Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme

Last week I was pondering what if I could use wordpress/my blog better. Well the good news is thank you to my computer guru Anthony. I can now add IMAGES to my stories and poetry albeit  it step by step. But practise makes perfect. Isn’t that what they say.

And what about the time management and keeping to the schedule for the new book. Well, I haven’t had time to work out the time management. I know! I’m working on it. Don’t rush me. On the other hand, maybe you should. But the good news is. I have finished chapter 9 of my book Hurray! Better still, I have chapter 10 ready to wordprocess from my longhand writing. So the plan for this week? Would you believe I’m going to write a LOVE poem for the creative writing course in our local library. Wish me luck.

I was thinking along the lines of what if things were different in my life? What if I knew how to use the updated wordpress better? how much better could I manage my time?

Anyway, forget the what ifs. The real question is what’s my plan for writing this month? I seem to be spending too much time on my blog and not enough on looking for a publisher for my first book. Or keeping to my writing schedule for my second book.

. Indulging the child in you
. Visiting: garden centre, museums, grand houses from olden times
. Watching footie with mates – with no females about
. Killing the alarm and snuggling back in to the duvet again
. Having a barbie in the rain – at the caravan with your coat on
. Eating chocolate and watching someone else’s love life on DVD.
. Fancying your chances with your significant one
. Eating ice cream cones on a windy pier – Laughing as it dribbles
down your chin
. Watching the world go by from the comfort of your armchair
. Spreading the newspaper on the table and chairs when the wife’s away.
. Doing the garden – fantasizing your at the Chelsea Flower Exhibition.
. Having a water balloon fight with the girlfriend When she’s just done her makeup and fake tan

Well, good luck with that then.
Me? I’m off to eat the leftover chocolates from Easter and read Mr Grey. (I have it on good authority – from the birthday girl – who shall remain nameless – that it’s great for curing the old influenza. Must be all the sweating she done)
Enjoy your bank holiday frolics and fun.
writeyouwritem@woodpress.com

Comment invited on the subject of this poem. Ask your friends to comment

We live in a world where anything goes. Are there no limits anymore?

Sexual Adventure –Sunday Game?

Slender silhouettes summer rain
Blurring faces obscuring shame
Womanly forms upon damp sand
Lips caressing hands embracing
No sense of hurry

Birthday: Inspirational Day
Women embracing their vulnerability
That’s what I had in my mind I’d find
Instead I found women
Surviving challenges in their lives

Courage personified as the Pink Ladies Choir
Held me spellbound
Sharon O C in her civic role shared her tale of
Motherhood and career
Andrea Beagley shone like a light
As her Voice floated over the
Hushed crowd

A poem delivered with oomph and style
I wanted to shake Margo’s C’s hand and say
You’re an inspiration to every woman today.
Pat S – a first in our time – told how she mixed being bishop
Moving South and her marriage vows

And schoolgirl Annie Mc C
Made St Mary’s proud when she articulated her
Map for her journey through life.
I have to admit I had a little sigh
When I thought of the hurdles she’d meet on her way.
And Bronagh Gallagher od stage and fame

What can I say?
I felt humbled and inspired as her story she relayed
Diane Greer touched a deep part of me
I couldn’t say what lyrics she breathed
I just know she brought me near to tears

And ‘Bubblebum’ and her Chinese yarn
Taking the business world by storm
Anita Robinson with her witty repertoire
The icing on the cake for a writer like me
.
The food on the plate and the people I met
Like, Carmel,Philla and Annmarie
Great Hall, Guildhall, it may have been
But for me it was the women
All ages and creeds that emulated greatness
In each their own way as they celebrated your birthday
Dear FWIN that day 27 of March 2014.

TUESDAY TITTER

Three expatriates are drinking in a NY City bar.
________________________________________
“As good as this is,” said the Scotsman, “I still prefer the pubs back home. In Glasgow, there’s a wee place called McTavish’s. The landlord goes out of his way for the locals. When you buy four drinks, he’ll buy the fifth.
“Well, Angus,” said the Englishman, “at my local pub in London, the Red Lion, the barman will buy you your third drink after you buy the first two.”
“Ahhh, dat’s nothin’,” said the Irishman, “back home in my favourite pub, the moment you set foot in the place, they’ll buy you a drink, then another, all the drinks you like, actually. Then, when you’ve had enough drinks, they’ll take you upstairs and see dat you gets laid, all on the house!”
The Englishman and Scotsman were suspicious of the claims.
The Irishman swore every word was true.
“Did this actually happen to you?” they asked.
“No not me self, personally, no,” admitted the Irishman,
“but it did happen to me sister quite a few times.”

 

Schoolteachers’ bloomers
(oops! I mean blunders)

(1) Sunday is Easter Day. To celebrate Henlena Farmer from P7 will come in and lay an egg on the table
2 Don’t let worry kill you. Let the school help
(3) After assembly there will be an ice-cream party. Would Miss Coward and Miss Goat-just back from maternity leave – who are supplying the milk, come to the canteen immediately.
(4) I have been trying to get uniforms done away with. Soon we’ll be down to the boys just wearing a tie and the girls wearing a grey shirt.

Family Relations
My father had a profound influence on me – he was a lunatic. (Spike Milligan)

When I was a boy the Dead Sea was only sick (George Burns)

My wife started walking five miles a day – now I don’t care where she is

If a man smiles in his own house the wife is sure to ask him for money.

Isabella’s Sow

Lust

Isabella, a big lusty girl

Lived in an old linen mill

It was a busy abode

Favours ebbed and flowed

As visitors got a thrill up the hill

Greed

Now, Isabella she kept a sow

Its avarice taste were renowned

It swilled down the gin

Took part in the sin

A real crowd pleaser it was found

Pride

The busty maid enjoyed the games

Her sow gained world wide fame

She puffed out her breasts

Updating his bacony smile

Her aim? Facebook and UTube Fame

Envy

Locals twittered and mocked and sat in the pub

Tempting their sows with whiskey and grub

Business at the bacon factory was brisk

Isabella’s sow was living in bliss

She was pampered and powdered and rolling in hugs

Sloth

Bone idle now Isabella and her fat sow

Wiped the sweat from their brows

Hard work wasn’t easy

For a pair grown lazy

Mistress and sow sin weary now

Wrath

In Sunday Dress She Beat her Breast

Praying loudly for forgiveness

Preacher bangs the pulpit hard

“Repent, repent your sins my child.” She smiled

Into the preacher wild demented eyes

Covetness

Preacher came at his usual time

Accompanied by the village minds

The sow snorted in deep despair

Writher in pain as the laid her bare

Sin money finds Isabella’s crime

Story 6 View from the toilet seat

Passing through the kitchen I stopped for a moment and gazed at the gaily packaged Easter egg in the shape of a chocolate high heeled shoe. “I thought we’d be past all that when the kids grew up,” I mused moving in the direction of the toilet. More wrapping and cardboard for recycling not to mention the sugar content and its effect, I thought. The lock on the toilet door gave a satisfying click. I relaxed onto the toilet seat and drew my new freshly charged 7 inch tablet from its zipped case.
Last week after the flurry of the missing phone, I had flung the poem I was writing from me. Then, I couldn’t remember which notebook I had written it in and yes, you’ve guessed it, the inevitable search ensued. I decided I’d treat myself to a tablet and keep up with my grandchildren in the technology department.
“Much easier to keep track of my writing,” I explained away the query of why when I had two laptops and a desktop computer I needed another techno device.
It hummed as it started booting up. I settled myself in a more comfortable position. “Right, time to research women’s love affair with shoes,” I murmured. But first I decided to check out the chocolate Easter eggs shoes.
My eyes out on stocks and my mouth watering at the images of edible chocolate stiletto heels, plus 4s and even knee length boots, I goggled on; ordinary shoes forgotten as my eyes consume the array of chocolate.
A runaway success – made in meticulous detail and tasting delicious – the manufacture’s spiel promised.
Every woman believes she will find her Prince Charming and the (chocolate) shoe according to one USA manufacture’s spiel will fit. He’ll whisk her off, and she’ll live happy ever after in chocolate heaven.
“Yeah Right! What centaury are you living in,” I snorted. But still I goggled on seeking yet more images of the chocolate Easter eggs.
Truffolicious – chocolate stiletto shoes decorated with 16 handmade Belgian chocolates, another promised.
I couldn’t stand the strain any longer. Quietly I slid back the lock on the toilet door. The coast was clear. Greedily I snatched the chocolate shoe Easter egg from its place in the kitchen cupboard and raced for the toilet again. Izzy, the spaniel, scenting sweets raced in front of me. “Chocolate Easter eggs are bad for your central nervous system and your heart,” I whispered sidestepping her. Clicking the toilet door shut I sank down on the toilet seat; closed my eyes and savoured the long slender heel of the chocolate shoe.
Thank you for reading my 6th and final short story from Frivolous Thursday.
Please ask your friends to give them a like
Next Thursday the first of a new set of 6 short stories will start.

Story 5 View From The Toilet Seat

“What are you doing?” I asked as I watched my granddaughter, hands flapping, beaming a gappy toothy smile into the mirror beside the toilet. She gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m making a selfie, granny,” she replied in a tone that said she didn’t expect me to understand.
“You take a selfie – a picture of yourself with a camera,” I pointed out.
She pouted and folded her arms. “I know. But mum wouldn’t let me. I’m ‘pracising for when I get a phone of my own.” Her face brightened as I lay my phone on top of the toilet seat. “Can I…”
“No! Definitely not – out you go. I have writing to do.”
“Why do you have to write in the toilet,” she huffed as I closed the door behind her. “Any more questions – ask your granda,” I shouted back.
“Can i just ask you one more thing,” she breathed through the jamb of the door.
“Ask your granda”
“You’re not my best granny anymore,” she wailed. With a sigh of relief I readied myself for a few minutes solitude before I started to write.
A six year old wanting to take a selfie. Where will all this technology end, I mused. My mind slipped back to the programme I’d seen on TV the night before about the web cam babes making good money from their own bedrooms.
Fools and their money are easily parted; I thought as I watched a young girl blow up balloons and get paid good money via her webcam as she wriggled about on them for a ‘customer.’ Another girl squeezed a banana between her painted toes and offered them up to the webcam viewer. She was young. It was a giggle. But it made me think what kind of things my own grandchildren got up to with the skype and their phone cameras.
“Times are changing. The world is not like it was. Accept it? Isn’t that what everybody says,” I muttered settling down to write. And the barefaced selfies the celebs and the women on Facebook did raised a good bit of money for the cancer charities, I reminded myself.
“Maybe I will let her take a photo; a selfie of a granny and her favourite granddaughter. What harm could there be in that? I searched around for my phone. “Probably fell into the linen basket again,” I murmured. But at least it’s fully charged today and receiving a signal, I thought as I rooted through the ever present pile of jeans and hoodies for washing.
My hand came up empty. Then it dawned on me. The little monkey had slipped the phone into her pocket when I wasn’t looking. I gulped back the swear words that rose to my lips and went for the toilet door. “Thank god for the new handle,” I breathes. Flinging the scribbled notes from me I jerked open the door
“Where is she,” I asked her granda reading the paper at the kitchen table.
“She’s upstairs in the bedroom. She borrowed your laptop. Is that all right?”
“What else did she take up with her,” I asked feeling faint.
“Nothing – except a banana and the packet of balloons you bought her last time we were in Tesco.”