Mapmakers Do It Cartographically

For Merry, though not about her.

Veins crisscross your skin like winding roads cover maps,
The AA Ordinance Survey map of you.
I can almost see the contour lines that denote your body’s hills and valleys,
As I kiss you
Up
and
Down them.
Stretch marks cover your breasts and belly like river lines.
I am glad you cannot see inside my head.
You would not appreciate the cartographical beauty I can see in your body.

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Attempts At Playwriting

This is an open letter to anyone who is out there and reading this.
I am in the process of trying to come up with ideas for a play. I don’t have much of a plot yet, but I know I want it to be based in traditional fairy tales but with an emphasis on self esteem and body image. Because this is a fairly big project I would love to hear from other people about self esteem and their experiences with body image.
So if you want to help me with this please leave a comment and/or email me at theladyssanctuary@gmail.com.

I’ll probably write more about this when I can.

Thanks a million!
xx

Short Poem Drop

Potato Salad

Listen to the radio,
News of job-loss, doom, and gloom.
Look out of the window,
Gray skies, dark, rain,
Tired, Angry, Fractious people,
And for me? Nothing to look forward to but potato salad…

Can I Borrow It?This is a featured page

She said “I love your top, can I borrow it?”
And she took it, I never say it again.

She said “I want that lipstick, can I have it?”
She went home with it, I never saw it again.

She said “I want those earrings, can I take them?”
She took them and left, I never saw them again.

The last time I saw her she said, “I love your skin, can I have it?”
She took my skin and left, I never saw her again.

Fears Of The DeadThis is a featured page

I’m curled in a fetal position,
I’ve been this way for years,
They came one night and killed me,
to help to cure their fears.

Now I’m in a museum,
Naked, Screaming but no one to hear,
I’m here, alone, cold and scared,
I’ll be here forever I fear.

(This poem was inspired by the bog bodies in the national history museum in Dublin).

The Handbag

The handbag contains:


An old bus ticket,
Pages from some old books,
A blue purse,
Two pieces of paper, one saying “Anger”, and the other “Hallway”,
A music notebook full of chords, songs, and lyrics,
Two pens, one gold, one black,
A rose quartz on a string,
A library card,
A gold-ish bracelet,
A Book, “Remember Me When I Am Gone Away” by Christina Rossetti,
A small cloth heart, red gingham with white thread,
and a stolen bourbon.

The Cake Project Part 1: Neil Gaiman

When I was 14 my mam asked what I wanted to do with my life, I replied by saying I thought I would set myself small scale, enjoyable and achievable goals. She looked skeptical at first and only grew more so after I told her my first set of life goals; To meet Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman and have them both sign my copy of Good Omens. Until this point in my life I had horribly bad luck with meeting my heroes. Most of them were dead. J.R.R. Tolkien, Roald Dahl, Pete McCarthy, Richard Feynman. But this time I’d be safe, I knew that both of them were still alive. Sadly less than a month after this conversation with mam Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. I was distraught, and later realised this was likely to be the end of my chance to ever meet him.

Anyway, my Cake Project idea had very humble beginnings. At Hallowe’en 2008 a friend of mine, Izzy, invited me to come stay at hers and meet Neil Gaiman, who was doing a book signing for The Graveyard Book in Eason’s in Dublin. That night remains one of the best of my life, the two minutes when I met Neil Gaiman in person were amazing, they felt like hours. He had this way of looking at you and talking to you like you were the most important person in his world and nothing else mattered as much. I’d made cookies to bring to my friends and in a fit of spontaneity I offered the box to him and he took a cookie, offering me one of his chocolate buttons in return.

The rule was that you could get three books signed so long as one of them was The Graveyard Book, Neil read the first chapter at that event in a beautifully scary voice, then he did a questions and answers. While we were queuing to get our books we were given postit notes to write the names we wanted them signed to, all part of trying to have a good event without giving people any time with the author they had come to see, but when we finally got to him it was brilliant,  one of the Eason’s people was hovering at his shoulder, handing him the books, opening packets of chocolate buttons all to move the line on quicker, and yet Neil was doing it all at his own pace, chatting with everyone and generally being lovely. As me and my friends were leaving with our freshly signed books in hand we met two girls who’d been in the queue ahead of us, one of whom was gushing to us about how it was the best night of her life while her friend burst out yelling “He let me touch his hair!”.

I left with signed copies of Stardust, The Graveyard Book and Good Omens, and an idea. We all got on the bus home massively happy.

Coming next, The Cake Project Part 2: Terry Pratchett

Super Short Story

I didn’t know it was possible to want someone as much as I want you right now.
Do you even know? Do you have any idea how sexy you look holding that slice of tomato on the end of your fork as you talk near endlessly about that book you’ve just read.
You eat things so precisely, slicing the tomato chunks. I can’t remember seeing anyone eat like that. And I want you.
How can you not notice this?

Inspired by an O’Brien’s Sandwich Bar postcard freebie for use in an art project.

NaNoWriMo

So it’s National Novel Writing Month and I’m already behind, I have about 6500 words to catch up on already!  But hopefully if I just do 2000 words a day I should be able to make that up soon enough! It’s slow going and a bit ploddy but a very exciting challenge!

Let us set the scene like a play. The tale opens up onto the only stage there will ever need to be for the beginning of a tale, a small group huddled around a fireplace. It’s a small and sparsely furnished space, a bookshelf, a few battered and ancient chairs. One of these chairs is placed near to the fire and in it is an elderly lady. Around her feet are some smallish shadows. Children? You might assume. There, the scene is set. Let us let it unfold.

So here we go! The start of  50,000 words of fiction.