Writers Are Never Alone...

If I can help you see that beautiful light within then my purpose has been exposed, find that light, and find your magic, because we all have it... 

MJ

Jumping off the stairs she lands on all fours and for a moment she resembles a monkey. In her crouched position she is paused... her mind is still, whilst her hair cascades across her face, but through the breaks, I see big grey, green eyes, and as her black lashes blink, robot like, she begins to stand.

It's been a while but another Character waits to enter The Loft... 

Leaning against the wall I relax into my folded arms.  I decide to wait for her to speak.  I'm usually the communicator, the one who draws them out of their shells, but I decide for this one I need to spend time observing, for future reference. 

There is something intriguing about her. The character seems familiar, but I'm sure I've never met her before. 

"May I speak?" She whispers,

"Of course"

"I'm lost, I don't know where I am" visibly, she shivers.

"This is The Loft, where people come to wait"

"Wait?" She queries

"Yes,  it's like a half way house, where you spend time before you're included into a writers world" and with that explanation out of the hat I smugly hug myself tighter, feeling secure that my explanation is enough. 

Silence... Confusion...

"Why would I come here to go into a story?  I don't understand,  I want to go home"

Flummoxed, I'm confused now...

"But you are home, anyone who lands here usually wants to stay,  although, I did once have a couple who decided to leave, however, it's highly unusual"

This will never do, I thought, sensing my own irritability...

"But I'm not a character to be placed into a book,  I'm me,  I just don't know where I came from, I feel so confused, but I know who I am, and I don't think I want to be inserted with words, in-between pages"

(Silence)

My mind works over-time, I'll have to let her work through this.

"My name's Mary, she offers, I'm a good person, I'm clever, I studied hard and have a degree in philosophy and English Literature. My life seems real hazy right now, and I feel fearful because my mind is overwhelmingly foggy about everything else"

"Its ok Mary, it'll all become clear, I promise... and being someone important in a writers mind isn't for everyone, sometimes it's something you'll grow into, sometimes it can be something you help your writer with, quite often writers need a helping hand to grow their characters, and that's where you'd be the perfect asset, I watch as her demeanour softens, you're going to love your new job, Mary, we can take it easy, and go at your pace, if it's not for you, then you can leave at any time, but usually, once here, you'll want to stay. The Loft is warm, inviting, interesting and that amazing degree you've worked hard for, it'll be helpful, because that means you're a communicator, and there are some characters in The Loft who definitely need help" with another warm smile, I wink in her direction. 

"I like to help, I love getting to know people and I especially like to understand others, hence my philosophy knowledge" she looks up towards the top of the winding stairs, where those double doors beckon to all of my clients, and the characters who nestle there know that at some point I'll need them. 

"Maybe I'll stop for a little while then, she looks at me and asks, what's your name?"

"It's Mary-Jane, but my friends call me MJ"

"Ah she cries, no wonder I've grown to like you, we share our first name"

"Why what's your second name" I ask,

And as I watch her face, I smile, knowing her realisation is but a word away... 

"My second name is, Jane" she splutters...

Sometimes you don't have to understand the way of the land, often times, acceptance is the key, but never think writers are lonely, because we're not...

MJ Ewen 

Aleta...

The Loft is a place in my mind where my characters begin, 

and stay until they have a job... 

 

Glamorous, pink and fluffy, with lots of ding-a-ma-bling, startled, black eyebrows, 

false lashes, and lashings of blood red lipstick. Yeah you got it... I may have a little problem here.

She came with the loudest noise. I heard her before I saw her, and then I began to wish she wasn’t here. That’s how I felt when I caught sight of my latest Character, who had recently joined us at 'The Loft' in my mind...  Talk about flamboyant, loud and brash. She looks like she belongs on a float in a carnival, and here she is, ordering everyone around, as if she owns the place.  I ask her to be respectful of others, but my goodness the look she gave sent shivers down my spine, however, it did render her speechless, and I’m guessing that doesn’t  happen often.

I introduce myself, and ask her name... her response makes me smile. 
“They call me Aleta, she shouts"
On seeing my quizzical expression, her animated eyes roll to the back of her head, but  she carry's on regardless...

“Aleta, Aleta, Aleta, but here’s the funny part, it means, Truthful... Mythological Goddess of Truth, but listen hunny-bunny, and you take it from me, I aint that” she huffs and chuffs... throws her head back, laughing like a crazed hyena. I thought, Oh my lord, what the heck am I going to do with this one?

Looking up to the double doors of the loft, I see a few characters smile peevishly, as they close the doors, quietly.. 

Oh no, they obviously don't want her in... I think I feel a tantrum coming.  

~MJ Ewen~

(A re-edit from 2014) Image from Pinterest 

I Write for Two Reasons...

Image from Pinterest

 

Not everyone writes for fame and fortune, although, if it happened, it would be all well and good... I write for me, and to try and perfect the craft. I do wish I'd started sooner, but it wasn't possible. I'm thoroughly enjoying the journey, and that's all that matters. 

Another day working on Chapter 8.  I'm finding this part in the story a little challenging, due to needing to know procedures for murder cases, and then there's a time constraint. But I'll get there. And hopefully, if its worth publishing, I'm sure I will have the right people around me for help, and support.

The buzz it gives me as I plod along is soul satisfying, it seems, this is what I was born to do... 

Take care in the Heat-Wave this weekend... Have fun! 

MJ 

Flames of Passion...

He had my name on him, so why did he choose her?

Isabelle is struggling with what she witnessed in the club last night, watching Alma and Shay together, isn't what she needed. This... she is quick to remind me, will end in tears. 

If ever there was a character who was persistent in my ear, its this one. Isabelle doesn't leave anything alone, she's like a dog with a bone, and pecks away at you. However, I cannot let her in right now, because I have to complete Chapter 7, and commence Chapter 8, with the investigation around the murder of Alma's father. If I'm honest, I think I could write a whole book on Isabelle, shes turned out to be an amazing character, with a lot to offer. 

Today the word count must be high, and if I see flames of passion rise from my finger tips as they fly over the keys, I will be one happy writer. 

I might add that right now I have company, Jiminy Cricket has joined me, and today he sits on my shoulder. It's always great to have someone who believes in you. 

Until next time... 

MJ Ewen 

 

The Narrator's Quote...

 

A light day today... I've been on puppy-duties, but managed to get some writing done when he had a nap. Frankie is a gorgeous little Cavashon, but right now hes a wee-bit high maintenance, he thinks the world revolves around him and wants lots of attention. 

He is rather cute though. 

I re-read Chapter 5, and it was when I heard the narrators voice quote this little gem, that I knew I had to use it in my daily poster, post. 

So lots of thought around Chapter 6 and its opening. Alice is the owner of that Chapter, and has a heck of a lot going on, so my opening is all about that and her thoughts. 

Whatever your week is doing, I hope it treats you well. 

Until next time... 

MJ

  

The Visitant...

 

Image from Pinterest

(A RE-Edit of a previous story) 

Its Saturday afternoon and I'm having a moment away from my WIP... I'm creating and re-editing a previous story... This week the word count on my WIP is healthy but I've had to write a scene that's taken me almost a week, because I didn't want to kill anyone off... but, it was necessary to the story. Writer-Journal...  

 

“I’m a real being, brought into this world by mistake.

Let me share a few secrets from a journey which smoldered, within two tortured souls… There was no once upon a time, no fairy-tale to look forward to. In reality, I didn’t have a home. The truth is that there was no belonging, no loyalty, no family support, just down and out substance abuse, and poverty.  

 A young couple, beaten by life, miserable, and seeking refuge, thought it would be a good idea to travel to Ireland, looking for support with their new baby girl. In a moment of madness, they use the last of their money to buy tickets to return to his much-loved Emerald Isle.

Hidden from sight, their tiny bundle is screwed up in a dirty blanket, and semi protected from the cold wind from the Irish sea. They make their way on an uncertain journey, towards their goal. Smoke billows above the young couple’s head as they share one cigarette after another, and when they start sharing alcohol too, their already confused minds decide that this is the perfect thing, and the only thing they can do.

The new father shoves his new-born infant further into his over sized, waterproof coat; he doesn’t want to lose his cargo, not when he’s made the right decision to protect his family. With a faraway look on his drunken face, mystically, he hears the panpipes of Celtic music, and remembers home.  Home is where they should be. His mother was a hard soul, but she would accept them, she had to.

Though the journey is long and arduous, it is nothing compared to the hysterical screams of abuse, which follow as he, his new wife, and tiny baby, are chased from his childhood home.

Wind and rain thrash madly about them, and equally matches the mood of his mother.

Breathing heavy, holding her hip, she chases them.

“You are not bloody welcome; things are hard enough here without another three mouths to feed” She screams.

In that heart-stopping moment, if you’d have held your breath and listened, you would have heard the distinct sound of fear in her voice. Tears, mixed with rain that day, exhausted and defeated, he suddenly remembered why he’d left home.

By the time they arrive back in England, the impact of the whole horrendous journey on their new-born baby, has taken its toll, and in a flash of inspiration, the father takes his sick infant to a convent. The nuns waste no time, the child is whisked away, and admitted to the children’s hospital. Unfortunately, she’s diagnosed with a list of difficulties, the most apparent one being, she is struggling to breathe... It takes eight months for her to recover, and in-between that time the couple still fail to find a home; they decide on another move... But first they have to wait for the baby to be released from her magic bubble, the only home she’s ever known. Shaking his box of matches through the glass, is the only way the young father gets his little girl to smile.

The second home, is a single room in a run-down Victorian house. Invasive damp, black mould, peeling wall-paper, cold, unsavory individuals, and their ever-increasing alcohol fueled violence. Then her brother is born, which put’s further stress on the young couple. Minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, all of which see a definite longing in the little girl to return to her magic bubble, it had been safe, quiet, and warm with smiley faces.

Her heart is sad... her brother cries a lot and causes friction between the couple. The mother doesn’t cope and the father is never there. The couple struggle, and always find something to fight about. Another baby sister is born and dies. The damp, cold, smelly room is depressing, and sad. This is their life, her life... so why didn’t they see that all she wants is a warm, safe place, with a soft clean bed, and parents who understand the basic requirements of how to love, provide, and protect. 

The story doesn’t finish there... because despite her young years she is often found sitting in the soulless Victorian room, which inevitably becomes someone else’s version of home. She knows, as if from a magical sense of a long-held memory, that this isn’t so. And then, God help them, another beautiful baby sister is born, and dies.

By the time she is seven years old, with many moves to different addresses, and the powers that be, take an interest, there’s a change, a big shift.

You would have expected the biggest damage to have been done to this little girl, because what she saw wasn’t right, but it didn’t, she grew and unbelievably developed, and somehow, she instinctually knew the right way. She had visualised her own coping mechanisms to the madness, and chaos around her, and she believes that’s what saved her, as well as the unknown entity that was always present, especially in times of great stress.  

Needles to say this couple didn’t hold on to their children, like so many they were taken away. And the little girl, earned the label, the little mother, the resilient one. Labels stay with you, and rightly or wrongly influence the rest of your life. The one thing I’m happy about, is that eventually I was saved. I experienced that warm bed, and having my basic needs met. The one thing I will always miss, is the love of a mother. But let me say, I have experienced being a good mother, having the love of a beautiful daughter, and gorgeous grandchildren.

Whatever you’ve been through… Don’t let it make you hard, bitter, and cynical. Thank God, when we grow up, we get to make our own lives. So be you, and don’t allow another to influence who or what you are, unless of course they are good people. 

Have a great weekend!  

 Jane