Time For Reflection...

It's hard to believe my last post was the middle of December. Thank you so much for your messages. There's been a lot on my mind. 

I've been thinking about being real, and in studying that I knew it was time to reflect... let things go that weren't serving me, and make a conscious effort to be real. I discovered I was spending much to much time on social media and not accomplishing anything, wasting precious time, which I could use to be doing other meaningful things. It's so easy to get into the habit of wasting time, and it's strange because I can hardly believe how liberated I feel, knowing I can now take time out to do the things I felt I didn't have time for. 

There is a list of things to do. I have a project on the go that requires more research, so now I will focus and be able to continue writing with gusto... Once I have a new excerpt I shall blog again, and hopefully connect with like-minded followers.  Lets face it, most of what happens on Social Media, isn't real... I think once we connect with another who is 100% authentic, and feel the same vibe, its important to stay in-touch. There are not many genuine individuals out there who feel as we do.  

Signing off with love... 

MJ Ewen 

Forgiveness...

 

I will tell my story about what you did... it will emerge from a learned soul and penetrate even the coldest of hearts... you will see how your behaviour affected the innocent. It's my hope that you will understand and learn.

If you don't, it's because you don't want to. 

They think there are no consequences, but they live and die under false illusions. I smile, I know different, there are always consequences and the passage of time will make no difference.

If you do it, live it, and know it's wrong, then you will bear those consequences.

So for now I will write my learning, I'll speak my truth, and share all I know so that the unforgivable, and all of our stories will mount, and your understanding will continue. 

Whatever process you acquire, to learn, and understand when seeking out knowledge, or however you set your skills, values, and attitude... it must begin with a good heart, and for those of you who make the mistake of saying, but... I had a hard childhood, it happened to me, then my friend, you are the least excused, because you know more than most how it feels to be in that deep, dark, desperate hole...

If you read this and know you are guilty, then think and move forward in a way to work on yourself.  There's no excuse. The amount of information, the signposting to a better way, is visible in our invisible world. 

To those of you who ignore it all, and to those who walk through life not challenging the behaviour of those who are guilty,  you, are just as bad if not worse by allowing others to be harmed, it's not acceptable, and it's definitely not acceptable to turn a blind eye.

They say it takes a village to raise a child... well let me tell you this, I came from a large family,  they all turned a blind eye, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and unbelievably, Grandparents ... they all contributed to the neglect, the abuse, the lies, and the horrendous life we had to live before a neighbour intervened... You think children don't want to leave abusive Parents/family/carers... think again, my life started when I was taken. 

The stories, the messages, my thoughts will continue till I am no more... and my message to you out there, you who maybe suffering because of what you've been through... There is light, there is healing, sometimes there is no understanding but its not your fault, and you will learn to leave the blame where it belongs, even though right now you feel like you'll never be able to move on, trust me, you will.

Always remember that Forgiveness is for you, and helps you move on. In forgiving, it enables the bitterness to disappear from your life...   

MJ Ewen

The Gypsy...

Just imagine... 

your walking along the road to nowhere, you know somethings got to happen because your life's in the gutter, and, you also realise that If you disappeared right now, no one would miss you. You've accomplished nothing. Your thoughts and mood, have been dark for a long time. 

You look around but your vision is cloudy, you're walking, aimlessly. Then it starts snowing. Within a couple of minutes the snow begins to fall hard. You're not dressed for winter, you left the house in a hurry.  Music, you hear music. It's a Christmas Carol...  we wish you a merry Christmas... we wish you a merry Christmas...  its Christmas!  Is it really Christmas? her intuition tells her to follow the music.

In the distance the glow from fairy lights cuts through the haze of falling snow. There are voices, music, and laughter.  It's been so long since I laughed.  I wonder, could I do that again? ... Maybe not.  Since you left, the world's felt lonely, and the way you left confirmed my importance.  Since then, my time has been spent reevaluating who I am, my purpose, and where I'm going, or actually, do I want to be here? and like a recording, I'm stuck...  Death is final.  Its so inviting, but not to be taken lightly. I need to think everything through.  Mind you, its not like anyone will miss me, but have I finished, am I really done?

Gaiety is up ahead, the music sounds beautiful, but can I feel beauty, right now? So many questions, so much uncertainty. The music alters, it's gypsy music, violins, and fiddles, jig out the beautiful, and the dark, reminding me of how we use to dance. 

Wiping snow from my eyes, I'm startled as a tall lady steps out from in-front of her brightly coloured stall, 

"Hello my lovely, may I invite you into my space, I have a feeling you won't regret your visit"

Her dark curly hair, cascades down, despite being tied up in a bright turban scarf which holds golden coins that jiggle as she moves. Dressed like a Gypsy, her dark eyes softly stare. She's waits for an answer. 

What do I have to lose? I whisper to myself. Her patience is inspiring,  I know I'm supposed to answer, but this overwhelming, inadequate feeling, monopolises my mind.

"Come, let's talk, I sense you need a friend"

Feeling comfortable, I reach out to hold her hand. The Gypsy pulls me through her sequinned curtain, revealing the smallest room which is beautifully decorated. A tiny round table, two blue velvet covered chairs, shelves, that home books, trinkets and treasures. In the middle of the table sits the most exquisite, crystal snow globe, which rests on a intricate, gold stand, raising it from the linen it sits upon. My senses heighten, I smell delicious aromas, and essential oils.  

"Please, take a seat, let your experience begin" 

Sitting down, I'm unable to draw my eyes away from the globe, its light reflects silver, and golden specs of incredible light, whilst tiny flecks of snow, float around a scene I can't quite see...

The Gypsy settles herself, and asks,

"Shall we begin, my lovely?" 

MJ Ewen

The Book-Corner...

 The Book-Corner...

The quaint little bookshop which unapologetically, spread over a whole corner, smelled of paper, ink, creamy coffee, and vanilla sponge. The door to this delightful building, made a high-pitched tinkle sound, whenever a customer walked in. Her old walls reeked of history, and its windows had witnessed many stories. 

The owner, a beautiful soul... whose special, exquisiteness, is timeless. 

Her extraordinary story was being put together in a special project, and she was right in the middle of it's management.  Her knowledge of books, writers and publishers, is astounding.  Her monthly meetings that help motivate, and encourage editors to congregate around her brass, polished tables, make her smile. Ideas bounce around waiting for input.  She's generous by nature and patient by choice... Places she's been, and characters she's met, have all played a part in her world of words. 

Almost everyone who walks through those bookshop doors, brings a wealth of knowledge which their usually willing to share... but those that don't, well, they have a rather different story to tell. 

"If I take my pen and write my story, will you grace me with your presence?"

MJ Ewen

Image from Pinterest. 

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

 

 

 

Another Day...

 

Today went well, even though I was dog sitting, and writing in-between a carers duty. A good word count and an interesting day, pretending to be various characters, and plotting their planners. I particularly love being Isabelle, she is fearless and knows what she wants. I'm looking forward to playing Alma Essie, and seeing how she reacts when she finds out that Isabelle is not the person she thought she was. I know all the characters, the building, and the grounds of Arden Manor. To me its real. Every Character has a story and each chapter will be designed for their story... not sure if it'll work, but I'm trying it anyway. 

My writing journey is progressing, and my tools-of-the-trade are getting me by... I light a candle, flip my hourglass timer, and make sure I have a drink, then I'm good to go. Its practice, practice, practice... I want to work on perfecting the craft, and trying to be the best I can be. I have already said previously that there is no pressure, and my expectations are low, because I found writing and it helped to heal me. something happens when I sit down and tap, tap, tap the keys of my trusty lap-top. 

I just want to be clear... having low expectations doesn't mean I don't want to be published, I do, but, I know its hard out there, so many gifted writers, and the publishing world isn't easy to step into. I enjoy writing, and I'm happy and grateful to be in a position to do it. 

Until, again... 

MJ Ewen 

Isabelle...

 No one could predict the monster Isabelle would become, but its the backstory, and characters accounts that will help the reader understand the whys and wherefores... Even so, it's Isabelle's hard heart, and despicable treatment of those around her that will make it difficult to sympathise.  She's a twenty year old, hell-bent on seducing, her benefactor, Mr Arthur Essie. 

No one will get in her way... No-One. 

This week the word count has been healthy. The ideas and direction of Chapter 5, have flowed nicely...

Watching, and waiting from the perimeter of the Garden Party, Isabelle knew he'd arrive soon. She was fed up of hanging around, she had plans, and he would listen. It was her time.  Then, she saw him enter the party holding his wife's hand, smiling, as he introduced her to business colleagues.  

Isabelle's fury exploded in her chest, it burned, she felt as if she was on fire and it made her eyes water.

She never cried, not ever. 

MJ Ewen

Inspiration...

 

Oh, this is so true... 

Other people's opinions are just that... Opinions, and of course it goes without saying that they're entitled to theirs. But you my darling, be true to yourself, and if you're at peace then all is well in your world. I have taken time to wish I could make everyone happy, but I can't, and as we know, that's an unrealistic intention... We have to remember; we can't fix everybody!  

There is nothing wrong with having the intention of inspiring others, and motivating where we can. 

Another day of writing and being with the characters in my novel. I find it so relaxing, unless of course I'm struggling with where a character has to go, or what they have to do, but it usually happens as I sit back and ponder.

Have a beautiful day... 

MJ Ewen 

 

A Difficult Scene...

 Another day to get my senses into Chapter 4... of  my current WIP, The Alma Essie Story. 

Two generations come together, and a third is conceived. A chapter about two women and the event that makes them realise they are connected in so many ways. They have to learn to see through there own pain and remember who they are, why they're here, and the many reasons they love one another. 

Scenes can be difficult, especially when something bad happens. But without certain events, the story would not progress, or come together. 

With this particular scene, which I confess has been challenging, I hope I've written it with a sensitivity that does the characters and a repulsive event, justice, because this happens all over the world, and maims its victims, and the families of those involved. 

Regardless of the Word-Count, Its a beautiful day... Enjoy 

#AmWriting  

MJ Ewen   

A Predictable World with Unpredictable Adults...

I love the above quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Once some of you read this post you might feel the title seems a bit unreal, all I ask is that you remember I speak from experience, these are my words, and in my heart I know that somewhere along the way, another will read this and it will make perfect sense.

The difference an unpredictable adult can make to gifted children... if we are able to sit down, watch a scene or a time unfold; we’d know answers... the majority of us would say hang on, ‘NO’...  Let’s address this and ensure no child is at the end of that person displaying inappropriate behaviour, and then we’d be able to do something constructive. We would be able to stop a particular scenario and realise that sometimes events do have terrible consequences. I have grown to understand that some children are resilient and able to deal with it, and are often able to self heal, but sadly some can’t. The potential in living with unstable adults is that quite often it can have a dreadful outcome, especially if the adults around are ignorant, not supportive, or worse still, in denial.  

It’s important to remember that any affected child, could be damaged before help is received. I still cringe at the thought of the amount of times; others must have simply passed us by.  It happens though, and usually it’s because the unseen or frozen children slip through the net, or the adults responsible are so clever in their disguise, that they’re able to cause a smoke screen or even worse, make others feel sorry for them and their plight... 2016 has to be a year of ‘MINDFULNESS’. And today that’s what I want to raise awareness to. The only difference for me is that I consider myself to be a story-teller, and usually in my stories there’s a lot a fact with a little fiction. Unfortunately when I was a child the fiction was the remedy, the answer, and even the solution. I use to make stories up and believe that real live angels would come and help us, and to be fair one day they did. Apart from a short period I never looked back... I consider myself to be one of the lucky children. I was rescued. 

Here is a small scene from something I’m currently working on. It’s about a father who has a lot of problems. He’s a rather sad figure but guilty of being an alcoholic and more often than not he’s the perpetrator in domestic violence. Because of his own upbringing, he also has horrendous mental health issues that are not being addressed. His anger is always aroused when he’s intoxicated however, the first time he goes to beat his baby daughter he discovers she has a gift, and that gift is responsible for her being able to calm any given situation... in this scene, he’s experiencing it for the first time. She magically stops the situation from escalating and even though he’s confused, he realises that actually, it is she whose in control.

Insanity sweeps though him as his psychiatric disorder takes over, he lifts a clenched fist, white knuckles bulging and the rage floods through him... for a micro second, a sane part of his brain realises the motion of slowness around him is not normal and it catches his breath. He shakes his head; this is not how it has gone before... what the hell is different?

Visibly he flinches, he looks at the baby and as he circles her tiny form, her eyes penetrate deep into the very essence of his being... Time slows down as anger stabs hard at him. He raises his fist higher, the intention ravaging him. He’s mad but has to let it go... His fist is six tiny inches away from her beautiful face, those big, soft, blue eyes flood with liquid, long lashes flick nervously. He is hit by her overwhelming innocence. Slowly he pulls his hand away, and as he gently picks her up; he pulls her in close and whispers how sorry he is.

Her job is done... For now! 

As a child growing in an uncertain world she knows things...  she knows stuff that she doesn’t understand, She knows how to send energy to those who need it, and she knows how to keep herself safe because others are incapable. She is a child yet she knows that she is wise beyond her years. She can’t understand it all... she knows so much. She is aware of information that's inexplicable in terms of how she would know these things at such a young age. She also knows that death is not the end, and for reasons unknown, she also knows it’s simply a transition. She does know one other thing though... she knows and appreciates that knowledge gives power, a power she's always been aware of and thankfully, that power will forever remain.

Jane Ewen

I'm A Strong Lady...

I am a strong lady however; it dawned on me this week that I always apologise even when I’m not at fault. On occasion this has caused me to become angry with myself but listen, a great big beautiful, light-bulb moment happened recently, when it became very clear why I do this...

I do it because I was born with an over abundance of maternal instinct, and I think this is because my own biological mother did not possess a seed of sense, let alone the maternal stuff which keeps others safe, well and happy... I say I’m sorry because I want to pass on a warm message to others, so that they know without hostility that it’s ok as well as healing to be sorry. It doesn’t mean their weak if they portray this kindness. In fact after a life-time of experience, I know this is a quality of strength which is much better shared.

I’m a great believer in that we’re able to touch another with love, warmth, compassion, and kindness. I also believe you can still connect even if they are angry to the point they walk away, and consider you to be either a person with a hidden agenda or weak...

Although another beings aggression use to hurt my feelings, like others, I only ever have the best intentions. I often find myself smiling inside because despite their initial reaction, the one thing I’ve realised is that most people act instantly, and at some point they will reflect. It is then I hope they will see the incident, and feel the correct emotions in a much calmer space where hopefully they’ll learn.  

All WE have to do, is never give up... there will always be people who don’t care but usually at some point in life they will, and that is where you were/are the lesson.

I sense some mumbles at the above message but let me say this, I’m also realistic and I know at times it’s definitely much better to walk away. I am blessed with instinct which tells me the people who are worth my time and those who are not... Also there are certain things that should never be apologised for... for instance: your emotions, for being you, for loving another, standing up for what you believe, being honest, forgiving someone, following your dreams etc.

"I write with love and respect, and hope my words simply reinforce what you already know, if you don’t know then hopefully it might make you think"...

 Namaste

© Jane Ewen July 2015

Just Sayin...

I want to say how thankful I am to other writers, editors, and publishers who show, share, and educate others.  I’m super-grateful for their expertise, and welcome relevant signposting so that I can develop professionally.

 

I read an article which I wouldn't dream of sharing on my Face-book writer’s page
https://www.facebook.com/Jane.Ewen?ref=hl due to its disheartening content. I am super aware, and know my limitations. I realise I’m not a 'Professional Author' it's well documented that I feel I have much to learn, and it's my dearest wish that when the time is right I'll connect with a caring professional who will help me grow.

So what’s brought these thoughts to the fore... I recently read an article where I believe an Editor disrespected a good Storyteller because of the amount of editing they had to do. I presume most self respecting writers are aware of their shortcomings, and I suspect this is why there is a delay showing, and sharing work.  When I reach the end of my manuscript it is my hope that I'll understand the process and how it must be presented for final stages.

It's my understanding that the editor decides whether or not they take on something that needs a lot of work...

For the record, education was not my families priority however, I have tried my best to make up for lost time in childhood, which means, I would want to polish any script of mine to the very best of my ability but I know, and it goes without saying, I would need support. I also know, had I been that particular person in the article I mentioned earlier, it would have knocked my confidence way back... It’s not easy to open up, and share ones thoughts, so when you get past that hurdle, and share your soul it’s negative to read that quite possibly you’ll be a 'comparison' in an article to explain whatever it was the editor needed to explain...  

Never one to finish on a negative...

Life is full of ups and downs... what we have to remember is that we hold the magic within, and it’s us who have the unquestionable ability to initiate actions to make magic sparkle... I believe this, and no one can tell me any different...

 

~Jane Ewen~

© July 2015  

 

 

I Will Never Stop Believing...

Image shared from Google.

 

Deep inside I've always had a special feeling; it’s never left but on occasion its gone quiet.

 

Through the trials and tribulations of life I quickly learned you have to love what you do. I love words, I love people, I love messages and I especially get a super duper, blissful feeling when I plant seeds. As a child I learned with sadness that it’s best not to wait for anyone.  This became instrumental in my life and as I plod on and make the best of everything, I see much beauty in this day, and no matter what, I’m on the right path and even if things had been completely different I think I would still be where I am right now because it really is the right place for me.  

 

My dream has yet to materialise but the other fabulous thing here is that every single day I get to do what I want, and I’m able to pick and choose what, when and if I write. The icing on my cake would be for a publisher to see potential, and give me a chance... A chance I wouldn’t waste, a chance I would work hard with. Mind you, as I write these beautiful, heartfelt words I realise 100% that I write what others feel, dream and share.

 

We are not alone, and it doesn’t seem to matter where you are because there is always another wonderful writer close by.

 

~Jane Ewen~

© July 2015.

 

 

Dreams & Drama...

I have a sleep condition which unfortunately, seems to prevent me from dreaming. Despite this, but prior to being diagnosed I always use to dream, I loved my dreams. I have to share that I’ve never dreamt about my father... I’d like to say he was the best dad in the world... but he wasn’t. I know if he was here now he’d tell you the same. I don’t understand why but for the past two weeks I’ve had several vivid dreams, and in each one he has told me something special...

The road is long... through the haze of a dazzling mid-day sun; I watch speckles of dust as they dance high into the air... Looking around there are no signs of life, except for a single dwelling with a separate garage on my left, and a single double fronted shop on my right.

My focus is the shop.

Without taking my eyes off the shops door, I notice I’m breathless; I became aware of a dog running. There’s tightness in my chest as I flick frightened eyes to the left... oh my God, no, no, no... A Rottweiler is running after me. In sheer panic I wrap my arms around myself. It zips through my mind like a gramophone player, don't you run, don't you run, Nooooooo... don't you dare run... Oh god it’s on me.  It rises up, wraps huge front paws around me and as if in slow motion it walks in a grotesque fashion, alongside. I don't falter, I don't stop but I'm choking, my eyes stream. Terrified, I’m petrified of dogs.   

Growls, snarls, the glint from polished teeth snap, snap snapping.

I’m going to die, so with one last effort I push open the shop door... My eyes meet his... I open my mouth; I struggle, and in barely a whisper

"Dad... dad, Dog"

He knows I’m frightened, his hand reaches across the counter, and he grasps a handful of sweets, colourful, sugary temptations.

Defiantly he steps towards me and in a booming, Irish voice he commands the dog to sit. It falls away from me exposing angry red welts across my body.

It sits.  

His gaze steady on the dog as he offered more sweets.  

Standing at his side I continue to shake from head to toe. I become completely overwhelmed by my dad’s presence and the most incredible feeling of love, warmth, and safety permeates me. Grateful, I watch as he continues to feed the dog, he tells me not to worry, he says he’s been poorly for the longest time, and that I need to listen to more music, he says on the other side he’s a teacher, and as if by some form of magical enchantment, a magnificent white, grey horse appears, and when dad turns his attention to give it a sweet, for me it’s all too much.

In my roller-coaster of deep, dark emotion, I finally break down and let it all out.

Opening confused, sleep filled eyes... I realise I've been in a land of the unknown, and that I’d met and communicated with my deceased father...

Once I'd calmed ,and in soulful reflection realised there was evidence that my story is set to continue. I felt fortunate to have acquired essential knowledge that this journey is far from over; holding that confirmation fills me with ease.

As I dress and plan for the day ahead, in my mind's eye I see the old Irish rogue who very rarely smiled but oh when he did my world lit right up...

~Jane Ewen~

The Loft... In My Mind.

Picture kindly shared from Pinterest.

The loft in my mind is open 24/7... It’s a place for characters who want to transpire in my next story, or book. I’ve heard them say they chose me to ensure their story is heard; they need a connection, oh and a place to stay... It’s disappointing but I've had to disengage from a couple of characters; they were dark, too dark to live in the loft. With help from the rest of the residents, their removal was relatively quick because the lofts residents won’t put up with anything, or anyone who tries to take over... Dear lord, don’t ever let anyone try to take over.  The chances are the residents will take over, and we won’t see the character again.

(At first it was as if the statement below was heard through an old radio)

“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”.

These words greeted me last night as I tried to relax. Initially I attempted to ignore them because I knew this had to be a new character trying to move into the loft but I'd been writing all day, I wanted to rest.  

“If you don’t listen then I’ll keep saying it, my dream multiplies, it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time” (Silence)

(Someone) breathes a heavy Sigh... 

“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

That someone is breathing to the point where I can literally feel its frustration as it seeps into my bones.

“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

I should speak, maybe even acknowledge its presence but to be honest I can’t tell whether it’s male, or female. Maybe it’s neither, maybe it’s from the other side? I’ve had a few of them, and again, not a pleasant experience.

 “My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

“Ok, ok... Bloody hell I’m coming”.

Reluctantly and with much annoyance I progress towards the staircase... here is where I always find them. Their either sat on the bottom step, draped over the banister, or persistently knocking on the lofts huge double doors, which by the way would never get an answer, because the residents have stopped opening the door to strangers. So they wait for me. 

The smell was atrocious ... I smelt him before I saw him, and I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see. A small skinny man with knobbly knees, he wasn’t wearing any trousers, however he was wearing shiny shorts. His white string vest had seen better days. I couldn’t believe the oversized trainers with no socks, and his small bony face housed dark sunken eyes, it was as if two thumbs had pressed them into an oversized skull.  On his head wispy bits of what looked like hair waved like seaweed, but for the most part he was bald. On his forehead he had a long, rather strange looking scar which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. His hooked nose protruded like that of an eagle.  I noted and quickly recoiled from his grubby hands, nails were bitten and black, as if he’d been digging dirt all day. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and lying on the floor by his feet was a small, brown, dingy looking suitcase.

Clearing my throat I asked what I could do for him.

“Ahh you came” he boomed.

Now there was a voice that didn’t suit this man.

“Yes I usually come when summoned, especially if a room is needed for the night”

“I need it longer, much longer, and maybe longer still”.

He stood, moving from one foot to the other in a most irritated fashion.

“What can I do for you sir?”

"I need somewhere to stay, and with someone who can make my dreams, nightmares go away”

Uneasy, he looked around...

“What are you running away from?” I enquired, (no point in beating about the bush)

"Nothing... no one, just down on my luck and need company”

“You wouldn’t be bringing any bad luck to my door now would you?”

No answer...

“Would you?”

“Of course not, like I said, need a place to stay and some company”

“Do you work around here?”

“Yes I work close by, came straight from there and needs me a shower”

Lip licking and nervous tension, (I didn’t like this...)

“Tell you what sir; I’ll see if there are any vacancies... I’ll be right down”

I knew I hadn’t made the right noises, his dark eyes smouldered as dirty, bony fingers twitched.

At the top of the stairs I knocked, a resident opened it a crack.

“Any vacancies?” silence rebounded as the resident stepped forward, and looked down the stairs eyeballing the character.

“Who wants to know” the resident replied hoarsely.

“I do” came the skinny mans booming response.

“Come closer and we’ll discuss”

The skinny man dragged his suitcase up the stairs; his eyes never left the resident.

"I’m looking to stay for a few days, need company and some routine”

“Is that right?” said the resident as a few more voices vibrated from the door.

“Well this is how it goes, we don’t like noise, disrespect, or parties; no strangers are allowed, and no smoking, we have a rota for cleaning the kitchen and bathroom daily, any problems with that?”

“No problem at all, I’m not after looking for any trouble, just need accommodation”. The resident made way and made a gesture with his hand towards the door, and as it opened all that could be seen from within was dark shadows.

Just as he got to the perimeter of the door, skinny man looked around, winked at me as he whispered,

“I’ll be seeing you”. He was gone.

“You’re letting him in then?” I nodded to the resident.

“Yep, any funny business like the last one and you’ll hear from us soon enough or maybe you won’t”.

As the resident blinked green, lizard like eyes, I rubbed my chin as I considered our new character, a character that will certainly get creative juices flowing; he obviously has issues, possibly some interesting history. Doesn’t really matter, he managed to get his oversized, sockless feet through the door to the loft, and if you knew the Loft’s residents that is indeed a massive achievement. 

Stay tuned for updates.

 

©2015 Jane Ewen