Of Poxy Portents April 18, 2009
Posted by Jen in : Journal , 27 commentsOh. And Bloody Hell. And Eeeeeeeeeek. I think I’ve been voodoo’d. Freak-outified. Oh. My. God.
You know, don’t you, that I am something of a closet hippy? And I believe in all that stuff involving signs and portents and other peculiar claptrap. Well. I got up this morning. I often do. That’s not it. The ‘it’ was outside my bedroom window when I opened the curtains. I just didn’t notice until I’d clambered back into bed with my tea and laptop and an urge to write my novel/ECA. I tried to concentrate before becoming carried away with the potential funky theory that the opposite of astral projection might be astral attraction. I wondered whether that was a concept my scrummy hippy character, Willow, would believe in. So I wasn’t just procrastinating, it was research. See? Anyway. I thought I’d better check the sky for rainbows and… and… there it was. A dead, splayed sparrow dangling from the eaves outside my bedroom window. Dangling from what, I’ve no idea. It just seems suspended there, wings out as if on a cross. But upside down. No hint of a smile on its grim little beak, its glassy eyes lacking the surprise one would expect from a suspended splayed sparrow.
What can it mean? Has I been hexed? If I venture through the portal to the outside world (yeah, ok, the front door) will it drop on my head? Will I then be double-doomed? Perhaps someone put it there? But how? I suppose the power of the voodoo has no rules about long arms for put-uppingness of scary signs. Or maybe it was catapulted there? By someone mean who wants me to write a story about them and their ‘fowl’ behaviour instead of Willow and her comic karmic beliefs?
What can it all mean? Answers on a gruesome, blood splatted postcard if you please…
Of Divine Deliciousness April 7, 2009
Posted by Jen in : Journal, Things to Buy , 24 commentsAs you can imagine, I am made of fairly stern stuff. But, dear reader, I must confess that something rare has happened. I have been swoonified. Oh yes indeed. I mean, of course I have my share of fanciful ideas – I’m practically famous for it. I daydream relentlessly about the house I will own in France when I am a famous writer. You know, the one with the dewy grass, raspberries growing, etc. And I do intend to make this happen. But, oddly for me, the object of my desire is in reach.
Isn’t this the most beautiful thing? I have never lusted over coloured ink before – quite the opposite, in fact. I am hopelessly in love with my Mont Blanc fountain pen and slightly lairy brown Waterman ink. I have been for some years and even take it to work for pleasant message-scribbling. The trouble, is course, is that I have to keep hiding it so that no one else uses it. I would, unfortunately, have to punch them in they eye if that were to happen. But look! Here! Oh my. I am truly weak with longing. I need – not want – NEED a Lamy fountain pen. And even more beauty abounds… 
Oh, so many colours. I do believe that my next novel will be weaved in Bleu Myosotis. *Sigh* Forget-Me-Not Blue. Heaven. The even betterer thing is that, after many swooning visits to this website over the past week, I have finally noticed that this oasis of writerly joy is only half an hour away from me. I’m weak, I tell you, weak. How funny that something so delicious was there all the time, I just never knew. So close, I could have reached out and touched it all along.
So… which colour are you?
