Free writing

Writing101 free writing 400 words

Typos and spelling mistakes are left in for the sake of honesty.

Four hundred words free writing

So my day, left me with feeling tearful, cross, connected. Lots of work with people that have crashingly different feelings all melding together into a loud noise of, just, well people. The sum of two people being in a room is soo soo much more than just 2×1 somehow. what I bring into a room then someone else comes in and I am constantly second guessing their second guessing me. the third person in the room is the indefinable thing that happens between two people. This third thing is noisier the more the people try to understand each other and it drowns them both out, it stops them from hearing the other person because they are so busy trying to hear their own reaction to the other porson int he room.

Almost being not well enough to work. Almost but not quite, running to the bathroom to almost cry, almost but not quite. I can’t quite get it out that huge pain of something that I want everyone to see. Most of all I want myself to see it and I can’t.

How many other people in the crowded room have an invisible pain that they want to but can’t share. More than just me I’m sure.

I pass my day angry, sad, frightened, cycling through so many feelings, most of them I don’t even notice at the time. How can I make any kind of sense to another person when I’m not sure what my own feelings about anything are. I ignore fear the most, then it comes out as anger. Agression, when actually it is me feeling frightened. Is the loudest dog actually frightened. Is the growling and snarling from a fearsome dog just the same as my bad temper – both covering up fear and simultaneously driving away the possibility of contact.

the emptiness that comes after chasing away friends is particularly strong. I don’t mean to snap or dismiss, actually what I’m wanting to do is make contact and be held. Ahh to be held. I don’t know if I’ll ever be held again. It is the fantasy, therapists would say that I should hold myself. That nobody else can hold me, be my mother, father best friend. I need to find that all within myself. I wish I could.

Nearly at the end of 400 words. I am surprised where I ended up.

What I fear is fear itself

Writing101 prompt

One of my worst fears
In a style distinct from my own.

I’m not quite sure what my style is, so to deliberately do something different is difficult.
But here goes.


I am afraid of fear itself, the chest tightening sensation that travels to my gut and makes me feel sick with presentiment.

So I avoid it. I’m a coward, choosing to turn away from looking people in the eye if I feel their disapproval and hesitate before speaking the truth in a meeting hoping the other will change the subject or say it for me.

The anxiety that I experience is the fear of fear. Anticipation of something that has not yet and may not happen ever. I live in the future. And fear it.
As I write this I realise how useless it is to expend my energies thus.
Does that mean I can stop it and be useful, probably not.

But, maybe if I have an awareness of my actions then there is a possibility of changing them.

All sponteneity from now on will be scheduled

Writing day 15 prompt 

So my favourite moments in life are the ones that are unexpected belly laughs at life.

These are to be forbidden and rescheduled under the heading

Planned awkward fun

-the cosmic police-

I am so cross – my real voice here is fighting with my vanity. Vanity would make it sound more intellectual.

  • I don’t want to know the time or place that I will meet someone and share a moment.
  • I don’t care if the planned moment is lot of fun or really intimate.
  • I want the moment to be a surprise  – to creep up on me from behind and shout boo so I scream.

I am angry that cosmic control freaks have conspired against me.

Hear me I am angry !

The letter – Fiction

This is fiction for the Writing101 course. I’ve never written fiction for this blog or at all since school so it is very unfamiliar territory.

The letter on the ground the envelope torn to reveal the start of the letter. How did nobody else notice it. Handwritten in ink, fountain pen, who uses those these days? To Sam Handwriting neat but flowing, blue/black ink. The declarations. I love I love I love you. I’ve never told you, I hardly dare say it out loud and here I am writing it down. At last I’m putting it into words after years. The relief – I was going mad not saying it too you. The fear of rejection has crippled me, but I’m going to say it here it is. I love you! I turned the envelope over – a stamp, no post mark – it was never posted.


Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter. Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

My Three Gardens – Garden 1

Today’s prompt for Writing101 is loss and the suggestion to make it the first in a serial.

At first I didn’t think I had the time today to write this. Then I realised that actually I was avoiding the subject of loss. On reflection I thought that maybe it would be useful to put the discomfort into words.

I’ve had a lot of change in my life and gardens have been there in the background. There are three significant gardens in my story.
I start with garden 1.

My first garden.
I’d read the books, I’d drooled over seed catalogues, I was so keen. Would I actually enjoy the reality?

I did. I found I loved the messiness, the smells, physical exercise and constant change.
My happiest memories are of a summer’s morning up early out in the garden to see tiny changes different from yesterday, things had actually changed in 24 hours.
Plants grew that I had planted ! I was God in that world, I granted existence to so many plants that grew and reproduced.
Some failed to thrive and I was outraged, I had planted them why didn’t they grow ? A wise neighbour gave advice that stayed with me ‘Don’t take it personally’ I realised that I had taken it very personally, how absurd.

I was happy there, there were happy days, life was full of distraction and stimulation. The beginnings of future problems were hardly visible, minor irritations in the ebb and flow of life, I didn’t understand their significance.

The seasons changed, some perennials became part of the furniture of our outdoors. Red hot pokers started to rampage through the front garden. My life was clematis and roses…. ah roses I never really got the hang of them.

A move was going to happen.
I was going to leave my first garden, my creation. But it was okay. I had learned that gardening was a process not a product.

But I am sad when I think of that garden, not because I lost the garden, but because I miss the happy days I spent in it at the time I didn’t know of the pain ahead.

My place

Daily post writing 101 day 2

I see myself sitting on a window seat.

The room is quite small. A log burning stove is quietly giving the room a generous warmth. The window on the stove is stained brown like an old ancient medicine bottle and through it the flames look very orange.

I take comfort knowing the stove is there but am totally engrossed in my book. Outside the window it is sunny but freezing and there is snow.

I am still, with no desire to go outside in the sunshine. It is warming me here through the glass adding to the stove, a faint tang of the citrus from oiling the small oak coffee table penetrates the background burning wood smell from the stove. A large coffee from freshly ground beans sits half drunk, my non reading part of mind is about to urge me to take a sip.

The room is my haven. A place of warmth and safety somewhere that I can finally take my eyes away from looking out for danger, stop running and indulge in the entertainment of a book. The snow is the outside, cold. The fire is love, energy, safety. This is my place.

Really – do I have to just keep going !

In response to Writing 101, Blogging U course.

Ok stream of consciousness – I’ve to write for 20 minutes then press ‘Publish’.

So it’s going to be messy, no editing, no finely honed phrases. I’ve permission to been ordered to be carefree.

The thing is this….

It’s a bit like meditation – the breathing one where you just watch yourself breathe in and out. But I start having thoughts about thoughts about thoughts, like Russian dolls. Each thought I always perceive as the outermost Russian doll only to find that actually the following thought was watching the one before.

Here I’m writing and watching myself be ‘carefree’ and by definition I’m being care -full. So I suppose it is hard to be spontaneous on demand.

Spontaneous on demand – also known as – awkward fun. Team building days when we’re asked to take certain ideas and express them however we wish, someone always jumps up and says ‘I know let’s do a dance’ and I shrivel up inside while it seems everyone else leaps to their feet and says ‘Oh yes lets’.

So maybe it’s only me that finds difficulty with spontaneous carefreeness.

I’m sure it’s not.

Really – really – do I have to just keep going…. my first spout of words is drying up. I know !  Is this the point where I come out with something really good ? Yeah right.

Looking at myself in the mirror that is facing me just now I realise that I am not ready for the outside world today. I don’t feel or look presentable.

It is interesting therefore that I however do choose to present a stream of consciousness to a potentially large number of readers. When I don’t feel I can present myself to a shop assistant to buy milk just now.

I’ve frequently pondered on the blogosphere and how it feels like a safe place. It is the place I bring my ‘stuff’. Nobody I know in the ‘real’ world reads this blog. I would change the content if they did. There is something unique about knowing that your words will be read but not knowing any of the people that read them.

I have a relationship with various bloggers, we chat, acknowledge each others’ blogs in our posts – but for all I know I have passed them in the street, neither of us would know. Much of my content is of a dark nature, I talk about depression, self harm and suicide frequently. New readers take note.

In the risk of repeating some of the content of my About page, I will try to describe why I blog.

I need somewhere to vent my stuff. I live mostly very functionally and seem well. Much of the time my head is full of loud unpleasant thoughts, so loud that I sometimes wonder how come other people can’t hear it.

The process of passing the stuff through all the filters and getting it down into writing seems to help. The added bonus that it is actually read and that I get feedback is huge. It helps me to remember who I am, and not who I present to the ‘real’ world.

So, getting to the end of my 20 minutes and desperately trying to wrap up neatly.
Messy, verbose, dark and a little meandering, in 20 minutes this is who I am.

Thank you for listening.