Theatre Company at The MAC, Belfast, in conjunction with Simon Community and OutsideIn. It was written by Colm Doran and Gina Donnelly with voice-overs by Brendan Quinn and Adele Gribbon. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I attended on Sunday 13 October at 1.30pm </span></span></div>
<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-78064139679886656032019-04-06T02:57:00.001-07:002019-04-06T04:50:54.242-07:00The Painted Lady - by Rob Hollway<br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Who is the
Painted Lady? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Is it the
woman who is strewn across the stage the minute we arrive into the auditorium? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thirty
minutes before the play even starts, she is lying, face down, her short dress
exposing her bare legs. A pair of high heels tossed to one side hints at a
night of drunken chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But this isn’t
some stranger’s bed she has woken up on, she is lying in a field, in the midst
of thorny thistles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She awakes
from her stupor, confused and wondering how she got there. Her head is
thumping. She scrambles around in a panic looking for her bag, her phone, her
purse – are they there? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pxdolEwcECeaADpnUTXpPUaxjki7hvEhdrf-SOPgWgd3NZUou8KPQwzeSfCjoFF9o1BzTtp2Haf5BaqvSToYecVtqwoBy3a166VoadsBO9DzQ-oKUsUGG4NrENSiJeyjfvIhT8jqD0I/s1600/The+Painted+Lady+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="960" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pxdolEwcECeaADpnUTXpPUaxjki7hvEhdrf-SOPgWgd3NZUou8KPQwzeSfCjoFF9o1BzTtp2Haf5BaqvSToYecVtqwoBy3a166VoadsBO9DzQ-oKUsUGG4NrENSiJeyjfvIhT8jqD0I/s320/The+Painted+Lady+pic+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With relief,
she realises she does still have them – but not before she clutches her stomach
and heaves, throwing up into the grass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is the
subject that is tackled with such honesty in this play – the subject of
alcoholism and addiction. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Kimberley
not only has the dreaded hungover and no idea where she is, but has awoken to the face
of a none-too-happy Dan who wants her off his private property.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluxrbVzIZoGYoUmUBaMnIhWC2TsQrrviZJxgGx_MWW3yyYkaKrpAj8wa-yUccXGNX-KaAdmv6ALUegbGpKhTBae-EtgFi-OGKByuw6WuW6a50gGBQUdEgRfUexJxS7OMF1s5oon93opQ/s1600/the+Painted+lady+pic+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgluxrbVzIZoGYoUmUBaMnIhWC2TsQrrviZJxgGx_MWW3yyYkaKrpAj8wa-yUccXGNX-KaAdmv6ALUegbGpKhTBae-EtgFi-OGKByuw6WuW6a50gGBQUdEgRfUexJxS7OMF1s5oon93opQ/s320/the+Painted+lady+pic+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m
imagining that this is going to be some sort of romantic connection, but
actually it goes a lot deeper than that. Dan, a self-confessed hermit and the
hungover chaotic Kimberley seem to have been placed in each other’s paths for a
reason.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What
unravels throughout this 90 minute play (which seemed to zip by in no time) is
the gradual disclosure of each other’s secrets. Each of them have buried hurts;
each of them have hidden fears and slowly they begin to realise they have more
in common than once thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But a
tension and conflict keeps the play moving as these strangers are able to
confront each other in ways that perhaps a family member couldn’t. He
challenges her abusive relationship and she challenges his festering self-pity.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Whilst the
subject matter could seem heavy and a drudge, this play is anything but. It is
scattered with plenty of humour along the way, which had the audience laughing
aloud. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyjlUTnr2JyPbVBd4gMJl9dcLW1bWHcBw55tVj3lRk3Q6wJXb45HNTKTu3SBUAiL-ssYdcRX6jmm1zmFhQCtbw4ogFQhI2E-ud_inCrHtHteAbAWJDAUJeaSgRU15Vq3DUecbGQgCi0s/s1600/The+Painted+Lady+pic+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="960" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyjlUTnr2JyPbVBd4gMJl9dcLW1bWHcBw55tVj3lRk3Q6wJXb45HNTKTu3SBUAiL-ssYdcRX6jmm1zmFhQCtbw4ogFQhI2E-ud_inCrHtHteAbAWJDAUJeaSgRU15Vq3DUecbGQgCi0s/s320/The+Painted+Lady+pic+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The painted
lady – which is actually a reference to a butterfly, was captured so
beautifully in a scene that used lights and visual imagery to capture a magical
feeling. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There were
moments of poetic lyrical language, and there were also moments of heartfelt
emotion. When Dan described, in a raised voice, of his struggle with the
alcohol, it felt like he was really talking from the heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The final
scene left a tear in my eye as I realised that these two lost souls, who had
crossed each other paths for whatever reason – synchronicity or a guardian
angel – were finally opening up to each other in a way that could lead to
healing and contentment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx33vffBTtGK2kkwGh0S6itU3nSMXtq0DExznu1KadwtzcfhZKl8BbS-kgeqTQ7Nx5MLiJn61elQRrgsk3EBibnWt9hgsGega9wW-rc_ziCtUsGAkoD9Xboenc53_mm9LiUgOsbFk_i0s/s1600/the+painted+lady+pic+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="540" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx33vffBTtGK2kkwGh0S6itU3nSMXtq0DExznu1KadwtzcfhZKl8BbS-kgeqTQ7Nx5MLiJn61elQRrgsk3EBibnWt9hgsGega9wW-rc_ziCtUsGAkoD9Xboenc53_mm9LiUgOsbFk_i0s/s320/the+painted+lady+pic+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">~~~~~</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“The Painted
Lady” was written by Rob Hollway, p</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">erformed by Rob Hollway & Debra Hill and d</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">irected by Rachel Coffey. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was
performed in Accidental Theatre, Belfast on 4, 5 & 6 April 2019.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby8ejogt81XbOMdazYGPx0OLB4InHtZYJEFS2-e3PdW3jae07i133gpGfCOIVy01CvnaeH9Ij1aTF5v3fFLDBLcUc9ds1gj2BT8aPTjX1WuybRRpd529DrBkrT7ssjPVMcWYm1El5ql8/s1600/The+Painted+Lady+pic+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="960" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby8ejogt81XbOMdazYGPx0OLB4InHtZYJEFS2-e3PdW3jae07i133gpGfCOIVy01CvnaeH9Ij1aTF5v3fFLDBLcUc9ds1gj2BT8aPTjX1WuybRRpd529DrBkrT7ssjPVMcWYm1El5ql8/s320/The+Painted+Lady+pic+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-963390225984426962019-03-17T04:55:00.000-07:002019-03-17T04:56:36.122-07:00'Natural Disaster' by Roisin Gallagher <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J_-iDXgVUdCa1FI5jtOo60z4n8Rn8YSVkDaT1taBQPLp_sS5NscR036yvUHorXJ80ChMPLbtbMUkMJhnXkfCf6roMZdvulB4RrlmwJW_llOVmLzB4po_CZ7ksq-Fgcd4oArrfK7-MnI/s1600/1+tinderbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6J_-iDXgVUdCa1FI5jtOo60z4n8Rn8YSVkDaT1taBQPLp_sS5NscR036yvUHorXJ80ChMPLbtbMUkMJhnXkfCf6roMZdvulB4RrlmwJW_llOVmLzB4po_CZ7ksq-Fgcd4oArrfK7-MnI/s320/1+tinderbox.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We will all
experience grief at some point in our life. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That raw,
aching, sadness when someone we love so dearly is taken from us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In ‘Natural
Disaster’, Roisin Gallagher expresses so clearly that feeling of loss, without
using many words. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The set, her
father’s shed, is a symbol of her dying dad. It is wonky, lopsided, full of
holes and susceptible to storm damage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And the
storm comes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The storm,
symbolising his illness, is so howling, so terrifying; it’s like a scene from a
horror movie. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Roisin, on
her knees, writing in the soil, is trying to remember everything about her dad
before the storm takes the shed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWyTJjKwmSKoFg2LqXBIru62vxpv2Gmj8nOc9C1oZLmRVKam04IW6yGNlSvTIvwVZJ9JOvAMBTm3z_bs9GYN_FkOiXAW-jITjCJV_VUaVSHAbyuBSUIvn5_EFJUlGQa5xr4lo3Kzu3t4/s1600/2+tinderbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWyTJjKwmSKoFg2LqXBIru62vxpv2Gmj8nOc9C1oZLmRVKam04IW6yGNlSvTIvwVZJ9JOvAMBTm3z_bs9GYN_FkOiXAW-jITjCJV_VUaVSHAbyuBSUIvn5_EFJUlGQa5xr4lo3Kzu3t4/s200/2+tinderbox.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Descriptions
of how he looks are narrated over the loud speaker using sound effects that are
both hypnotic and eerie.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His coat,
his trousers, his hat – are hung on pegs, as though to represent that her dad
is still standing there with her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His welly
boots, a symbolic representation of his hard-working, sturdy stature, feature
throughout. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And mid-way,
a tiny welly boot is produced, an inkling that there is another character in
this story. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0_iMltnUFOIe4GE7M65ru0NqZT3ljuHVWNFDD8GslucnLpTQkOlbxu_SO9Fx54ZLrkkYEGOL4-7G38TXdsUov4Da8Dbf97IRjbnKVgj52X-ns9B8eiMkMtHmpOLecH2IO8SZr4tef8g/s1600/3+tinderbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0_iMltnUFOIe4GE7M65ru0NqZT3ljuHVWNFDD8GslucnLpTQkOlbxu_SO9Fx54ZLrkkYEGOL4-7G38TXdsUov4Da8Dbf97IRjbnKVgj52X-ns9B8eiMkMtHmpOLecH2IO8SZr4tef8g/s320/3+tinderbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The storm
progresses. The rain beats down heavily on the shed; the storm is battering her
father.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She rushes
around, trying to prevent the damage. She uses plant pots to try to catch the
leaking water. But the flood rises and rises and rises – until suddenly, she is
drowning. Drowning in her grief. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Using
physical theatre, fantastic sound effects and lighting, Gallagher depicts this
drowning scene to perfection. And in that murky darkness, I can feel her pain.
I can feel her despair. I know how horrendous she must have felt in her grief. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then, w</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e
hear a recording of her late father’s voice. I feel a tear spring to my eye and
roll down my cheek. Then more tears as we sit with Roisin and listen to those
recordings – those fragments of time spent with her father that she wanted to
document; for fear of forgetting.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKvubxCmjoYkxz-EIU09-FLn0fNnnkON_xLN-43TU4WUxab1WQxozzTPm75B-xWv4wgbl5udy4VEOQIMx8a3fg4DcXAVlWuWt5n5crwfSDeFV-RvxqvzNKi76l51pSajNF0F8WIQTgzs/s1600/1+tinderbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="639" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvKvubxCmjoYkxz-EIU09-FLn0fNnnkON_xLN-43TU4WUxab1WQxozzTPm75B-xWv4wgbl5udy4VEOQIMx8a3fg4DcXAVlWuWt5n5crwfSDeFV-RvxqvzNKi76l51pSajNF0F8WIQTgzs/s200/1+tinderbox.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We are led
to a memory of the funeral – her standing there; tray of sandwiches in each
hand, listening to the clichéd platitudes of those attending. ‘Great service,
at least he’s at peace, do you want an egg and onion sandwich, yes the flights
are very expensive at this time of the year’ – All those empty, meaningless
words when actually her face is saying ‘I’m grieving, I’m in agony, I don’t
care about fecking egg and onion sandwiches’.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She is ‘shocked’,
‘shocked’, ‘shocked’ – punctuated by gun-shot sounds and sharp body movements.
The sound, design and physicality of this piece allows Roisin to express her
grief in a way which words can’t. Perhaps that’s why there’s such a limited
script. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8AKJMIH59KXpG0_5RNF0m3LbYcVf7zahSUcaPNERNKLt7jcfi6kDiC1z2oqiKBLXn-rEU7veC92fzHBKWfvUEqK5z0uFTofhGhsH1VvsXcC6AknbKKNLN5EbOgAbcx0XV0fL7DMG1JY/s1600/4+tinderbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8AKJMIH59KXpG0_5RNF0m3LbYcVf7zahSUcaPNERNKLt7jcfi6kDiC1z2oqiKBLXn-rEU7veC92fzHBKWfvUEqK5z0uFTofhGhsH1VvsXcC6AknbKKNLN5EbOgAbcx0XV0fL7DMG1JY/s320/4+tinderbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The shed represents
her grief – sitting in it, lying in it, screaming in it, and then eventually
walking away.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The child’s
tiny welly boot makes a re-appearance – reminding us of the circle of life.
There’s a little one to look after. There are giggles; cuteness; a smile on her
face; a reason to put on her heels and try to walk on. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'Natural Disaster' by Roisin Gallagher was performed in The MAC, Belfast on 15 - 16 March 2019</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tinderbox Theatre Company </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Writer & performer - Roisin Gallagher </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Director - Patrick J O'Reilly </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Producer - Jen Shepherd </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Set & Lighting Designer - Ciaran Bagnall </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sound Designer - Isaac Gibson </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stage Manager - Seana Green </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Set Construction - Matthew Forsythe </span>Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-81087635707559232502019-02-25T08:32:00.000-08:002019-02-25T08:39:35.850-08:00'Wasted' by PintSized Productions <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAEVEfSWalSUOArGzLOZwAHmK9wuYNmehhQhsyphTLGSA35A5Kc4GzIqWpqUcCBDOBy_UcC4JssMxLk9-T8hHbhRMzO5lJFMZ6SxKY13E7N0puG8OVGLNCGTui3VmgnCg8P2-FmW-oIA/s1600/Wasted+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1159" data-original-width="1500" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAEVEfSWalSUOArGzLOZwAHmK9wuYNmehhQhsyphTLGSA35A5Kc4GzIqWpqUcCBDOBy_UcC4JssMxLk9-T8hHbhRMzO5lJFMZ6SxKY13E7N0puG8OVGLNCGTui3VmgnCg8P2-FmW-oIA/s320/Wasted+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am sitting in the American bar right beside the stage. An
audience sits drinking their Sunday afternoon pints about to watch ‘Wasted’. Two
actors are in front of me. Two chairs. Two spotlights. The music begins.
Immediately we are thrown into a nightclub scene. The two actors are drinking,
taking selfies, dancing. As the title suggests, they are wasted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is fast, vibrant, energetic. We move through scenes with
great speed – the bar, the taxi, the club. We even move from character to
character quickly – one minute we are watching two female best friends, next
the actors switch to two male friends. Thrown into the mix, the characters
change to a mother, a bouncer, a Policeman. All the actors have are two chairs and two spotlights. But with fascinating
direction and choreography, one hour of two actors and two chairs becomes so
much more.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0lg9o7htwCdcXHK0Z07JlXXHZXIRm6LgdqbP3cq7292px8dpg3fHFwuzGkZUHu8epLQ_-Ypq5PWnPwhhZsTegrEotMPD4HsZ8Dv87jrkyqrFUxE9J48NsTeZcTLL5XzQBUiNxYDdrXo/s1600/wasted+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="790" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0lg9o7htwCdcXHK0Z07JlXXHZXIRm6LgdqbP3cq7292px8dpg3fHFwuzGkZUHu8epLQ_-Ypq5PWnPwhhZsTegrEotMPD4HsZ8Dv87jrkyqrFUxE9J48NsTeZcTLL5XzQBUiNxYDdrXo/s320/wasted+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We have Emma and Kate, best mates on a night out. They bump
into Oli and Charlie, and the four progress from a few drinks in the bar, to
drinking games, to a taxi, to a club. There’s a scene where Emma falls and is
picked up by Oli. Oli examines her bloody foot, only to find that the blood is
actually spilled Strawberry Daiquiri. Shannon Wilkinson (Emma) portrays a
highly realistic drunken girl – even her facial gestures are down to a tee.
Then she manages to switch to the laddish Charlie, which she pulls off
effortlessly by the way she cranes her neck and she way she swaggers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thomas Martin on the other hand, who originally plays Oli,
immediately switches to best friend Kate, and we need no explanation. He can
act girlish, feminine and like a sympathetic girlie best friend. Then straight
away he can switch straight back into his male character who is being grilled
by his mother on what he got up to the night before.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How Nuala Donnelly pulled together this feat of choreography
and direction is beyond me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is fast,
tight, and non-stop. This play does not stand still. And yet for some reason,
you never lose grip of who is playing who and what scene we are on. The actors
pull it off perfectly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The scenes jump back and forward as we start to learn the
events of that wasted night. Emma lost her phone, her wallet, her keys and her
friend Kate. Oli is there is pick up the pieces. To literally carry her home
over his shoulder.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But then the following morning comes, and along with it, the
hangover. Emma’s dread as she awakens and feels rough. But worse than that, did
something happen last night? Was there sex? Does she even remember anything? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And this is where the main tension of the story lies. Did
Emma and Oli have sex? Emma was too drunk to remember. Did she even consent to
it? eg. Was it rape?</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmYQyngfYW-WBOP5_z2vP73i85ZGvCWYB2JuXN0y05ALhFmX3GdXqaeFalqDxpM5PUIdhd9U6zlxBJefJ-gpMdrETtUdOtbUqrPlp_J-aIQD5l6MDrnkSR72gwvCMpFyfG4C_cJV_OHo/s1600/Wasted+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmYQyngfYW-WBOP5_z2vP73i85ZGvCWYB2JuXN0y05ALhFmX3GdXqaeFalqDxpM5PUIdhd9U6zlxBJefJ-gpMdrETtUdOtbUqrPlp_J-aIQD5l6MDrnkSR72gwvCMpFyfG4C_cJV_OHo/s320/Wasted+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Therein lies a storyline which in some ways should feel like
a talk to young people, and yet it doesn’t come across like that. Interwoven
within the dramatic storyline are lessons to be learned. What would happen if
Emma reported Oli? What would the Police say? How would the interviews take
place? What are the consequences for this alcohol fuelled evening?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This play has everything – powerful, emotional scenes – when Emma
is crying to her friend and can’t remember anything. Comedy and
light-heartedness – the early evening, the selfies, the hanging off the bar
ordering drinks. Information and education – all young people should watch this
play and come away with lessons learned. And physical theatre – how can only
two chairs tell so many scenes? It’s because of the way the two actors bounce
off each other, move, twist, exchange roles and genders. It is clever, it has
perfect timing and it is entertaining. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHf89Zuvep-VlqbnkB_tahtpzLYsxxHlQuK2-hFdr9FmFvrtUoT-c2HzCK4zTVwjwEhJc76N05DLLL6F2NpDqvOujZt1z8gJ-hVOGObJchQUzFY0qazH2k72V5SHwVL0EKVZ9SAJpCPg/s1600/Wasted+5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="872" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHf89Zuvep-VlqbnkB_tahtpzLYsxxHlQuK2-hFdr9FmFvrtUoT-c2HzCK4zTVwjwEhJc76N05DLLL6F2NpDqvOujZt1z8gJ-hVOGObJchQUzFY0qazH2k72V5SHwVL0EKVZ9SAJpCPg/s320/Wasted+5.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What was also interesting about the writing of this play (written by Kat Woods) was
that my sympathies for the two main characters switched back and forth. I never
really knew what was going to happen or what the outcome would be for Oli.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The final scene left me with tears in my eyes. A hugely
powerful hard-hitting yet entertaining play. This is one I will not forget. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">~ 'Wasted' by <a href="http://www.pintsizedni.com/">Pintsized Productions</a> was performed in the American Bar, Belfast on Sunday 24 February 2019.</span></span></span></div>
Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-66939956544204742612019-02-25T07:22:00.000-08:002019-02-25T08:38:56.822-08:00Rambert 2: Mixed Bill - dance review <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUVomiVoXpWpkbQJa8Q228EBUF8CdME3_O_q2km-nL4cFkYgOtWnrJUW5E2v3MDNdSTZtmL651ABxgVaeGQIzo2PONHPUq-C-pd8kHRiRiSMVgvDUjX1VhP7V9IU0h_U2zL3BiU72ZUE/s1600/rambert+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1500" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUVomiVoXpWpkbQJa8Q228EBUF8CdME3_O_q2km-nL4cFkYgOtWnrJUW5E2v3MDNdSTZtmL651ABxgVaeGQIzo2PONHPUq-C-pd8kHRiRiSMVgvDUjX1VhP7V9IU0h_U2zL3BiU72ZUE/s320/rambert+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What happens when you want to review a dance piece but you
feel majorly unqualified to review it? The review below happens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I remember studying Rambert Dance Company as part of my
University degree which was more years ago than I care to admit (alright then,
24 years ago).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So when I saw that Rambert 2 was performing at the MAC, I
begged a friend to go with me, knowing in advance that I’d love it. Thankfully
she loves contemporary dance as much as me, so we drove to the MAC with high
expectations. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were informed that the show was split into 3 parts – the
first part, followed by a short 5 minute break; the second part, an interval,
and the third part finale. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First part opens. What I immediately observe is the youth of
these dancers. Rambert 2 is a new group of the world’s best dancers. I learned
that 800 auditions were whittled down to the 13 we have on the stage in front
of us. And 13 hugely young people they are. These kids must have been dancing
from the minute they left the womb, devoting every evening and weekend to
dance. Every movement is perfect, every contortion of their body is athletic;
these are young people who are hugely gifted in their field; it is a joy to
watch. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Coupled to this is the amazing music which is loud, dynamic,
vibrant and youthful. I almost feel like I’m down at the local Thompsons
watching kids who are so in tune with the music, I would almost blame it on
chemicals. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then there is one girl who stands out even more than the
others. A spotlight of white light shines down on her. I’m wondering if it’s to
represent her death and ascendance to heaven in the storyline. Next she dances
in the middle of a group of the others. The group have the same repetitive
movements but she dances and weaves inside and through them with all the skill
and rebellion of a unique loner. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As if the first part wasn’t so flipping amazing enough, it
just gets better with every stage of the production. By the third part, we are
watching insanely talented dancers who are on their actual tippy-toes for what
seems like ages – doing what seems like some sort of tribal dance. I am beyond
wondering what story the dance represents. Now I am simply mesmerised by these
hugely talented humans. How can the human body do so much? How do these
athletic vessels live their lives? They must be training morning, noon and
night. They must live and breathe dance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When watching this production, it suddenly doesn’t matter if
I’m not qualified enough to review it. It doesn’t matter if I’m not
interpreting the story in the way the choreographers planned. All that matters
is that the combination of the pulsating music and the movements of these
talented human bodies is so completely mesmerising that I could sit and watch
them for hours. It doesn’t matter what thoughts run through my head, or how therapeutic
I find this to watch. I’m sure that every single person in that audience had
different thoughts running through their head; their own interpretation and
their own enjoyment. All I know is that it bloody worked! All I know was that it
was amazing! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rambert 2: Mixed Bill - played at The MAC, Belfast on 22-23 February</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Check out a trailer for Mixed Bill <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9NCLT4e_SA&index=5&list=FLRpvW2X0I0jlhQ0-cV_hqig&t=0s">here</a></span></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-87056512993304349332019-01-19T11:16:00.000-08:002019-02-25T08:40:19.127-08:00Who's Looking at you? ~ by Colm G Doran <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GtROMWSXIfQ5suEU9nOsDP_H9erIUHdLKbF1v8vxIsupENJkRf0uYZMLiotb5VHP96B1RmeueWOsVJ1M2g7U_LQb5OYLgZix2oaeV9390wls26f7Humz_L-YRVLEln5c2Cd6ibAJPj4/s1600/colm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="480" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GtROMWSXIfQ5suEU9nOsDP_H9erIUHdLKbF1v8vxIsupENJkRf0uYZMLiotb5VHP96B1RmeueWOsVJ1M2g7U_LQb5OYLgZix2oaeV9390wls26f7Humz_L-YRVLEln5c2Cd6ibAJPj4/s320/colm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Having thoroughly enjoyed several productions directed by
Colm and one dance piece which he wrote the background script for, I was keen
to go and see his latest piece of writing.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Who’s Looking at You?” was performed in the Crush Bar at The
MAC, Belfast. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The same trademark headphones from previous shows “Three
Stories”, “Date Show” and “Date Show: After Dark” are being used, but this
time, just one colour of headphone, meaning that the audience would all be
listening to the same script throughout the production, rather than several
stories going on at once. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We are seated in the bar, headphones on, awaiting the
entrance from the actor(s). A bar maid
strolls by, pushing a bar trolley in front of her. I wonder if she is part of
the performance. (She isn’t!) Then a woman appears, glammed up in her little
black dress and red lipstick. Through my headphones, I can hear her thoughts.
Here is our actress. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She sits at a bar table. A bottle of wine is resting in a
wine cooler. Two empty glasses await the appearance of her and her date. We
hear a beeping noise. She checks her phone. In her head she’s reading out his
text. About the date, he can’t make it. His child is sick and vomiting, he will
have to take a rain check. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Disappointed, she looks around her uncomfortably. She had
already poured herself a glass of wine and now she is drinking alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Punters attending the MAC – possibly to see the ‘<i>Oliver!’</i> in the main auditorium, or to
dander around the art gallery, can’t help but look over at the woman drinking
alone in the Crush bar. Albeit, they are probably noticing the string of blue
headphone-wearing people watching her, but their curiosity adds to the
authenticity. She is self-conscious, she is drinking alone. Who is looking at
her? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I begin to realise that this performance will take the form
of listening to our actor’s inner-most thoughts. Having not been out of the
house for weeks, she decides to drink on. One glass, two glasses, three
glasses, four. Within the space of her drinking, we listen to her reminiscing
about the past, remembering childhood memories, recalling the moment she met
her husband. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My attention starts to move around the bar – noticing the
people coming and going, noticing the other people who are watching this piece
also, wondering if the wine inside the glass is real or watered down Ribena. I
begin to think how hard it must be to act this piece – when she can’t get up
and stride around – when all she has to work with is facial movements. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then something happens. Then the memories suddenly go to the
death of the husband – only 8 weeks prior. And furthermore, we hear of what the
husband was really like – abusive; one punch after the other. We are thrown
into a memory where she is lying on the carpet trying to count the patterns on the
carpet just to distract herself from the thump-thump-thump. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tears spring to my eyes. That is the strength of this
writing. That amidst the distraction of punters passing to and fro, despite the
fact the actress can only work with facial movements, the writing is so
powerful that it catapults us into another place which can stir so much
emotion. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And somehow, somehow there happens to be comedy in the midst
of this. The friend on the phone whose complaining about ‘the b*tch in the Jeep
behind her, up her backside’ and the text from the vomit guy promising to stand
downwind so she won’t experience the bad smell. And there are heart-warming
moments too – the smile on her face when she realises the new guy is outside
waiting for her; the possibility of new beginnings and moving on and potential
happiness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bravo to Colm Doran on another fabulous production. I look
forward to seeing more writing from this author! </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Who’s Looking At You? ~ </span></span></b><b><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Written by Colm G Doran</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Performed on Sat 19 January 2019 – 3.30pm in the Crush Bar, The MAC<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Presented by Prime Cut Productions as part of the ‘Revealed’ series</span></span></b></div>
<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-75844836181439325812018-11-23T03:02:00.001-08:002018-11-23T08:04:43.737-08:00"Three Stories" by Three's Theatre Company - The MAC, Belfast <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixj0NFLVU7UvvSSqr9pe5ZZejdzDl04ilQ6m3YynwvME9wPYj2O3U4IzXKYZQilN-cdpgsG0PSiNa9CYWuJimJ8aNXVmAd7DVkTY83hYpApnJlpTHYndNYjk23M7QXMC0DOKTlMhszT7I/s1600/dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="768" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixj0NFLVU7UvvSSqr9pe5ZZejdzDl04ilQ6m3YynwvME9wPYj2O3U4IzXKYZQilN-cdpgsG0PSiNa9CYWuJimJ8aNXVmAd7DVkTY83hYpApnJlpTHYndNYjk23M7QXMC0DOKTlMhszT7I/s320/dance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Three’s Theatre Company has returned with yet another cracker of a show. They are quickly establishing themselves as producers of reliably innovative, experimental and entertaining theatre.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">“Three Stories” </span>has some similarities to their previous
shows I have watched <i><span style="color: red;">Date Show</span></i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: red;">Date Show: After Dark. </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The silent headphones have returned – the different colour of headphones – red, blue or green, indicating which story the audience member
will listen to. This has become the trademark distinction of Three’s Theatre
Company. That with each production you attend, there will be three different
stories going on at once, so no one audience member will have the same
experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrcHn11PK7Wb-dIHPtacPqGhH1cAdfX9mpaz6nD8Wn5gKyUhCkcG34-W0_53jo8Zj9TliMxj2RTRhShd6P8AY9ABvlzefT2pVKU1IxQJQDKxBPiBJJrmYN5nGQkpCdf-Yswg4kSqW42A/s1600/three+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrcHn11PK7Wb-dIHPtacPqGhH1cAdfX9mpaz6nD8Wn5gKyUhCkcG34-W0_53jo8Zj9TliMxj2RTRhShd6P8AY9ABvlzefT2pVKU1IxQJQDKxBPiBJJrmYN5nGQkpCdf-Yswg4kSqW42A/s1600/three+1.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But as with the previous productions, where audience members
were walking around on a site specific tour (The Bullitt/ The MAC), with <span style="color: blue;">“Three Stories” </span>we were all in the same room in the MAC watching the same dance piece. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One large triangle in the middle of the floor indicated the
dancers’ space. On one edge, was the blue-headphone wearing audience, the other
– the red, and the other – the green. Meaning that each of the three colours
was watching the performance from a different angle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The dancers had choreographed this show in just 3 days.
Their dancing was mesmerising. Strong, beautiful, energetic, fast, slow,
beautiful, sad, happy. It was full of energy, emotion and vivacity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">3 writers were asked to watch this performance and put their
own words to the dance. I was fortunate to listen to <span style="color: #38761d;"><b>“Connections”</b></span> by Colm
Doran. There was something very intimate about sitting in this space,
cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, in a totally black space save for one
spotlight, watching these beautiful dancers and hearing the words of Colm Doran’s
writing in my headphones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdTIk0-QsOeFOaSDTVDUl0x7Kj9BdvoALBMVM-IrrdQ0rdSgLbMKL_c42frE1ic-vMaPY2-OomGk09gqGtAdoMHmsSgZKlaFOaDEkyT9K4sTMLimGyhwUglnuDlrUguMJszqVqJsu6Zy8/s1600/three.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdTIk0-QsOeFOaSDTVDUl0x7Kj9BdvoALBMVM-IrrdQ0rdSgLbMKL_c42frE1ic-vMaPY2-OomGk09gqGtAdoMHmsSgZKlaFOaDEkyT9K4sTMLimGyhwUglnuDlrUguMJszqVqJsu6Zy8/s320/three.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I marvelled at how he interpreted the dance, how he was able
to conjure up stories immediately. How he could see the young children playing,
or the lovers parting, or the sadness and loneliness. He spoke of the young
child learning to walk, then moved through the stages of growing older, trying
to become successful in the world. He talked of trying too hard and having too much
ambition. He talked of remembering times of being lost and never wanting to
forget it. All these beautiful observations he made and more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This performance felt like a soothing balm. It was peaceful,
comforting, fascinating and mesmerising. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yet again another wonderful performance from Three’s Theatre
Company. I look forward to their next production! </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0iNOZWe07_GuLPLnvL6zvYnWSGq2yqjTBDOnM-MzBfaCosxNJY_ObZs0Rf9jO489OlqYGb6Y8IVzyUSZNQYGYNpn5vdxzuwpROJnC4lxzsQBUxW906t1TGwzqPo2Ue3cF1Shb39pcoQ/s1600/xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0iNOZWe07_GuLPLnvL6zvYnWSGq2yqjTBDOnM-MzBfaCosxNJY_ObZs0Rf9jO489OlqYGb6Y8IVzyUSZNQYGYNpn5vdxzuwpROJnC4lxzsQBUxW906t1TGwzqPo2Ue3cF1Shb39pcoQ/s320/xmas.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-55323172331806765522018-11-18T08:09:00.002-08:002018-11-18T08:09:31.096-08:00Having a GYST day (Getting Your Sh*t together) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi804o9IIraqtYKLbF9U7UEN2VvJt5FQ2H8ePMNl0zHaYrQkUcTroynRi57RkvjfyFZFosr_091yQc13LdXLplLaJef2UFjK_E9mgzTCqpbRu3hM9bCDFrB4MnNe1zUzAZOvWsi6MVy3eI/s1600/sofa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="450" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi804o9IIraqtYKLbF9U7UEN2VvJt5FQ2H8ePMNl0zHaYrQkUcTroynRi57RkvjfyFZFosr_091yQc13LdXLplLaJef2UFjK_E9mgzTCqpbRu3hM9bCDFrB4MnNe1zUzAZOvWsi6MVy3eI/s320/sofa.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the
manic week that was: 20,000 words – aka one quarter of a novel, I had to make a
few changes. I was </span><u style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">knackered</u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> – not physically, but mentally. And because
I went straight back to work on the Monday, there was no time to surf the sofa
and draw breath.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Added to
this fact, work was also full-on. There is no-one to cover me when I’m off, so
all that happens when I return from a week of annual leave, is that I have a
week of work to catch up on. I was <u>exhausted. <o:p></o:p></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I usually
set aside Saturday and Sundays for writing but I knew for a fact I couldn’t go
straight into writing on Saturday. My mind was still reeling from the previous
two hectic weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That’s when
I decided a<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> GYST</b> day was in order.
That’s short for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.
<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEdTy3I41_S0RCoyyV1-jL3gD2kqt-vC85T6S0G7sAv9RIto57llM3aufy_BxE10KXIqT2rgTA2int6DQY00p69CzcXdIjU4TRcBrkeB18ky-1g6FeTDZtXkEwCBKe_ySDO646joLhew/s1600/GET+YOUR.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEdTy3I41_S0RCoyyV1-jL3gD2kqt-vC85T6S0G7sAv9RIto57llM3aufy_BxE10KXIqT2rgTA2int6DQY00p69CzcXdIjU4TRcBrkeB18ky-1g6FeTDZtXkEwCBKe_ySDO646joLhew/s1600/GET+YOUR.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s a day
when you tidy up all the loose ends that are leftover. All the small jobs that
you have neglected for weeks because you’ve been so busy. All the little tasks
that jump into your head and nag at you to do and you’ve had to keep putting
them off. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m talking about things like:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Order
some groceries in</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Take
a stock of your money situation</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Hoover</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Chuck
out those clothes to the charity shop</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Order
a new set of headphones to replace the dodgy ones</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-indent: -18pt;">- Get
on top of the laundry</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All boring
jobs but jobs which, when completed, will clear your head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How on earth
can you sit down to write when your mind is swirling with all the odd-jobs that
need done? How can you concentrate on the characters and listen to what they’re
up to when your head is full and chaotic?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH8DUIsjgwFgt9hJuiNvdY-lOgqlJOSSRPQPJ5tH3BshWwBx79qB9sw6TI-wzpO40Y4FPOv2rDLjTeckEwCSz0s9W6QXx32l4xmrlSWYNJT91wGbnRkRclmoscImOpPfBCl74bb_mKDs/s1600/CHAOTIC+HEAD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="723" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH8DUIsjgwFgt9hJuiNvdY-lOgqlJOSSRPQPJ5tH3BshWwBx79qB9sw6TI-wzpO40Y4FPOv2rDLjTeckEwCSz0s9W6QXx32l4xmrlSWYNJT91wGbnRkRclmoscImOpPfBCl74bb_mKDs/s320/CHAOTIC+HEAD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, Saturday
was allocated as a</span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> GYST</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> day. This
meant I didn’t have the </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">GUILTS</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> about not sitting down to write. But I did use
the day productively.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I had
the place cleaned, food ordered in, things prepared for the week ahead, I was
able to soak in the tub and then relax in a nice clean home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It meant
that today, when I sat down to look at my writing, my head felt calm and free
from any distractions. I was able to spend some time on plotting, looking back
at the 20,000 words I’d just written and projecting ahead as to where I can go
from here. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSgRT8VY_JnBTi3kbTf27jyh0UxwhuOchfbdWZ4EKBGLQqDWjrKjT4MMI4ikir1c9C2xFU5NZw4geklE2lAaXrKs8vNVAOhBgbNxfV9Tr6ckYBHSCixnPBvzY0HODZ19083sFuzAwBwk/s1600/ARTISTS+WAY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1311" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSgRT8VY_JnBTi3kbTf27jyh0UxwhuOchfbdWZ4EKBGLQqDWjrKjT4MMI4ikir1c9C2xFU5NZw4geklE2lAaXrKs8vNVAOhBgbNxfV9Tr6ckYBHSCixnPBvzY0HODZ19083sFuzAwBwk/s320/ARTISTS+WAY.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In her book “The
Artists Way ~ a course in discovering and recovering your creative self” Julia
Cameron refers to this GYST idea as an unblocking tool (although she does not
use the exact acronym – but the idea behind it is the same). </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She gives the
following unblocking tasks to do: </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- <i>Clearing: Throw out or
give away 5 ratty pieces of clothing</i></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Any new changes
in your home environment? Make some.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- </span></span></i><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mend any mending.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Repot any pinched and
languishing plants.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Create one wonderful
smell in your house – with soup, incense, candles, whatever.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I like to
think that the <b>GYST </b>day reminds me of the phrase ~ <b>“Out with the old and in
with the new”. </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPrGKlmFERWs3d6MCq4tAeL0mmJYkgs1xmSLEfyEpDxpGu0qBCsa5rGkAXQAyKNPQR6ILo0eboyT3bWtuYjwmMHNNixLcXhnOdZDJUFmPXTud1rwfWkpNei6yTuQ5NTAYYYjAEyZqdhY/s1600/OUT+THE+OLD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="400" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPrGKlmFERWs3d6MCq4tAeL0mmJYkgs1xmSLEfyEpDxpGu0qBCsa5rGkAXQAyKNPQR6ILo0eboyT3bWtuYjwmMHNNixLcXhnOdZDJUFmPXTud1rwfWkpNei6yTuQ5NTAYYYjAEyZqdhY/s320/OUT+THE+OLD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ie. Once you
have a good clear-out day (GYST day), you are ready to listen for new ideas
coming in to your writing and onto the page.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-68348420377081677242018-11-16T06:59:00.000-08:002018-11-16T06:59:38.507-08:00What I learned from my 20,000 word challenge <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week I
set myself a challenge of writing 20,000 words in one week. That’s roughly a
quarter of a novel. Here are some of the ups and downs of that journey, plus
any notes I have learned from doing it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="line-height: 107%;">Why</span></u></b><u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><b> I set myself the challenge </b><o:p></o:p></span></u></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had
already started to write my fourth book and had about 10,000 words down so far.
I had spent a lot of time on plot and had separated my novel into four parts. I
happened to have a lot of annual leave to take, so I decided to book a week off.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I figured
that if I could write 2,500 each morning and then relax for the rest of the
day, then it would be a mix of using my time productively and getting a bit of
chill out time too. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The challenges I faced </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
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<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Full of
energy and bravado on the second day, I decided to post a photo of my
whiteboard and show Facebook and Instagram how I was getting on with my
challenge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlxqVzLWF5NDeH-W0cHwEtF7EXcB_8ILXVKQRD8xwAUYw24Kgl3_1nGSIC_sUbhmgYPeeh9yNitJzm06anvbgh0MKmri-7J5ONmhrM_cH8hmh5Rh33xQYXISxw49vOdAYns1e4S6YOMs/s1600/words+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlxqVzLWF5NDeH-W0cHwEtF7EXcB_8ILXVKQRD8xwAUYw24Kgl3_1nGSIC_sUbhmgYPeeh9yNitJzm06anvbgh0MKmri-7J5ONmhrM_cH8hmh5Rh33xQYXISxw49vOdAYns1e4S6YOMs/s320/words+start.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was
kind of a mistake. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once I had
put the challenge ‘out there’ in the land of social media, it made me somehow
accountable. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course I
knew that no-one would follow me up on it and ask, ‘oye! Wrote those words yet?’
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">But I would know.</b> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the other
hand, the whiteboard thing was a good idea. I couldn’t believe the amount of
support and lovely comments I was getting each day (to the same bloody picture
of the same board with white laminate on it). And it did help to spur me on in the
end. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A manic
phase </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiYqN8uiU_4phnewUZsFpslZSANWXb7LUwRrzJ0UPV9SlgZDenfBkFeyCA2DISeSIgm2oHqIQYU8u88n-52J4opxxsZMZlxKboJjlcRlGlwdbnb_O5qHJVq2zdaBhNUoOZyZ5I9GHAnI/s1600/rapunzel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="450" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiYqN8uiU_4phnewUZsFpslZSANWXb7LUwRrzJ0UPV9SlgZDenfBkFeyCA2DISeSIgm2oHqIQYU8u88n-52J4opxxsZMZlxKboJjlcRlGlwdbnb_O5qHJVq2zdaBhNUoOZyZ5I9GHAnI/s320/rapunzel.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Initially, I
felt quite manic. I felt like I had loads of energy and this 2,500 word thing
was a doddle. I told myself that come on Rose, I’m sure there’s a hoard of
full-time authors out there, writing 2,500 words every day easy-peasy. I had
dreams of one day joining the full-time author elite, living in my ivory tower,
scribbling out pages and pages of words that tumble down like Rapunzel’s hair.
I mean, I know that full-time authors obviously work their socks off, but allow
me a fantasy here! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Then
things got busy</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not only was
I was writing 2,500 words each morning (which takes a couple of hours) but then
I was spending the afternoon plotting. I’d be making notes for tomorrow morning’s
chapter so that it wouldn’t be such a shock when I hit the blank page at 9am. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the
plotting, I’d catch up on social media and then in the evening, there would be
something of a social nature – dinner with a friend, going to see a dance
production, going to the cinema. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I began to
see how a full-time author could fill their time in rightly and I still love
the thought of it. Aside from the worry of ‘when’s the next pay cheque coming
in?’ I could quite easily settle into a routine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Nanowrimo</b></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></span></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG5ixmeK7UP5kJ8QPXtqR75dKxq8G1GAM_8YyHyOu4QlcTdtRrBZVPYiqZwthq1qTq5M0XvMJVKRierU0JlsnG2v76ypk6JLTkCZKiQBQxx7WygD0gaREci_9Jt54mVlXunud8OS0mAk/s1600/nanowrimo-508x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="508" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmG5ixmeK7UP5kJ8QPXtqR75dKxq8G1GAM_8YyHyOu4QlcTdtRrBZVPYiqZwthq1qTq5M0XvMJVKRierU0JlsnG2v76ypk6JLTkCZKiQBQxx7WygD0gaREci_9Jt54mVlXunud8OS0mAk/s320/nanowrimo-508x300.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></u></div>
<u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></u><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Through my
social media time, I also realised I had timed my 20,000 word challenge nicely
with Nanowrimo. All over Twitter, a ton of writers were working on the 50,000
word challenge for the month of November. It felt like a lovely comforting vibe
that we were all in this together. (Except of course now, I have bowed out and
they are all still writing). </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPvHFEv3pZej6w3LKBZraWaC2FGK6-wYMGoa2TbiQneI6OIfS3uwLtlT1lDgMLXNtTHWJ9BRMyHyl1MoE9VVzSEfe9ZN8letuzBnAEg8IstrW4mp9_HP7_Lox8Nk9D0ukz8mQN9zZDF4/s1600/sofa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPvHFEv3pZej6w3LKBZraWaC2FGK6-wYMGoa2TbiQneI6OIfS3uwLtlT1lDgMLXNtTHWJ9BRMyHyl1MoE9VVzSEfe9ZN8letuzBnAEg8IstrW4mp9_HP7_Lox8Nk9D0ukz8mQN9zZDF4/s320/sofa.jpg" width="296" /></a><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Hitting a
slump </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Towards the
end of my week, when I was around the 15,000 word stage, I hit a bit of slump.
I started to think about having to go back to work on Monday. I started to feel
like I needed a real, proper, rest. One where I could just lie on the sofa all
day and watch unnecessary crap on YouTube and order a massive Dominoes pizza. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But there
was the whit</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">eboard. The damn whiteboard staring back at me, whispering that there
was just another 2,500 in the morning, and another 2,500 the morning after
that, and then I’d be done. I told myself that after this I would take a break
for a while. That I’d step away from the manuscript for a good week or so and
then come back to it with fresh eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Pressing
on</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-6XTr_m2jbLAGx07f2rt0esQZRMdVsTZI5wmyiNs2Y0aMzqqtaTfZeTXGV9roinX_0ypgN410IiYHrW_MsC53ZipLjN0vaCsnYXK9E3tKbMlj-sGSyyD_e2SuXiZ6Ys0r5G2Mm4lUAc/s1600/20000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-6XTr_m2jbLAGx07f2rt0esQZRMdVsTZI5wmyiNs2Y0aMzqqtaTfZeTXGV9roinX_0ypgN410IiYHrW_MsC53ZipLjN0vaCsnYXK9E3tKbMlj-sGSyyD_e2SuXiZ6Ys0r5G2Mm4lUAc/s320/20000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So hey ho! I
pressed on, and by jiminy, I did it! I shared my news on Facebook and everyone
was delighted for me. I took a lovely stroll around the park and enjoyed the
fresh autumnal day. And later I sent all the chapters for my sister, who likes
to read them for me and make any proof-reading notes that jump out at her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even though
I was really pleased at myself for completing the challenge, even though I was
glad to get all those words down in one go, would I do it again? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m not
sure. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, there
is a positive in gaining momentum. I did get really into the story and I did
feel like I got to know my characters really well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YYdST-AOw8PtMC0jqQBXyxS-S-uGOF4V3QBYGM4kUIiBypsfJuPj6GU6yHm2giM9LpmvjuRJMAbKdTk9bs_NMKeY0-SZlatGFIRjoq_4RW2UHG3FH3zpSWJxXq6eyc_8l_1h2uVeB34/s1600/park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YYdST-AOw8PtMC0jqQBXyxS-S-uGOF4V3QBYGM4kUIiBypsfJuPj6GU6yHm2giM9LpmvjuRJMAbKdTk9bs_NMKeY0-SZlatGFIRjoq_4RW2UHG3FH3zpSWJxXq6eyc_8l_1h2uVeB34/s320/park.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am pleased
with where this story is going and I am excited about writing in a different
genre of psychological thriller instead of chick-lit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">BUT I don’t
think it helped my mental health a lot. I would be quite prone to depression
and looking back, I’m not sure it was such a good idea to pile so much pressure
on myself. I knew at the time that I felt too manic, and I knew that
eventually, what goes up, has to come down. I almost buckled myself in, waiting
for the downer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And it came.</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the initial
euphoria of reaching my goal, then came the mild irritation. The queue at the
shop that was too long. The way that only one staff member was dealing with
about 12 of us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then the
return to work. When you take a week of holiday, all that happens is that when
you return, you have one whole week’s worth of work to catch up on. And of
course, because of my challenge, my batteries were already low. I had no extra
energy to draw upon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjED5cM33IB6gV_41B7prig2ZwMfrgfdCxY6JjPVTS4tF4eQyl7xUSWRZcALPQFJ5kbB85vnZR_9y51vVhR5R-ucR2SxEz0Xz62Wsf8f88olHYqSW5U1TanaZMENjVOJI1x86sNjRKV-QI/s1600/dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjED5cM33IB6gV_41B7prig2ZwMfrgfdCxY6JjPVTS4tF4eQyl7xUSWRZcALPQFJ5kbB85vnZR_9y51vVhR5R-ucR2SxEz0Xz62Wsf8f88olHYqSW5U1TanaZMENjVOJI1x86sNjRKV-QI/s320/dreams.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This week I
could feel myself getting down, tired and irritable. All signs that my body is
scolding me for not looking after my mental health. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe next
time I would set myself smaller goals. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And maybe
one day I’ll actually get to write full time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because is
my fantasy still there, of the Ivory Tower and the words tumbling down each
day? Hell, yeah! </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-68378090929193603712018-11-15T03:48:00.000-08:002018-11-15T03:48:42.301-08:00Beware the Negative Nancy's! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0_afwvABIn2EXE8G5f7Bxva31HgfSsT3wLIlMBnqAMKGq0SC_rdmg3w3DuGw_0Dupps5l4YorYnAKsBdM5eAz4MhtTBfZjaX-9XH2duTESWyU3SWfHh3KSUZke_vSWSxYVgTt1rf3tI/s1600/negative+nancy+long.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1339" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0_afwvABIn2EXE8G5f7Bxva31HgfSsT3wLIlMBnqAMKGq0SC_rdmg3w3DuGw_0Dupps5l4YorYnAKsBdM5eAz4MhtTBfZjaX-9XH2duTESWyU3SWfHh3KSUZke_vSWSxYVgTt1rf3tI/s320/negative+nancy+long.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just the
other day, someone asked me “How’s the writing going?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Me, thinking
that he was genuinely interested, proceeded to tell him how I was getting on
with book #4 and what my plans were to publish it when complete. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The ‘someone’
(let’s call him ‘Negative Nancy’ from here on) then proceeded to swamp me in a
load of negative ‘advice’. He said how unrealistic my plans were, how difficult
it is to achieve what I wanted to achieve and how that it was highly unlikely
that I would reach my goal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilc87UqUX_rBHLQtqfzrq4IqRm3B5017LwbTw0aVexb-DOcRR-WU_JNqAJYd9GuWT0iVVaGDc7J1NfeHCycn50a1vc54tfT1a64f6iDMVb3WKtShCxrXtdGqDeaJ26mAl9ifQg9htMG6k/s1600/negative+nancy+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilc87UqUX_rBHLQtqfzrq4IqRm3B5017LwbTw0aVexb-DOcRR-WU_JNqAJYd9GuWT0iVVaGDc7J1NfeHCycn50a1vc54tfT1a64f6iDMVb3WKtShCxrXtdGqDeaJ26mAl9ifQg9htMG6k/s1600/negative+nancy+3.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Flummoxed, I
was too shocked to respond to his negativity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I began to
wonder why exactly he had asked me how the writing was going.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Was he
genuinely interested in what my plans were? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why was he
picking up the first opportunity to try to swamp my dreams with his negativity?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why ask?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have yet
to understand what the reasoning is behind this. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe people
feel the need to protect you from potential disappointment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe people
feel the need to warn you in case you get your hopes too high. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe some
people have just no idea about visualisation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-gYlT6VxbCkLh4BaUjxFZdyt6epCw8-Ettom5RPR4JovvCi1l8IbgB6KON18naCATjbEkSpZdXHQpwo1CJvqVVV0IstfGND4Ir2exWwS2aatC0SepqNubIxUc0XLsN5oNWhMDVHVuoM/s1600/Negative-Nancy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="565" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-gYlT6VxbCkLh4BaUjxFZdyt6epCw8-Ettom5RPR4JovvCi1l8IbgB6KON18naCATjbEkSpZdXHQpwo1CJvqVVV0IstfGND4Ir2exWwS2aatC0SepqNubIxUc0XLsN5oNWhMDVHVuoM/s320/Negative-Nancy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you are
going to spend the time to sit down and write a novel of approx. 80,000 words
in length, you NEED to believe that it is going to succeed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You HAVE to
believe that it is going to be the best book you’ve ever written, that it will
get the publisher that it deserves and that it will sell well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">YOU HAVE TO
DREAM BIG otherwise you won’t have the mental capacity to sit down and write
the damn thing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">STAY AWAY
FROM NEGATIVE NANCY’S. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Negative
Nancy’s do not have the mental capacity to dream big.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They are
constantly living in fear, looking over their shoulder, wondering when it will
all go wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And Negative
Nancy’s want to drag you down in the ditch with them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">RISE ABOVE
THEM. Ignore the negativity and DREAM BIG. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You NEED to
dream big to give you the mental capacity to put the work in! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-53800553012701462872018-11-01T05:40:00.001-07:002018-11-01T05:49:36.814-07:00Theatre script - "Home~Work"<br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">A friend reminded me about this short play that was put on in the Black Box a couple of years ago. It was fun to read back through it and remember how the actors breathed life into it on the stage. I thought I'd post the script here so do feel free to have a nosy :) It's about a woman, who works from home, noticing another woman who lives across the road. The other woman also works from home. But it seems her work is slightly more interesting than hers, given the number of males coming and going from her house every day...</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Home ~ Work<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">By Rose McClelland<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Part
One – The Neighbour<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Monologue
- to be performed by an actress aged 25-40)<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Twenty minutes. I watched
them that afternoon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Beer belly man left, a smile on his face and a spring in
his step. And five minutes later, another guy turned up. Five minutes! I began
to wonder did she not give herself time for a quick shower, or a quick change
of her knickers for that matter. No, five minutes later client number two
arrived. He wasn’t bad looking to be fair. A bit of rough and ready if you like
that kind of thing. (I like that kind of thing). A builder-type. In his
thirties. He arrived in a white van. It even had the name and phone number of
the company sprawled across the van. ‘No job too hard’, the van bragged.
(Quite). ‘Busty Boilers’. (Top anonymity here). I was half-tempted to open the
door and call “Yoo-hoo! Over here!’ He would look around and I’d be all jokey
and flirt and say, “Want it for free over here mister?” but then I thought
about it and I thought, I’m in my pyjamas and I’ve no make-up on. Probably not
the best look. I also thought – say he’s paying her fifty quid for a quick 20
minutes, I’d need at least a meal and a glass of wine to warm me up. I would
even stretch to a boojums and a can of coke but it’d still take longer than
twenty minutes. And time was clearly of the essence for him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">While Mister Builder was in,
I did the dishes and tidied the kitchen. I couldn’t resist the pull of the
window though. The magnetic draw of the drama was too much. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sure enough, twenty minutes
later, Mister Builder bounced out, a spring in his step too. I began to wonder
about her services as a professional. Clearly she was very good at what she did
if the smile-o-meter was anything to go by. Twenty minutes for a shag and a smile.
You had to hand it to her. Last date I went on, it took him three hours to
build up the courage to kiss me and then when I discovered he kissed like a
frog on a heart attack, it felt like a terrible waste of an evening. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Oh! There’s client three! My
word. Tall. Slim. Nice clothes. Very fancy car. This guy was seriously a catch!
I began to feel a little jealous. Three times action in one lunch break
compared to my [….. pause as though counting…] in how many weeks. [Shrugs
shoulders]. Okay, months. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Very intrigued about tall
guy. What on earth was he doing paying for sex? Surely he could have anyone? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then again, I reasoned with
myself, say fifty quid for twenty minutes – end result – a shag. Probably tons
cheaper than dinner, wine, movie – repeat for at least three dates before she
feels it’s okay to have sex. It’s a maths game. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And if we’re still talking
maths, she’s had a total of five clients in one lunchtime. Say fifty quid a pop
– that’s £250 for one lunchtime’s work. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I think I’m in the wrong job.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I wanted to meet this ‘Lady
of the Night’. I wanted to find out ‘why’. Why did she end up in that job? What
lead her into it? Did she have a drug problem? Did she have childhood issues?
But of course how could I do that without being nosy? I couldn’t exactly say –
‘Oh, I live across the way from your house – I was just wondering if I could
borrow a cup of sugar – oh and by the way – what is it that makes you want to
work from home as a prostitute?’ Not a very polite opening gambit is it? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Hmm. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">However, I did think we had a
lot in common. She worked from home, I worked from home. Both of us slobbed
around in our pjs (except when she was in her dressing gown). Neither of us had
to deal with office politics. Or the commute in the rain. Or getting out of bed
before five to nine. So much in common. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But then my entertainment
ended. She moved out. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I saw her load all her stuff
into a van bit by bit. There was a man helping her. Builder type. I wonder did
she pay him in kind. They loaded up the van. She took one last look at her
apartment, and she got in her car and left. She looked a bit desolate; like a
bird being shoved out of the nest too quickly. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The cul-de-sac seemed very
quiet after she left. My friend joked that I should set up a new Lady of the
Night business. ‘After all, there’s a gap in the market now’, he laughed. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But then I decided my skanky
days of working from home in my pj’s are over. I think I’ll go back to office
work. I think I’ll get new high heels and fancy suits and doll myself up in
make-up. I think I’ll have a nice routine structure of 9-5. Plus, there’s
plenty of men to eye up in the coffee dock. Who knows, maybe one of them will
take me out for a quick boojums? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Part
Two – The Client <o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Monologue
- to be performed by an actor aged 35-50)<o:p></o:p></span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Twenty minutes. That was the
slot she allocated me. It was her special deal, she said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Twenty minutes for
fifty quid. I suppose she assumed I was one of her cheap-skate clients. The
builder types. With the Sun newspaper rolled under one arm and a can of Special
Brew in the other. But I wasn’t her typical client. Money isn’t an issue for
me. It’s time. I don’t need a three hour slot. I’m in a rush. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I get a six thirty flight
most mornings. Meetings from eight thirty onwards. Meetings as late as eight at
night. Client dinners. Head hits pillow. Then it’s up an’ at ‘em next day all
over again. I employ a lot of people. I generate a lot of tax. I’m not a waster
you know. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Okay, I’m being defensive, I
know. Look, it’s the biggest cliché in the book. Lonely hotel rooms. Stressful
hours. No time to socialise. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But really, don’t judge me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’ve no wife. No kids. No
girlfriend tucked away that I’m cheating on. I’m just a single guy. I’m not
hurting anyone. I’m just away from home a lot. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Yeah, I guess I’m lonely. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Some might say I’m a good
looking guy. Tall. Nice clothes. Nice car. I suppose I appear a ‘catch’. But
I’m never in the same place long enough. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’ve tried the online dating
thing. Do you know how hard it actually is to get a date off one of those
things? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">You send her a message. She
replies. You get a bit of banter going. And then she suddenly stops. Blocks
you. For whatever reason, I don’t know. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Or say you actually get to
the stage where you arrange a coffee date. You keep the banter going. You walk
on thin ice. You make sure you don’t say anything which she’ll misread or
suddenly block you for. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And then, just before the
coffee date, she suddenly cancels. Claims a sudden cold. Or a sudden important
meeting. Or the death of her pet hamster. Or just doesn’t bother contacting at
all. So you’re sat in a coffee shop, wasting valuable time. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The list goes on. Say she
does turn up. She’s two stone heavier than her picture. Or ten years older. Or
just the same, but less… sparkly. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Once in a while, a miracle
occurs. She turns up. She looks good. There’s good banter with her. But that’s
it – just a coffee. Do you know how many dates it takes to wine and dine a
woman into bed? And how much money? Too much. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy
to do it, if I was in the same town for long enough. But I’m not. One week it’s
Belfast. The next it’s Dublin. Then it’s London. Sometimes even New York at
times. What do I work at? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Er… client confidentiality
here?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD08FF9DvdSWzouHhiT7o6-y9GIJGN7gKmDqyLiNbofO7Yibmw-nEJqtJR6k8Hh7EVGxSZKvA4SL1BOYEGEPdBwR3UL_HMGFzrYINqc9M8a9jqvMWGd0lvWC19fShIcWQuqqgYcPAAafY/s1600/all+actors+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD08FF9DvdSWzouHhiT7o6-y9GIJGN7gKmDqyLiNbofO7Yibmw-nEJqtJR6k8Hh7EVGxSZKvA4SL1BOYEGEPdBwR3UL_HMGFzrYINqc9M8a9jqvMWGd0lvWC19fShIcWQuqqgYcPAAafY/s320/all+actors+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">So in Belfast I now see
Sasha.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">London; it’s Tanya.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Dublin; it’s Eva. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it
feels strange. Especially when they remind you that time’s up. That’s harsh. Do
you know how much pressure it puts on a guy to perform on time? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It’s a bit like the time I
went to a counsellor. Just when we were chatting great and I thought we were
getting on well, she looked at the clock and said, “Well that’s the time up for
today”. I was in the middle of a big confession. It felt like a slap in the
face. I never went back to her after that. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But I do go back to Sasha.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And Tanya. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And Eva. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I did ask Sasha once if she
wanted to be my ‘only one’. My courtesan – I think is what it’s called. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She laughed in my face. “Your
girlfriend, you mean?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Well no, I said. I explained
the terms. She’d come with me. Accompany me to each town. Be there on my down
time. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“That’s a girlfriend”, she
persisted. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Well if you want to call it
that”, I told her. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“And sit around all day
waiting for you? No thanks”. She said it with a smile to show me she was
joking. But I liked that about her. A bit of spark. She wasn’t afraid to argue
back. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m working on her. One of
these days she’ll succumb and be my one and only. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Part
Three – The Escort<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(Monologue
- to be performed by an actress aged 25-35)<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Twenty minutes, I told him.
It’s just fifty quid for twenty minutes. They always take the twenty minutes
option. Even if it’s one hour for one hundred, they’ll still take the twenty
minutes. Suits me grand. It’s easier to get them in and out again (pardon the
pun). If I can bunch three or four clients into one lunch time, then that’s me
done for the day and I can relax. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG527raJSQbiy5MWETQOZZ-6gt1V0Dow9nDOhn6yFqEtCxgyR8yNiP6j2PyqslMrM84B0I1S0w-_kiZU77A1Oy-ZYJJyAspnq37SnbkvRxbfg6u1R8F3_EhL1udnG26JgcZKpD2nafxag/s1600/part+3+escort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG527raJSQbiy5MWETQOZZ-6gt1V0Dow9nDOhn6yFqEtCxgyR8yNiP6j2PyqslMrM84B0I1S0w-_kiZU77A1Oy-ZYJJyAspnq37SnbkvRxbfg6u1R8F3_EhL1udnG26JgcZKpD2nafxag/s320/part+3+escort.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It’s like I’m in actress
mode, I tell myself. All actresses have to perform. My performance is just a
slightly different genre. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sometimes I take a drink to
relax myself. Or a tablet. But generally I depend on my acting skills to kick
in. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stage One – Meet and greet.
Big smile, pretend I’m delighted to see him (no matter what he looks like). <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stage Two – Initial set-up.
Get him comfortable, ask him what he’s looking for. This is my “pretend I’m a
physio” role – pretend he’s just here for a massage. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stage Three – the actual act.
This is the hardest part (oh dear, there I go with my puns again). But this is
the part that’s a blur. I’m on auto-pilot. My head is fuzzy. I’m thinking –
fifteen minutes top, then it’s over. I’m thinking money. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And then it’s over. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stage Four is easy – taking
the money – bye bye, do come again. (puns, how many?) And it’s done. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I only have to do four of
these a day and that’s two hundred pounds made. I only work two days a week.
Two days a week – lunchtimes only. It means I have a lot of time off. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Of course I don’t tell people
about my job. I’m only telling you because …. well, you’ve sussed me out. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And I know you’re judging me.
That’s okay. That’s why I don’t tell people. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Oh, I know what you think.
That I must be on drugs. Or have childhood issues. Or how I must be a
homewrecker. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DpUy-GL5pIcrJvDo6QXTRhzzTE1o_PXir32SMWAx2pheD4ctbx1cUkkLnjOqgwo2YpC0C1R0ZgKdYJRH3nJdn4ohk36CU-HnAxMUlHJx_C9AfPj5ZFi81hK06_jc4hJFULeCc5XMsMQ/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DpUy-GL5pIcrJvDo6QXTRhzzTE1o_PXir32SMWAx2pheD4ctbx1cUkkLnjOqgwo2YpC0C1R0ZgKdYJRH3nJdn4ohk36CU-HnAxMUlHJx_C9AfPj5ZFi81hK06_jc4hJFULeCc5XMsMQ/s320/8.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">You’re probably worried your
boyfriend is seeing me on the side. I’m sure he’s not. The guys that come to me
are the guys who can’t get it elsewhere. I like to see myself as a sort of ‘sex
worker’. I’m releasing tension. I’m preventing sexual assault. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But the truth is, I couldn’t
bear an office job. I’ve done it before. The long hours. The horrible commute.
The standing in the pouring rain waiting for a bus at seven in the morning. The
office politics. The bitchiness. The griping. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When I was too stressed in my
office job, the doctor told me I was depressed. Depressed/ Stressed – whatever.
He gave me pills and sent me on my way. I retreated home to my safe sanctuary.
The pills made me feel like I was sinking down through the carpet. A bit like
in Trainspotting. Maybe I do fit the druggie prostitute stereotype after-all. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Anyway, off sick, I hatched a
plan. I’ve had fuck buddies in the past. I know how it works. Home, quick shag,
they disappear. They might re-appear. Same cycle. I might as well get paid for
it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And the hours are fantastic.
The perks of the job. Roll out of bed by eleven a.m. Quick shower. No commute.
Finish work by two. Rest of the day to myself. Stress free. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Of course there are the
down-sides. Say I’m at a party and someone asks me what I do, I can’t say, “Oh,
I work from home as an escort!” Because they’d judge me. Like you might be
doing now. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">So I say I’m a legal
secretary. That shuts them up because it’s so bloody boring. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The other downside is that I
can’t have a boyfriend. Apart from the obvious – he’d be jealous of four men a
day trooping through his living room, I honestly wouldn’t have the energy to
have sex with him. It’d be like a busman’s holiday. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And then of course there’s
the future career prospects. I’ve no pension. The minute the wrinkles or
sagging appears, my career is over. And then when I do try to get a job in my
local Tesco’s, my CV is non-existent. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Don’t get me wrong – of
course I get jealous. When I scroll through Facebook and I see the perfect
lives and the husbands and the two point four children and the hidden sub-text
of security and pension and unconditional love – yeah, of course it looks nice.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But it’d be good if I could
get one of those courtesan jobs. One of my clients has suggested that recently
actually. He’s good looking too. Tall. I don’t have to do the blurring out
thing when I’m in stage three with him. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But I think he was joking. I
joked back with him. I said I’d cost him a fortune. Fly me to every town with
him? Wait for him all day and be available with he’s ready? Next he’ll be
wanting me to do his Tesco shop for him and bear his two point four children. I
was joking with him but of course, secretly I was delighted. Holding my breath
in fact. Perhaps if I put up enough of a chase, he’ll finally seal the deal. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In the meantime, I’ll just
keep slapping on the wrinkle cream and enjoying my daily lie-in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">(END)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 150%;">"Home~Work" was performed in the Black Box theatre, Belfast. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was directed by Colm Doran and performed by Vicky Blades, David Paulin and Mary Frances Loughran.</span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-66032558829908706552018-10-27T09:25:00.000-07:002018-10-27T09:25:52.887-07:00The Man Who Fell to Pieces - Tinderbox Theatre Company - Theatre review <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fK2ypCM8lSQi9Z98DqlOl1UZcAkHbEsN4XVhrqcwxNMdRbUku2ZYy-G8a2rhjzzWLEJa8AZeoS5hWXNC-1TgAI78W6ajJMjATTfFZ4ivPPX8di-c_1QfwIJJVkTUGGxhHKiMhwgdrG4/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fK2ypCM8lSQi9Z98DqlOl1UZcAkHbEsN4XVhrqcwxNMdRbUku2ZYy-G8a2rhjzzWLEJa8AZeoS5hWXNC-1TgAI78W6ajJMjATTfFZ4ivPPX8di-c_1QfwIJJVkTUGGxhHKiMhwgdrG4/s320/download.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Oh. My. God.
I have just returned from the theatre and I am a hot mess. I don’t think I’ve
ever been moved to tears as much as this whilst watching a play.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">‘The Man who
fell to pieces’ is a play about depression. It is emotional, touching, raw and
powerful. Somehow, it also manages to be funny. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4G425VYZBaq2V8r4CdN8hdBiaybUHhqpCUQVDyN3M4i_EdwSZ2nLw7AQnbtLnmg-2RDRO-jzbhLV6KThcFCi_AP2gxZbNzmMHrKfbZnYj0iO7AIWoIJbieCqpcVeqUnWN-GsWtyyghE/s1600/ManPieces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4G425VYZBaq2V8r4CdN8hdBiaybUHhqpCUQVDyN3M4i_EdwSZ2nLw7AQnbtLnmg-2RDRO-jzbhLV6KThcFCi_AP2gxZbNzmMHrKfbZnYj0iO7AIWoIJbieCqpcVeqUnWN-GsWtyyghE/s320/ManPieces.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We are only
ten minutes into the show and already the tears are running down my cheeks. It’s
the part when John, who is having difficulties communicating his feelings to
his fiancé Caroline, share a tender dance. I can feel the pain between them.
The music, beautifully composed by Katie Richardson, adds to the emotion,
making the atmosphere in the theatre palpable. I can see several audience
members hastily trying to wipe a tear from their eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I meanwhile,
am a hot mess. The tears are flowing effortlessly and I’m completely absorbed
in this wonderful play. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All four
actors are incredible, the music is beautiful and the set is clever. The
physical theatre, the dance and the words that this production uses to describe
depression are very cleverly put together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">And did I
mention the humour? How can the tears be tripping you one minute, and the next
you’re laughing out loud. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One in four
suffer from depression. Surely that means that almost everyone is affected by
it – if not directly themselves, than by a family member or loved one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Having
suffered from depression myself, maybe this is why this play resonates so
powerfully with me. Because how can you explain what’s going on in your head when
on the outside, you appear fine? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That’s why
the physical theatre and dance worked so well with this show. The framed pictures
of him collapsing represents his mind collapsing. The bag of bits on the
kitchen table a metaphor for his scattered mind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzOZG7F42jieVq-0LpVFHuAa6gthdZWApJGiCBLpk_rS2lZ5RK0qz555k1ektVWZMrSjJ0o6Jd6Mo8bUtrBv8mdcCcA2EYTjXTHmLPiVgF3OcKwdEsPBPQHij_2sDMWGx_ihteAk2a1U/s1600/Pieces-700x455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="700" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzOZG7F42jieVq-0LpVFHuAa6gthdZWApJGiCBLpk_rS2lZ5RK0qz555k1ektVWZMrSjJ0o6Jd6Mo8bUtrBv8mdcCcA2EYTjXTHmLPiVgF3OcKwdEsPBPQHij_2sDMWGx_ihteAk2a1U/s320/Pieces-700x455.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But let’s
not forget that humour, the typists in the telesales office, with their pretend
typing and their ridiculous masks. The overbearing boss with his head inside an
expanding picture-frame. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we’re
hearing about the writer, how he walked those streets for miles, how he felt
like if he didn’t stop walking, he would surely jump, his courage and bravery
astounded me. The tears were back. How can someone use such incredible pain,
pain that we normally hush hush away, and create something so beautiful?
Something that will surely touch many people’s lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Afterwards,
when the lights had gone up, the atmosphere in the theatre was visible. It was
as if people couldn’t move, as if they needed to sit for a while and digest
what they had just seen. People sat on, people talked, people hugged. There was
a shared connection. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am truly privileged
to have watched this production. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I wonder if
this will return for a third time. I wonder if it will go on tour around UK and
Ireland. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I do hope
others get to experience this very special piece of theatre. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-18796550220577362702018-10-18T14:14:00.004-07:002018-10-18T14:51:41.996-07:00"Date Show After Dark" - Bullitt Hotel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQytIImdH-fQV3SMOWxGKXszEP4T8AHA4_YSpP7KcJ4vsCjXM2TC5epfvw9t4rRlziy32OGa5e-16-360m05FhKA9bSY9aeh1iznvsllsOtsXAZFO58-Oka__EuutpU6PbuvmfmvIHJU/s1600/date+show+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="1600" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzQytIImdH-fQV3SMOWxGKXszEP4T8AHA4_YSpP7KcJ4vsCjXM2TC5epfvw9t4rRlziy32OGa5e-16-360m05FhKA9bSY9aeh1iznvsllsOtsXAZFO58-Oka__EuutpU6PbuvmfmvIHJU/s320/date+show+4.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Do you ever sit in a bar or restaurant and idly watch a couple
sitting nearby? Do you find yourself wondering a little about their background?
Are they on a first date? Are they in a long-term relationship? Have they just
had an argument and now they’re struggling for something to talk about? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I do
it. All the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Are you a people-watcher like me? <s>Nosy</s>, I mean,
curious?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>‘Date Show After Dark’ </b>is the perfect performance for a people
watcher. Imagine you could sit near a couple, watch what’s going on, wear headphones,
and hear every single word they mutter into their discreet microphone?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You’d overhear the couple who are having an argument. The one
where the girl is jealous because the waitress is flirting with her date right
under her very nose. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You’d overhear the phone-call where one girl is talking about
her anxiety about her ever-more distant boyfriend. And then you’d even overhear
the distant boyfriend sinking a few beers with his best mate and saying what he
really thinks about said girlfriend. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And if all that wasn’t enough to whet your curiosity, then you’d
even follow a lady up in the lift to her bedroom and hear her thoughts as she
goes. You’d get to have a peek inside her hotel room as she fires clothes into
her suitcase. You’d make a mental note to yourself that the <b>Bullitt hotel </b>rooms
are absolutely gorgeous and you really must think up an excuse to book yourself
in there some night- preferably with some hot date? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then, as if it wasn’t going to get intimate enough, you’d then
go inside the bathroom where an actress (completely naked I might add), is showering
and preparing for a date. You’d hear her stream of consciousness as she
nervously gets ready. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No actually, it gets even more intimate, because then you’re
back in the bedroom and this time you’re watching a sexy scene unfold! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Just as the couple reach their heights, you’re back out in the
corridor and following a laundry guy. He’s one of the actors of course, but
meanwhile a ‘real’ customer is swiping her card and opening her hotel room,
watching you and the remaining headphone-wearing audience with curiosity and a
wry smile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You’re then in the bar, watching as a woman anxiously awaits a
date. She’s an actress too of course but out of the corner of your eye, you
spot a ‘real’ woman who actually is waiting for someone. Truth is wonderfully
blended with fiction.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The timing of this performance is perfection. How the director
has choreographed such a cast of characters, with three rotating audiences to
all come together at the end is beyond me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After the performance, my sister and I went for food at a
local eatery. I noticed a young woman nervously wave over at a guy. Her make-up
was perfection and her outfit spelled hours of planning. I could tell by their
awkward body language that this was a first date. Now, where was my headphones
and their microphones when I needed them? </span><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Date Show After Dark runs from 11-19 October 2018 at Bullitt Hotel, Belfast </span></div>
Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3917966165670773514.post-38896747536395740182018-02-01T05:26:00.002-08:002018-02-01T05:33:20.172-08:00Reasons to write a Crime Novel <h1 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Have you ever thought up a good crime plot and fancied getting it down on the page? I'm delighted to be joined today by author Val Penny who discusses the very subject - writing crime! Sit back and enjoy! :) </span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Reasons to
Write a Crime Novel<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People like crime, at least in novels! Often, I meet
dentists and bank managers with clever plot ideas, or nurses who read every
crime novel they can lay their hands on. If I visit a writing group, there are
always members keenly producing new murderous plots. Lawyers and convicts show
equal enthusiasm for this genre. For those who want to write a crime novel,
there are several reasons to want to do so. Here are a few of them.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Emotional Release</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Often, those who write crime novels find an emotional
release in their craft. Crime novelists deal with the dark things that people
usually push to the side of their minds in order to get on with every day life.
The cathartic attraction of writing can be decisive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Some crime authors tell of poor sleep patterns, punctured
by night-mares that are repaired when they start to write. Others panic,
constantly scanning doorways for signs of danger. The stiffening fear that
afflicts them resolves when they are busy writing crime.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The Story-Telling Urge </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sources for crime novels are many and varied. Ideas
can spring from the news and current affairs; memories from the past and
historical events or things that puzzle or fascinate the writer. Once an author
begins to exercise their creative muscles, they often find that they run into
stories demanding to be told. The stories demand to be told and will not stop
coming.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>For Companionship</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is often said that writers can be difficult people:
gloomy, competitive and quarrelsome. However, for the most part, I have found
crime writers to be an inclusive and convivial bunch. They are certainly
hard-working. The pressure of producing a book a year is intense, yet they
never seem to turn their backs on fun. If you have a chance to go to a
crime-writers' convention, do take it. They are exhausting, exhilarating and
irresistible.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>An Outlet for Aggression</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Most crime-writers will tell you that they are good
company because they channel all their belligerent thoughts into their stories,
so in real life, the authors are meek and mild. It is not always true, but I
can confirm that a crime novel is an excellent place to park your rage! The
prospect of giving vent to righteous anger in a safe form can be a particularly
pleasing device. When characters require to act in a violent way or commit
violence the reader is willing to witness this on the page but they would shy
from it in real life. Crime writers can let rip on the page in a way they avoid
doing in the real world.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The Thrill of Research</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I can personally confirm that the research you do for
crime novels and for academic purposes are equally satisfying. It is also
extremely diverse. It may involve visiting prisons, refuges, police stations or
drug dens. Police are often very willing to be of assistance to crime writers,
even if it is just to avoid being irritated when otherwise the writers would
get police procedures wrong. This information is most useful and helpful.
Indeed, when you are writing a novel, no information or experience is wasted! ~ </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Val Penny </b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hunter by name –
Hunter by nature: DI Hunter Wilson will not rest until Edinburgh is safe.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">DI Hunter Wilson knows there is a
new supply of cocaine flooding his city and he needs to find the source but his
attention is transferred to murder when a corpse is discovered in the grounds
of a golf course. Shortly after the post-mortem, Hunter witnesses a second
murder but that is not the end of the slaughter. With a young woman's life also
hanging in the balance, the last thing Hunter needs is a new man on his team:
the son of his nemesis, the former Chief Constable. Hunter's perseverance and
patience are put to the test time after time in this taught crime
thriller. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> ww<span style="color: navy;">w.authorvalpenny.com</span></span><br />
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Rose McClellandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14561361570641625053noreply@blogger.com0