The pointy end

Sometimes Auntie Pat would paint our nails and do our hair, that was the best. I loved the ticklish feeling as she painted the stinky nail polish carefully on each of my well-bitten nails.

The time has come the walrus said…

I don't remember writing being anything other than my happy place. The flow, the zone, the place I love to go to, evaporated. I'm pleased to say I have continued to write this blog. Not a complete failure then.

Encouragement

Glyn was a rock drummer with hair longer than mine. He wore a cowboy hat and cowboy boots and more denim than most. I fell in love with him before we met.

Staying in the room

Writing seems to be the area that suffers when I am hit with too many emotions.

Cherish each moment

I can be easily derailed where writing is concerned. I usually have a million excuses for not writing, how I feel being at the top of the list. This year I decided to change things up and let my values drive my creativity rather than my feelings.

Crack on anyway

When I was young all I wanted to do was write. When I wasn’t writing, I was reading.

Straight from the horses mouth

I have always been horse crazy. Coming to Australia I was promised my own horse as incentive to leave Wales. Not that I had a choice. Mary Poppins says it best: ‘That’s a pie crust promise, easily made and easily broken.’

Retreat from writing or writing retreat?

You know how excited you feel when those adds pop up for writer's conferences in America and you toy with the idea of getting up at four in the morning to hear your favourite authors speak? Yeah, me neither.

Feeling all the feels

Learning about writing and actually ‘doing the verk’ are two completely different things.

Here and Now

Time practically stood still it was going so slow. That year seemed to go on and on forever.