What's Next?

I never saw a man who looked ,

With such a wistful eye,

Upon that little tent of blue,

Which prisoners call the sky.

Oscar Wilde

1854-1900

What’s on the agenda?

Well, as you may have guessed from the above quote, I am planning, in a day or so, to direct my next post to the 'Dark Poetry’ section, offering you a further insight into the brutal life of Bill Leonard, a prisoner on Death Row in Nevada, USA.

The second item arises on the agenda, because now seems a perfect time to share Christmas with the Fairies and to take the opportunity of introducing you to some of the characters in my two books: ‘The Great Fairy Save’ and ‘Another Fairy Save.’ It will also help to fill in some gaps in ‘Magical Poetry.’

Perhaps it is time to come clean about these 'two books’ …

Well, they are indeed ‘books,’ inasmuch as they both have beginnings, middles and ends, between which have been inserted chapters, with words in them.

Where they fall short of being actual ‘books’ is that they lack the 'having been published’ element – and so bear a very strong resemblance to stacks of paper (which indeed they are). I haven’t, as yet, submitted them to the critical eyes or scorching critique of publishers or

literary agents. That will be addressed in time, once I have made decisions about the way to proceed: conventional / self-publish / shredder ?

However, what I shall be offering in a short time is the serialization, on this site, of my very exciting novel: ‘Not a Tale of Two Cities,’ which, since I am avowed to be apolitical, doesn’t mention the ‘B’ word.

Well not very often.

That’s all for now. A tranquil Christmas and joyous New Year to you all.

Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat ...

This is what it has cost me to produce this website.

Not being computer savvy, I have spent months grappling with obstacles, complexities doubts and delays.

It all started when I decided to write a blog.

For months, I did nothing about this blog, apart from scratching around the edges and locating the whereabouts of my rag-tag collection of poems, prose, rhapsodies and reminiscences. This task necessitated sieving through documents spread over four desktop computers, three laptops, two tablets, a cell phone and several decades.

Additionally, some of my works dated back to the days of quill pens and carrier pigeons, and were scribbled in dog-eared exercise books, or on yellowing sheets of writing-paper.

I finally hauled them all together, collating and cataloging as I went.

Still no sign of a blog .

Then, about six months ago, I came across a lovely, gentle, readable blog, written by an old school friend. Just the thing for a summer's day by the sea, or a winter's evening in front of the fire.

I was inspired!

Taking up virtual pen and paper, I embarked tentatively on my blog and was amazed to experience a sudden, massive surge in creativity. My brain was on fire - I had so much to write about. It would be gratifying to assign my writings to a place of their own and a great relief to unburden myself of the discursive fragments of my various forays into literature .

At last, I am in a place where I can claim to have a working web-site. I shall officially launch it on the general public in a day or so. I do hope that you will drop by and dig deep into all the nooks and crannies. If you like what you see, please make a return visit in a week or so as I shall be downloading stacks of new material.

Surely Not Another Absence Note?

---

Dear Mr. Wood,

Thank God half-term's over, I silently cheered,

And then a pyjama-clad figure appeared,

With florid complexion and feverish brow,

"Oh no!" I thought. "Just my luck! What's he got now?"

"My head hurts!" he said, voice laden with sorrow,

"My throat's dry! I'm ill, can I stay home tomorrow?"

Yet, two hours ago, this very same lad,

Had been bursting with health and driving me mad.

Thermometer poised, I read in due course -

"One hundred and three" and was filled with remorse.

So, I dosed him with Calpol and put him to bed,

With a compress, to soothe his hot, little head.

There, he languished next day, no better, no worse,

Whilst I pounded the stairs, playing housemaid and nurse.

The cure he'd conceived for his illness was drastic,

Being total abstention from pursuits scholastic,

Whilst comics and junk food and constant T.V.

Seemed to soothe and to heal, and the outcome, you see,

Is - now that he's better, and over his "do",

Restored to good health, it’s over to you

Best wishes,

Maggie Smart