The Xmas Tree Run - Xmas Tree #KellsWritingChallenge

Well I'm one day late with the final prompt. I hope I'm forgiven. I hesitated to share this but figured why not? I wrote this short story many years ago. I think maybe 15-20 years ago. For some reason after I had written the prompts I just knew I had to dig it out! I've had a quick read through and edited some obvious errors. Otherwise... It is as it was... So please be kind! 

The Christmas Tree Run

Doug heard the truck before he saw it. It always made that same loud croaking sound as though every turn of the wheel was an effort. Old Mike was always tinkering with it. Every Sunday afternoon he was under it, looking under the bonnet or washing it. Funny thing was it always looked the same; old, dusty and out of condition.

Mike pulled up to a sudden halt and almost ran over Doug's foot. Doug was used to it though, Mike's driving was notorious. He stepped back just in time. A bit of mud splashed on his boots but he paid no heed. He held his jacket to him firmly as he prepared to step into the truck.

The evening was damp and cold despite the season and Doug was pleased to get out of the weather, even if it was into Mike's old, unreliable truck. The smell he noticed straight away was dog; he turned his head and saw Cobber curled up on the back seat, sleeping soundly. Did Mike ever give that dog a bath? Actually he wondered whether Mike ever bathed himself. Tonight he looked much like he usually did. He had a big oversized grey coat on which he wore everywhere. Doug suspected it had once been white or cream coloured. Mike's eyes looked through heavy lids; he smoked continuously and thus always smelled of it. His boots were always muddy and his hair was greying more every day. He was wearing his usual bright smile though. He had a good heart underneath it all.

Mike had the radio on, a country station. He was known to sing along but Doug cautioned him that they were on a mission tonight and they should try and be quiet, noises from the truck notwithstanding.  Mike turned the radio off. Doug breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in the mood for Mike’s singing.

The next pick up was Sam. He always came along on the trip every year even though he did nothing but complain about Christmas. Everything was too much bother for too little return. He needed a tree though; his wife would kill him if he did not get a tree for Christmas.

They might not be able to afford much else but all the families in the town would have a tree. All thanks to Mike, Doug and Sam doing the run through the forest in Mike's old truck. It had become something of a tradition. Even in the years that the crops were good and people had money, which were few and far between, they still did the Christmas tree run.

Sam was waiting impatiently. They could see him moving from foot to foot as though he was under orders not to stand still. Mike pulled up abruptly and Sam jumped in the back, earning himself a dirty look from Cobber.

'Get out of it' Sam gestured to the dog, who was stretched out over most of the back seat but Cobber stayed put. Sam squeezed in next to him. He knew better than to argue. 'You took your time. A man could freeze to death out there waiting for you mob' Sam complained

'Shut up Sammy, I got here didn't I? Anyway it aint cold, just nippy' Mike stated.

They headed off in the usual direction, which meant driving out of town. This did not take long - there was not much town. They proceeded cautiously, by Mike’s standards anyway, as there were no streetlights farther than a certain point and the roads could be dangerous. Mike declared he knew them like the back of his hand but that did not stop Sam and Doug clutching the sides of their seats or anything else that came to hand whenever Mike took a corner. Even Cobber kept shifting closer to Sam.

‘Ok, Usual place then?’ Mike said the same thing every year. The others nodded and grunted at him.

‘Nearly there’ said Mike after they had driven for another five minutes or so. Cobber barked at nothing in particular and Doug assumed he had heard and was happy that the trip would be soon be ending.

‘What was that?’ Mike said startled.

‘It was your bloody dog you idiot’ Sam replied

‘No not that! I’m not that bloody stupid, I thought I heard a car’

‘A Car? Who else other than us would be so stupid to be out here in the middle of the night?’ Sam asked, shaking his head.

Doug was keeping out of it. Every year it was the same. Mike always heard something and got spooked.

‘It could be the cops, they might be on to us’ Mike said as he kept looking around almost as though he was expecting someone to pop up at the window.

‘You say that every year Mike and it’s never the cops’ Doug had to say something. In any case it was a bit overboard to talk about ‘the cops’ where they lived. There were two policeman and both would be sound asleep in their beds.

‘Yeah well, it could be them. They have nothing much else to do and I’m sure that new sergeant was looking funny at me yesterday’

‘Everyone looks funny at you Mike’ Sam laughed.

‘Cheeky sod’ Mike said under his breath. That was the end of the scare for this year Doug hoped.

 The car stopped and they all got out. Cobber jumped out excitedly and raced into the clearing. Mike was unperturbed ‘He’ll be back’

The three men lifted the axes out of the back of the car and each took a large torch. Doug was first to shine his torch and find a circle of trees that would make perfect Christmas trees. ‘Over here’ he called, ‘Have a look at these beauties’

‘Golly they get better every year, I reckon these will reach the ceilings by Christmas day’ Sam stated.

They got started and chopped down six of the perfect Christmas trees. Sam gave up after one tree as his hand was giving him ‘gip’. Something it seemed to do whenever there was hard work involved.

‘How many do we need Sam?’ Doug called out as he wiped his brow; he was not cold anymore.

‘Ten. Mrs. Daley wants one this year.’ Sam replied, checking his tatty notebook.

‘ I thought she hated Christmas?’ Mike asked perplexed. He was loading what they had cut down onto the back of the truck. He noticed one that was smaller than the others and made a mental note to give that one to Mrs. Daley.

‘Yeah well she has not been the same since that last stroke has she? She even waved at me the other day.’

‘Funny that. When my old Nan had a stroke she turned into a real crabby old bag and she had always been really nice.’ Mike said.

Sam laughed ‘Yeah I guess that what happens after you have a stroke, your personality reverses.'

They all laughed but Mike stopped short. ‘What was that?’ He stopped dead in his tracks and flashed his torch every which way.

Sam and Doug cracked up laughing. 

‘Nothing you fool, even if it was something do you think shining your torch around like that is gonna help? They are probably coming for us now because you showed em where we are!’ Doug was trying hard not to laugh as he spoke.

‘Yeah whatever, lets just get this finished’. Mike was obviously embarrassed.

Sam must have been in a good mood as he picked up an axe to help and they got the job finished within no time.

Mike whistled for Cobber who came running and dived onto the backseat and spread out before Sam had a chance to get in. ‘Bloody dog’ Sam quipped.

Doug offered to swap seats but Sam declined. Doug often thought that Sam just liked having something to complain about.

They headed back into town and Mike was on the look out as his paranoia rose to new heights. Sam and Doug kept tapping the seat just to see Mike jump and repeat his ’they are coming to get us’ routine. 

They arrived at the edge of town and Mike slowed down. ‘Where to first?’ He asked

‘Old Harry’s place is closest’. Sam replied. He was right; they went to Harry’s place first every year.

Mike reversed the truck into Harry’s driveway and Doug got out and placed a tree behind the Car Port. No light came on. Harry could sleep through anything. They continued to do the same in each house that wanted a tree.

They were down to three trees. One for each of them. Doug was exhausted and was glad that Mike was dropping him home first. He reached over to pat Cobber and got out and unloaded his tree.

‘See you tomorrow for a beer’ He said as he closed the truck door.

‘Yep’ Sam replied and Mike nodded.

They headed back towards Sam’s and little was said, as they were both tired. Mike’s head pricked up and Sam was about to laugh when he saw the headlights in the rear view mirror.

Sam gulped ‘I think they want us to pull over Mike.'

‘Yep, I reckon they do’ Mike was surprisingly calm.

Mike pulled over. Sergeant Walsh pulled up behind them and got out of his car. He left the headlights on and they shone brightly. Sam wanted to cover his eyes. He was reminded of scenes in the movies where the police would blind people with lights to intimidate them. It worked.

Every step the policeman took felt like an eternity. Sam did not dare look at Mike, as he feared he might start laughing. He looked down at his feet as though he was trying to hide. Mike clutched the steering wheel and took deep breaths. Only Cobber spoke, he did not like the headlights either.

‘Hey, Mike isn’t it?’ The sergeant put his head through the passenger window, which Mike had opened in anticipation of this.

‘Yep and this is Sam’ Mike gestured to the back seat without turning his head; he could have been referring to Cobber.

‘Yeah'  the sergeant smiled and nodded, 'I've seen you both around but what with trying to get to know people since I moved here I haven’t had the chance to speak to everyone’ His tone was friendly, jolly even. Both Mike and Sam sat rigid totally unsure of what to say or do.

‘Well anyway Mike, I tried to get your attention yesterday but you mustn’t have seen me. I would like a tree.’ the sergeant stated simply.

Mike and Sam both stared at him blankly. 'A Tree? For Christmas?’ It was Mike that had gathered his composure first.

‘Um, yes... If that's okay? I suppose you don’t have any spare?’ The Sergeant looked hopeful.

Mike took a minute gulping again; somehow he found his voice,  ‘Of course Sarge. We will follow you home and you can have one of the spares on the back’ Mike managed, trying not to laugh...or cry.

‘Cheers gents, I will show you the way’. The sergeant got back in his car and Mike waited for him to take off so that he could follow.

Sam found his voice; ‘Spares!! What bloody spares? They are our trees!’

‘I bloody well know that. Did you think I should say no? To a copper? Who wants a tree that he knows as well as everybody damn else in this town that we got illegally?' Mike had been driving as he spoke. He was not entirely sure where the new sergeant lived but hoped it was close.

‘Yeah I suppose, But he ain’t having mine’. Sam was adamant

‘Whatever Sam, I’m willing to give mine up. Sal wants to buy one of those plastic ones this year anyway – she reckons they make really nice big ones and you can just pack em away and bring em out each year.'

Sam shook his head. A plastic tree from the shop? Whatever next! 

They arrived at the sergeant’s house and dropped off the tree among promises to meet up for a drink.

Driving back to Sam’s, Mike was quiet. He pulled into Sam’s driveway and refused to help his friend unload his tree.

‘See you tomorrow for a beer around lunch?' Sam asked through the passenger window as he held the tree precariously.

‘Yep, sure thing. Hey Sam?’ Mike called as Sam had started to walk off.

‘Yeah?’

‘Did you find that new copper kinda weird.'

‘Weird?’

‘Yeah, you know...friendly like’

‘Twas a bit odd I suppose, but we should be bloody thankful!' Sam scratched his head with his free hand. 'I mean next year we won’t have to worry about going in the bloody dark if we have the bloody local copper wanting a tree!’ 

‘Dunno about that one Sam’ Mike stated seriously, shaking his head. Sam waited for Mike to say more, but he didn't. He waved, not very enthusiastically, and drove away noisily. How did they ever think they could do anything covert in that truck? 

It had been a weird night that was for certain. Sam went inside and put the tree in the living room and actually smiled. He couldn't wait to see Doug and tell him what had happened. He couldn't help but wonder if their annual tradition was suddenly over. But no, the annual Christmas tree run was not at end, Mike had a whole year to come up with some new danger.

.

Best Ever & Roller Coaster #KellsWritingChallenge

Day 8 & 9 

Best Ever and Roller Coaster...

Hmmmm I've given myself a job here. How do I combine these two things into one blog post or story? Serves me right for not writing about best ever yesterday! I could tell a story of how spending a day at a theme park going on a roller coaster was the best ever day of my life but I would be lying... So it would have to be fiction..

No when I think of best ever I don't think of roller coasters or theme parks for that matter. Sorry to say. A few things come to mind. Like when you are child everything is pretty much the best ever. A certain toy you long for and finally get for xmas, riding on a bus or train, going on holiday to...well anywhere really. A certain birthday would be the best ever.., until the next year came around and managed to beat it!

Then at some point we stop thinking like that. We take everything for granted. Gifts and holidays we suddenly see as boring or not cool. We don't appreciate a good birthday cake, or a simple scenic train journey. But it's a part of growing up I suppose. Because at some point we change again and write things like this because we realise that we need to start celebrating the little things in life and taking joy in so many different things.

Even now with all these years behind me and places I've stayed, put me in a hotel room and I get crazy excited. Just like a child. I grew out of it when I was a teen then at some point in my twenties I suddenly realised it was ok to feel child like glee over something simple. So pop me in a hotel room and I check out everything; the little bottles of toiletries come home with me, I have to check out  what label tea and coffee they offer, I may even bounce just a little bit on the bed... Maybe each time isn't quite the 'best ever.' But at least I'm enjoying myself! 

It would be tough to pick out one best ever day or year or time of my life. I just think the best ever thing in life is to be grateful, laugh, love and enjoy as much as we can.  Of course not every day will be great. There will be bad times. Ok here it comes.., like is one big roller coaster. There are highs and lows, there is anticipation, things move too fast or go too slow, sometimes you laugh and sometimes you scream. Sometimes you just want life to stop so you can get off. Sometimes you just wanna throw up...

But mostly we have a lot to be thankful for, even when things are not going so well. We can be kind to ourselves in the down times and know that a best ever moment might be just around the corner. 

There we go then... Best ever and roller coaster.., I didn't think I could go it! 

The High Road #KellsWritingChallenge Day 7

Day 7 - The High Road

So I have written a poem. Promise to laugh with me and not at me. This is not my forte! But I wanted to give it a try and this just seemed like the ideal prompt. Hope you are all enjoying the challenge!

The High Road 

Two roads

so the story goes

One takes you somewhere

the other, nowhere

Choose

right or wrong

the fork, the intersection

twists and turns

What if both are safe, 

or not?

Walk past the fallen rocks,

Through the ferocious storm

The High road

The Low road

the right one

the wrong way

Choose carefully

or not at all

Simply go forth

Take a step

Get there in the end

high or low, fast or slow

Just keep going

Moving on   

Day 6 Outside #KellsWritingChallenge

Day 6 - Outside 

Outside the house, outside the box, standing on the outside looking in. So many different things came to mind when I thought of the word 'outside.' Outside the house is probably the most positive. We go outside to get fresh air, feel the breeze, see the blue sky or alternatively the starry sky at night.

In fact why don't I do that more often? I love sitting outside and looking up at the night sky. I'm ashamed to say I cannot recognise any constellations. I tend to make up my own, though they are rarely very imaginative. 'Look if you join that one and that one and that one its a giant triangle! How cool!' Yeah not very creative I know! 

So going outside can have many positive connotations. Think about going outside for the first time in years? Perhaps you have been ill or gaoled for a crime you didn't commit. 

I read recently about a man being released from prison after serving 27 years. It was discovered he was not guilty after all. Imagine when this man walks outside for the first time unshackled? Everything will be vivid, a blessing. Things we take for granted such as feeling the grass under our feet, feeling the sun on our face, a cool breeze on a warm day will be magical to him. Walking along a busy street and stopping to browse would seem like a great adventure.

So yes going outside. That's what I'm going to focus on today. Not desperately trying to think out of the box or being so different that you are an outsider.  Instead I will think of starry nights, a smiling moon, cool breezes, birds chirping in trees overhead; wondering if you may well be a victim of bird poop landing on you...Yes even that is positive. It is supposed to be good luck after all! 

There's No Time Like the Present #KellsWritingChallenge Day 4

Day 4 - There's No Time Like the Present.

Right now, in this moment, I should be getting up. Instead I feel rooted to the spot or as though I'm strapped to the bed. I want to get up and do what I have to do but I just can't. Of course I could simply ignore what I have to do... Just as I have the last few days. Putting it off, procrastinating, thinking tomorrow will be just fine. One day won't make a difference right?

So here I am in this moment, my hair messy, my nightie crumpled, my face no doubt pale and tired. I dare not look. I have the covers half on and half off; somehow it keeps you from being too hot or too cold. I can see the sunshine streaming through the gap in the curtains. No way to hide in the dark. I manage a bodily movement and cover my eyes with my forearm and take a deep breath. Am I still in the present? Everything I just thought is in the past now. What does my future hold?  How strange to be lying here, tired, immobile, a sick feeling in my stomach and just casually philosophising. 

I suddenly realise that the past is not something that happened a hundred years ago. Well it is but that's not all it is. My thoughts are now in the past. How long does the present last before it becomes the past? A few seconds? Minutes? Hours? There's no time like the present, the old saying goes and in this case it is correct. I should be doing what I have put off for so long. But what is the present? Once you think something then that thought is immediately in the past.

Perhaps it is better to think that something should be done in the future... The immediate future perhaps but it will be the future. Too much pressure to expect anyone to do something so taxing in the present.

Well my future awaits! So I throw back the covers and leap out of bed in one swift move. Like taking off a bandaid, it was easier to do it quickly and in one go. I head to the kitchen and without even thinking, put the kettle on and reach for a cup. I almost do what I have done every other day this past week and ignore my favourite mug, the one I feel I can no longer use. But instead, today I  grab it quickly. Avoiding it was the same as avoiding the task I must perform.

As the kettle noise rises, reaching its trembling crescendo, I find myself suddenly remembering my childhood, before electric kettles. There was something quite magical about dragging a heavy kettle to the stove top and using a match to light the flame underneath. The little hat in place that would whistle ferociously once the water was at boiling point. Why were electric kettles better? Quicker perhaps? Cheaper to run? I don't know, I just know I went with the flow like everyone else. No living in the past. In the present we use electric kettles. The future? Who knows. Maybe I might buy an old fashioned one, Polish it every day as my old aunt had.

I make my tea, the heady aroma almost making me feel better, calming me slightly. I tremble though when I lift the mug and spill a little. Enough procrastination though. I need to get to it. No time for changing or a shower; I just head to my office and turn the computer on, sipping hot tea as it boots up.

  

I have been putting this off for so long but no more so than this morning. Philosophical conversations with myself about what constitutes the past or the present. I was somehow in my past, present and future all at once. All these clever thoughts don't change the truth that I do need to act now... If I need to see it as the future then so be it.

So I open my email program, ignore the inbox and click on the compose icon. I sip some tea, my heartbeat suddenly galloping. In my immediate future I will write and send this letter. I will, I must. So I take a deep breath and start to type, 'Dear John...' 

#KellsWritingChallenge Chocolate Cake!

Day 3 - chocolate cake 

 

There is so much I could say about chocolate cake. I could try and describe the taste, texture or aroma. I could describe the feeling of expectation when you order it or make one, or the slightly ill feeling you get when you have eaten what you thought was just a small slice.

But you know when I think about chocolate cake I remember when chocolate cake was not really chocolate cake. When I was young a chocolate cake was basically a plain cake with cocoa added to it. It was a chocolate flavoured cake. It kinda looked like chocolate but it wasn't really. Then one day someone somewhere introduced the concept of mud cake where you actually put real chocolate in and my life changed! 

It may seem strange to some of you but I didn't much like cake as a child. Birthday parties were tough going. I didn't like icing and I didn't like that fake cream they put in cakes back then. Plus it didn't even really help if it was called 'chocolate' as that usually implied it was a chocolate sponge and that did nothing for me. For me it was like the difference between KFC and a packet of chicken flavoured chips. Some may like both but in no way does one taste like the other. So chocolate sponge cake is simply in my opinion, chocolate flavoured cake. In order for it to be an acceptable cake to me it has to have actual real chocolate in it. 

I bet you never even thought about the distinction before did you? Well it's an important one. These days there are probably so many different varieties of chocolate cake so that most people never ponder what is a chocolate cake and what is simply pretending to be one. But to me cocoa is no substitute for actual chocolate. That's just me. You may disagree. You may be one of those people that stuffed themselves silly with birthday cake at parties when they were young. I remember you. I equally envied you and thought you were crazy.

In fact I was probably the odd kid at most birthday parties. I wouldn't eat the cake and often had to explain at great length that it wasn't because I wasn't allowed, it was simply that I didn't want any because I didn't like it. Then there was the jelly which I also hated. I still do actually.. I would eat custard or cream ( if it was real!) and some very easy going mothers would happily give me a bowl of custard or cream without comment or asking questions.

These days my birthday is pretty simple. I get a chocolate mud cake. Maybe totally hand made, maybe made from a cake mix or maybe bought from a cake shop. I don't mind really, so long as it does what it claims and actually tastes like real chocolate! 

Moving? The moving House Gods are kind to no one!

Well here we are. Day 1 of my writing prompt challenge is here! The first topic is Moving - here is a blog post inspired by Moving.

#KellsWritingChallenge

Whenever I see the word 'moving' I think of moving house. If you just groaned at the thought then I am totally with you. I think moving house is the single most stressful thing you can ever do. It's traumatic. It makes grown men weep. It is one of those things that we all have to do at least once in our lives and yet we would do almost anything to avoid it.

You know when you are watching a game of footy and the commentators ( or the person beside you on the couch) will mention the football Gods. The ball stops just millimetres before the dead ball line... The football Gods were shining on the kicker!

Well I think there are Moving Gods. Except they are never ever with anyone. I see them as like those cheeky Gods on Mount Olympus playing tricks on the gullible humans. You may think the Moving Gods are with you but there will always be a sting in the tail.

Most people hope that on moving day it will be a fine day. Rain and moving house is a bad combination. So no rain please. The Moving Gods grant you this wish and for those few seconds upon waking that you realise it's not raining you think oh thank you! Until it turns out that instead moving day will in fact be the hottest day on record since 1971 so that two boxes in you melt in a puddle on the driveway unable to do more... Moving Gods are kind to no one! 

Then there are the times when we realise that we really are beyond borrowing people's vans or hiring a truck and so we hire professional movers. So we plead that the movers be on time, not play blaring music that will give you a headache, and that they do their job quickly and efficiently. The Moving Gods rarely accede to this request. It's usually beyond even their powers to control the habits of removal men. But when they do... It seems like a small piece of heaven has arrived in your new home. That is until you discover every single glass you own is now in a thousand pieces... Or worse... Just one glass from every set of 4.

So the moving Gods are kind to no one. They like having their little jokes. If you don't know this then might I suggest you take a good look around where you live and imagine yourself living there for the rest of your life. Because if you decide to move then the Moving Gods will spare you no mercy!

A bit excited... Writing Prompt Challenge

I was going to write a post about common courtesy and about how it seems to be in fact very uncommon these days...if you will pardon the cliched pun. But instead of whinging and whining about people at busy supermarkets I am going to focus on the positive...

I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have posted my first ever event on facebook which is a writing prompt challenge. The thought came to me after I had participated in some online challenges. Mostly photo based ones but in the midst of these, I was a reading  a writing prompt book and the idea came to me; what about a writing prompt challenge? 

It worried me at first that it might be hard to write based on a prompt every day. But I thought even just a single sentence would do and even that can be creativity challenging. So why not? 

Given that not long ago I hesitated to even create a writers page for myself I think this is a great step in the right direction. It's scary to think I will have to post a piece of writing every day for ten days. But it's also exciting!

So thank you to all of you who have signed up. I can't wait to see what you all come up with. If you haven't been invited and would like to join then go to my facebook writers page. ( will put the link below) Also if I sent you an invite and you thought 'bloody hell I can barely have one clear thought a day let alone write something...' and have not accepted....then shame on you! No just joking.... It's all fine, this is meant to be fun after all. Feel free to silently stalk the page and chuckle at my efforts!

Anyway December 8th it starts and see... I have already forgotten about that annoying woman in the supermarket who made me want to rant about courtesy....

Bye for now,

Kell

https://www.facebook.com/Kellieawarner

That special friend...

Many of us have different types of friendships. Some friends are people we love like family. Others we see hardly ever but when we do we are simply able to take up where we left off such is the bond. Then there are the friends that perhaps we only see socially as they are fun but we would never trust them with a secret. Then there is that one special friend, the one you share everything with and know everything about; one that you love but can never meet in person for fear they might actually kill you.

Wait, you mean you don’t have a friend like that? Most of your close friends you can safely meet since they are not homicidal? Well yes me too but strangely it is not so for everyone.

Recently I was taken aback just a touch by an article in a regular every day magazine about a woman, Terri-Anne, who had a serious relationship through letters with Richard Ramirez, who was on death row (now deceased from cancer) and was a famous (infamous) serial killer.

If the name rings a bell but you can’t quite place him… Let me give you a run-down. Ramirez was active in the 1980’s and was known as ‘The Night Stalker.’ He murdered 13 people, attempted to kill another 5, and sexually assaulted a further 11 people.

I will let you Google him if you want the gory details but I will give you a small glimpse into his crimes. Ramirez shot and killed 66 year old Bill Doi then tied down his disabled wife and raped her. In another incident he shot Elyas Abowath then repeatedly raped his wife in front of their toddler.

Now imagine seeing this man on TV and thinking ‘He is hot’ and writing to him? What possesses someone to do that? I’m not sure I know or could even speculate. Perhaps I need to get that degree in psychology I once thought would be a good idea. But remember while there are plenty of women that have been seduced by criminals, most tend to believe their paramours to be innocent. Make no mistake this man did not proclaim his innocence. She wrote to him and continued to write to him and became as she says ‘very close’ to him, knowing full well he did what he was convicted of. Indeed remember my opening to this piece… she was smart enough to realise she could never meet him in person for fear he would kill her.

How does that work? How can you care about someone and believe they care about you but you know they would kill you given half the chance? It would be very easy to write this woman off as simply stupid. Why else would you have an ongoing relationship with a serial killer? But I don’t think it is that easy. There must be something more behind it. I went from dismissing this woman as a moron to wanting to find out more about her.

I probably need to mention here that serial killers and true crime do fascinate me. I wonder about the sociopathic brain. What is it that separates their minds from ours? What would it be like to have no empathy? Is a serial killer capable of love in any way, shape or form? Most people think of serial killers as loners who form no relationships at all let alone deep abiding ones. This is certainly true for many. But the Green River killer was married to a woman who loved him and it would seem even if he didn’t love her he at least never harmed her and certainly had some sort of positive relationship with her. Jerome Brudos, the Oregon serial killer known as the ‘lust killer’ was married and concerned when his wife was being questioned after his arrest. Whilst he viewed his victims as akin to insects he wanted to simply squash he spoke well of his wife and children and was never violent towards them.

There are other examples. Ted Bundy formed close friendships and it is believed he killed women who looked like a particular ex whom he loved and never got over. It may well be he saw her more of a possession than a person to love but even so he felt something… something that turned his love or obsession into hate.

So is it possible that Ramirez could be totally indifferent to the lives of most people but be in love with a particular person? From what I could see of his letters, he did declare his love for this woman, in very romantic and even poetic ways. In fact I think plenty of women would love even one love letter such as he wrote to Terri-Anne let alone the 58 or so he sent her. Then again he did request nude photos and asked about her sex life which reads as a bit creepy rather than romantic…

But she might have found it easy to simply ignore any slightly icky moments as he called her his ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ and said things like ‘If the sun refused to shine, I’d still be here loving you.' Or 'I’ve never known a love like yours.'

So if he did in fact love her it still begs the question of how she could see past his crimes and also how she reconciled that with a genuine fear for her life if they were ever to meet.

Might it be that she thought he was like some sort of wild animal? That if they were alone together, his instinct to kill would win out regardless of his love for her? Like a Tiger who suddenly turns on an owner after years of being a loving pet?

Or does she really think deep down that he is nothing but a liar? His words of love being used solely to entrap her? She was merely a conduit to his ego… he can still receive attention from women in prison whilst being guilty of the most heinous of crimes?

So perhaps they just fed each other’s ego. She can tell people she had a ‘famous’ pen pal who sends her glorious love letters and he can once more feel he is manipulating a woman and getting pleasure from it.

I wish the article had gone further. In fact I would love to contact her and have a really good chat and maybe see more of the letters. Yes I am a bit of a busy body! I hear you all don’t worry. But we writers have to have a sense of curiosity, wanting to know more, get to the truth. So here I am wondering how this relationship actually worked. Perhaps I am simply being way too cynical in not believing that it was a real genuine relationship. That perhaps not all friendships or even romances are the same. People can be in love yet not be able to live together for various reasons. Others can love each other yet be totally platonic. The fear of a loved one murdering you is perhaps a new one but who knows? Perhaps someone can love you but also want to kill you?

What are your thoughts?

Bloglovin

I am writing a Blog post purely in order for a blog of mine to appear on Bloglovin! My dear friend Nat is coaching me as for some reason it was beyond me to work out how to use it.

This stumped me quite frankly. I felt like perhaps I was becoming my mother who still doesn't understand the difference between MS Word and Windows. She is just a bit... You know... Someone who is not good with technology. The opposite to a computer whizz if you like... An anti-geek.

I however am pretty good with technology. Ok so I can't write code and probably couldn't format a computer without assistance. But I thought I was pretty good with social media and blogging type programs. I tweet, I pin, I Instagram, I have actually once explained in great detail to someone what a hashtag is and how they work. 

So here I am suddenly wondering if I'm losing it? As I'm getting older I'm becoming less and less computer savvy? Will I wake up tomorrow and forget how to post a photo on facebook? By next year will I be calling the mouse a thingamabob? We can only hope my degeneration won't be quite that quick.... I might have a few years left in me yet! We will soon know... 

My Brisbane Writers Festival experience

This is just one of the many collage pictures I have made to try and represent my experience at the Brisbane Writers Festival. Not sure I've fully managed to cram my excitement, creativity explosion and sheer joy into one picture. But it's been fun trying!

                                                     

I spent two days at the festival and each day and session was incredible and inspiring. First up was an urban explorer talking how once deciding to do a story on the phenomena he had to join urban explorers in their risky ( and often illegal) activities before they would talk to him. He found in urban exploring what he hadn't in archaeology and he was hooked. He had incredible stories about the underground in London, the Metro in Paris, old abandoned psychiatric hospitals in England, half built skyscrapers in Dubai.

There was a downside to all this as well what with governments lumping these explorers in with terrorists. Fear at what they simply don't understand.

I immediately rushed downstairs after the session to buy his book. The historian inside me was intrigued and excited. On another level I instantly felt excited about the notion of going for it at any cost and figured this book from this cool amazing guy could me a new found sense of adventure!

One of the most poignant sessions I went to really had nothing to do with my writing... Or did it? The session was about the mind. There was a philosopher, a former psychiatrist who went through a breakdown and then a stroke, a gifted medical practitioner who suffered terrible depression and nearly once sliced her own arm off with a scalpel. Both the last two had written books about their recovery. The final panelist was a fiction writer, mostly of science fiction. Phew! What a panel! Luckily the moderator was very good and each got to speak in turns and there was even a few jokes... Which is bound to happen when talking about the mind among crazy medical people, a
sci-fi writer and a philosopher!

Plenty of things were discussed. Is the mind and the brain different? The mind/body connection, plus how medical professionals deal with being on the other side of the table as patients. Somehow even Doctor Who was mentioned ( which went down well with us all!) and the latest movie Lucy ( which didn't ) at one point the philosopher stated that the only people who can use just 10% of their brains are the writers of that movie script!

What resonated with me was Kate Richards and her struggle with mental illness. Some of the things she described I really related to. She referred to how she felt people were living in her mind. Some were benign and others were malicious and as clever as she was she was so far into her mental illness that it took her many years to realise the voices were a figment of her own mind.

Her book is called 'Madness: a memoir' and sounds like it would be a heart wrenching but important read. Her book came about only due to the fact that she wrote copious notes and journal entries over the years even when at her worse. So despite not always recognising her own words or even knowing what year she wrote some entries she put them together in a book.

Like Kate I have kept journals a lot over the years particularly when I was very ill. I'm not sure if there is a book in them though!

So onto another session which was two debut authors, one Australian and one Irish. Both having books with the word 'Thing' in the title and both having written fiction based on real events they had each witnessed to various degrees. Their books sounded incredibly researched and are on my to read list. Particularly Mark Mulholland's book ' A Mad and Wonderful Thing.' His own brother was arrested and gaoled for being part of an IRA bomb plot. Mulholland grew up with what he called 'charming' men who had this double life as killers for a cause. He said his protagonist, a conflicted IRA member is representative of Ireland and is also a mixture of all those charming men.

Now I couldn't go to a writers festival and not see some sessions on crime novels could I? One was focussed on villains. What makes a good villain? Why do we like them ? Are they just a few brain cells away from us? This session introduced me to a fabulous Scandinavian author
 Yrsa Siguroardottir and I have already bought one of her books.

Another panel was incredibly interesting and just nicely gruesome! Speaking of dead bodies and what happens at a crime scene as well as what crime scenes are usually actually like. We had an ex cop crime fiction writer and a forensic investigator who intrigued me greatly. He had some interesting theories and though he has not written fiction I imagine his text books on the subject would be invaluable to crime writers and enjoyable for true crime fans (like me!)

I did a workshop on feature writing. I figured I knew a fair bit about the art but my problem rather was my perfectionist streak that keeps me from finishing or even starting pieces. But I Learned a hell of a lot! Three hours of useful information. Caroline Overington was a brilliant teacher and she writes features for the Australian Women's Weekly on people like Hilary Clinton so we all ate up every word she said!

Oh and Frances Whiting popped in to say hi to us all.  It was almost surreal. The next day as I was waiting to be picked up after checking out of my hotel I was scanning the paper and there was Whiting herself with a brilliantly funny article. To think she had smiled at me and happily chatted to all us amateurs just the day before!

Phew! What a weekend!

Pirate Yoga Pants? Yes...Really...

So I was browsing through a certain online auction site and there they were. Available at a fairly reasonable price... Pirate yoga pants.

Which of course begs the question - What the hell? I can't tell you the number of things that crossed my mind. Do pirates do yoga? If so is there a certain dress standard required? Are there pirate yoga tops too? Do they come in a variety of colours?

Let's think about it though. Pirate yoga - it could be a thing. I mean I'm sure when someone first came up with concept of Zumba they were shouted down. That would never work they were told. 

So Pirate Yoga. The possibilities are endless. The most obvious being the great new names for the yoga poses. Can you manage The Plank? Not quite? Never fear you can attempt the 'Walk The Plank' instead. Which would probably consist of walking... In a straight line... Pretending to balance yourself.

Downward Dog is so yesterday. All the cool kids are doing the 'You Scurvy Dog.'

Animal names are common in yoga. How about The Albatross? Or The Parrot? Which may or may not involve attempting to sit on someone's shoulder. Repeating verbatim what the instructor says is of course optional.

Clutching your stomach tightly while bending forward and groaning - doing the 'Sea Sickness' pose.

The corpse pose can pretty much stay the same. 

If you want cardio then perhaps a bit of sword fighting? Not strictly yoga but hey a fencing/yoga fusion done while listening to 'A sailor went to sea sea sea',' 6 months in a leaky boot','I am sailing' and 'The horn pipe' could be the next big thing. 

So there you have it. If you have ever wondered what to do with that ill advised late night purchase when you thought pirate yoga pants seemed like a great idea? Well now you know! Let's get started?

 

Camping? WHY?

I always find it interesting at this time of year when people start to talk about their plans to go camping. Well interesting is a polite word actually. What I really mean is that I find it completely bonkers!

I mean camping? Why? Where is the appeal? Why do normal ordinary people get excited about the prospect of spending days in a vinyl tent under a hot sun surrounded by insects? I suppose children I get. Everything is exciting when you are a kid. But adults? Wouldn't they rather stay at a nice hotel? With an actual bed? And a solid roof? And air conditioning?

I  have been camping.... I think twice. Or maybe three times. I've blocked it out mostly. I was a child when I went camping so once I was old enough to decide on my own holiday destinations a tent was never an option. But I did go as a child and pretty much hated every minute of. I was not an adventurous child. Even young and carefree I saw the sense in a nice hotel.

Because if we think about it with a logical mind camping for recreation is quite ridiculous. If we were to tell someone from the 1800's that people actually camp out on the open for fun they will think people of the future are insane. Absolutely insane. Why would you sleep in a tent if you own a perfectly good house?

Because camping used to be of necessity. It was the only thing to do to get from place to place. If you happened to pass through a town with an Inn you would stay there... You know as opposed to sleeping on the hard ground. Why do that if you don't have to?

So camping for recreation perplexes me. I don't understand the appeal at all. It sounds like a form of torture to me. Especially in the Queensland summer, especially when people go north to go camping. It's like saying what is a holiday without a dose of heatstroke?

But imagine I were to go camping now? Imagine Master 4 decides he would like to go camping and mummy must come too? I suppose I would have to brave it. I imagine it would go something like this..

First trip to the camping store would be cut short by my hubby declaring that we really don't need all the things I am picking out. How are we going to transport the generator? Whereas I'm convinced it would fit on a trailer. We could hire a trailer to pack the generator and the portable shower and the bar fridge. So ok maybe the microwave is going a little too far. I will admit that.

So after being told to leave hubby will buy the basics needed to endure... I mean enjoy a camping trip.

The day will come and for some reason we will be leaving while it is still dark. I will ask why and not get a proper answer. I will INSIST we stop for coffee before we enter the middle of nowhere. I may be seen by passing vehicles to be silently sobbing into my coffee and declaring my love for it. Or maybe not. Who am I kidding? That's exactly what passing vehicles will see!

Upon arriving master four will wander off collecting all manner of sticks and rocks whilst hubby tries to put up the tent. I will at this point no doubt be spraying insect repellant all over us like a crazed woman.

At some point a swim will be suggested. Master 4 will be all excited. I will look askance at the muddy water and wonder whether it is safe, I will instil the importance of not swallowing the water! Though I need not have bothered as Master 4 will no doubt run out after a few minutes screaming that fish are touching him! Hubby will swim alone till it is time for lunch. I will try and read but will keep having to stop master 4 wandering off. Eventually I tell him there are Tigers in the bush so he does not go too far..

At last some sense! Lunch is cooked on a little gas cooker after even hubby realises attempting to build a fire would be futile. So sausages for lunch? Pretty cool I suppose. Just like a Saturday morning at Bunnings only we are not going home to an air conditioned house.

Somehow we make it through the afternoon. The only way anyone naps is if copious amounts of meds are taken. Who can sleep in this heat? Master 4 at some stage will ask if he can go and see the Tigers and I will slink down behind my book pretending I have not heard. I suggest the boys go on a bush walk to see the Tigers so I can have a few minutes alone. I will get all of five minutes until they come back exclaiming ' it's too hot out there!'

Dinner will involve probably sausages again.... Not so exiting second time round and alcohol. Yes it must involve alcohol. In fact there is one esky devoted to it. No way I'm camping without a glass of white wine. Or you know a plastic cup of white wine....

At some point it will be time to sleep. I will just get settled on top of my sleeping bag. It will be too hot no doubt to actually get inside the thing, when I realise I have to pee. It's one thing to find a place to pee in the bush during the day. It's quite another to have to find it at night. We did bring a torch didn't we? Didn't we?

The morning will come and I dare say there will be birds chirping and the sunrise will be beautiful. Maybe just maybe I will be delighted for all of a few a minutes with the wonders of nature before wanting to leave them.

Day two will be much like day one. Except at some point I will suggest that I cannot handle another insect bite and it's too hot to do anything so why don't we go? Hubby will pretend to be disappointed but will soon buck up when I mention the motel that is just 3.8km away that according to wotif have a vacancy.

Thus will be my camping trip. Here's hoping by the time master four wants to go camping I will be able to show him this in order to change his mind. Then again camping is the ultimate male bonding thing right? Father and son holiday? Yes? I can stay home lest I inhibit the father/son quality time?

So what is your take on camping? Fun or insane?