Hal

Hal

Hal, as so often happened, lamented his parent's lack of foresight. For, not only had Mr and Mrs Itosis called him Henry, but they had insisted that everyone call him Hal. In his teenage years he had tried to get people to call him Henry, but it just hadn't worked. And besides, he actually liked the name Hal.
And people definitely reacted to his name. He had believed that adults tried to hold their breath while talking to children, until he went to school and saw that they only did it with him.
He sighed and took a deep breath before he introduced himself to his blind date.

The ebullient parchment function

Eventually I decided on a soup despite the frightful menu. Paul chose a hotdog which we all acknowledged require some bottle. But nothing could dampen his ebullient mood. He had been looking forward to this function for so long, he kept reminding us. The unveiling of the parchment was to be done at 8 o'clock on the dot and before then we would dine and no doubt hear many times how much he had looked forward to this event. He enthused about everything, including the whole decor of the room, even commenting on the inspiring idea of using opal tables. He chatted to everyone who came even close to his vicinity, especially women though his optimism seemed a little misplaced there. He was overall so buoyant that I quickly grew tired and ended up sleeping through the whole presentation, which meant I had to improvise with my glowing comments about his speech. 

The copyright of this post belongs to Jenni Crowe

Magical Journeys Blog: Your Writing Under a New Name

From today the Turret Writers' Blog will henceforth be known as the Magical Journeys blog, which will be the new site for anyone who submits writing from any of the Magical Journeys retreats or workshops, including the Turret Writers' workshops. The format and principle remains the same, a site for your writing, advertised on twitter and facebook via www.facebook.com/magicalwritingjourneys and @mjourneys claire on twitter.

The Song From Holly

THE SONG FROM HOLLY

Admiring her pure white laced kindred spirit

As she sings from the heart from her playhouse pink

Plain and simple sepia words which touch me

Delivering notes like falling russet leaves

As she sings from her heart from her playhouse pink

Singing through windchimes as I don’t care who else is listening

Delivering notes like falling russet leaves

Yes, I listen to you child, most precious in her time

We don’t care who else is listening

No, the cold is not biting me with ice teeth

Yes, I listen to you Holly, most precious in her time

With everything sparkling up my deadened senses

No, the cold is not biting me with ice teeth

Above and beneath, the world is now a beautiful place

With everything sparkling up my deadened senses

I can see, hear feel, smell and taste her perfume

Above and beneath, the world is now a beautiful place

Singing through windchimes as we don’t care who else is listening

I can see, hear, feel, smell and taste her perfume

Admiring her pure white laced kindred spirit

As she sings from the heart from her playhouse pink

Delivering notes like falling russet leaves

With everything sparkling up my deadened senses

|Plain and simple sepia words which touch me

Above and beneath the world is a beautiful place

Singing through windchimes, as we don’t care who else is listening

No, the cold is not biting me with ice teeth

I can see, hear, feel, smell and taste your perfume

Yes, I listen to you, granddaughter , more precious than time itself

The copyright of this post belongs to Marion Brown 13 October 2014