New manageable project whilst in pain: Short and Sweet.

I think this may be book 2: 365 writing prompts turned into completed compositions/poetry gathered into anthology.. ‘When it’s Me with a pen and paper versus ME and Persistent pain’. One small piece of writing a day approximately 500 words per page, with the actual prompt written for you at the top of the page (so you know what’s going on.) It’s a prompt book with all different genres.. you’ll get to see my spooky side, my thriller side and my funny side!! Obviously, the book will also give i#nformation on what ME is, some helpful tips and tricks and some organisations that can help.

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Right now I don’t have to worry about complicated scenes just yet. I just need to get over promoting my first book and getting my arthritis under control. My next big drama will be probably out by the end of next year. But I’m going to focus on this funny little project first. Do you think it’s a good idea? I’ve given myself the deadline of March 2020… Prompt or two a day; will bring you short compositions (like the ones I post on my blog from A-level) Your way.

Also please don’t forget to click on my carefree and consequence page where you can read reviews and click the links it will take you to buy you a copy on Amazon whether that be paperback, hardback large print, or kindle. Every ounce of support helps and you also gain recognition for what they worked hard for over the years and for not giving up

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A Poem Reflecting Grief.

So yesterday’s task was to write a poem reflecting grief and loss. So, here’s mine:

As a toss the lilies on the earth

And say goodbye to you, I think what what life is worth without you. The world seems silent without your laugh, the stars dimmer.

A part of me went with you,

My heart is split in two, I place one half with you.

I wept for what we had and what we would have had. But this I cannot change. 

I haven’t changed our answer phone as to me you’re not gone.

I boil with anger at why the world hasn’t stopped for you. The colours seem too bright now, the world is at peace whilst I cry.

To me, the light has gone and to me that’s how I want it to stay because the darkness doesn’t betray to others how at a loss I am.

Until you light my way, I want move on until you give me a sign. The old me has died too.

Ultimately I’m too scared to be reborn in a world without you.



“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.”

—Enid Bagnold

Monday night reads

I have been super tired today hence no chapter updates. But, this book ‘Little Lies’ is so good!

I love all its intracies and mystery!

If you’d like me to review a book email me: rachelmariewriter@gmail.com

Does it count as writing when I had to write a poetry essay?! Oh lord, on Monday my UCAS form goes off! I applied for Journalism and Creative Writing.. Wish me luck!

Poetry: Race of life

Question: Using the techniques of caesura, pathetic fallacy and imagery try to convey a person’s emotions. 

I’m in the race

Of life, sprinting

 

Questions tumble in my head

My stomach filling with stones

Of dread.

 

Too many paths to go down

With not enough light,

 

Which way is wrong and will I be right?

 

The sky is grey and heavy

Like my heart. I’ve

Got along way to go and

don’t know where to start

 

The winds of change are

Telling me to keep going

And then I’ll see

 

that as the sun burns

through the cloud, my

heart will lift and I’ll be proud.

 

I may be soaked in sheets of

Fear but as it dries

I know the end is near.

 

The finish line keeps

Moving but I won’t break my stride.

 

In the race of life

I can but only try.

NHS: Can we save it from distress?

The beeps of 

the stat machine

are the beating heart.
The nurses and doctors

Keep the oxygen flowing

So that when a crisis starts,

We can keep on going.
The smell of antiseptic 

Is the scent of 

sucsess and hope.
Whilst the the warmth

On the wards wraps

You in a warm hug

To keep you going.
Each pill is dished 

With tender care, the

Blue scrubs hide angel 

Wings under there.
The food may be basic

But, for some it’s a decent meal.

The clean sheets and kind words

help to heal.
Yes, it’s under strain 

And suffering a great deal.

However besides paperwork and

Budget cuts, miracles are revealed.
Life, death all happen here

Yet, only the unfortunate is

Revealed.
Be kind to our NHS 

and treat with respect. 

Often it’s a service that people

Forget.
So fight for our NHS please,

Don’t stop! Otherwise we may

As well stop the clock 

On the progress we’ve made

Because it wasn’t saved

Yet, a vital part: societies 

beating heart.

Writing journal entries 2017

these at least three years old

Thursday 10th September

When I write, I get a sense of euphoria. It’s like I don’t have to think about what to say, words just flow from my pen like a river runs through the steam. It’s as if I can truly say what I want without hurting anyones feelings. Instead of just having foot in the mouth I can rewrite. I guess you could all this entry a colloquial stream of consciousness.

Saturday 12th September.

Today, I woke up this morning to find myself in a mess, I only broke wind and it seemed had a

bowel movement in my pyjamas. Half an hour later, 20 wet wipes, a cold flannel, a few swear words from my carer and a clean pair pyjamas I was downstairs swallowing each of my eight tablets which I know will make a reappearance later and watching last nights second half of Corrie. Safe to say I was absolutely zombied. I had a little nap and later on my auntie Lainey popped round with a canvas she painted for me. its wonderful with all it’s pinks and blues, my writing inspiration. I then watched the gory but gripping Ripper Street with the delicious Adam Rothberg and marvelled at the victorian forensic science and even transgender issues! I then sank into a glorious bubble bath with my latest Adele Parks novel. Not long after I was back on the throne.. urgh! I write now in bed snuggled up in my duvet after a chat with my best mate and an impromptu football soiree.

Today has been full of colour; brown, blues and pinks, bloody red and soccer green!

Sunday 13th September.

Sunday,

filled with giggles and

the taste of ice cream

at the beach.

Filled with sorrow

because we don’t

want it to be

Tomorrow!

Why I write

| write to give escapism. When my pen flows it takes me on a journey, wether that be my character’s or a reflection on my self. The pen gives me power because sometimes I can’t speak my fews clearly but with my pen I can rewrite it until it’s perfect.

I write to change the world, and with the pen I have the power to do that. I write to express my feelings wether it be anger, happiness or sadness, it’s become my therapy. Sometimes I think it is best to let ink flow, rather than blood. I love the TS Elliot quote; “The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”

I write to get minorities heard, I want to hear their stories, Just like Maya Angelou in ‘I know why the caged bird sings’ and Cathy Watson’s and Cathy Glass’s autobiographies about fostering. We NEED to have these stories written down to raise awareness.

If you have a story in you, write it down, don’t procrastinate!

Writing provides a way for us to communicate, through letters or poetry. Without writers how can have someone say the truth because we’re too scared too. Writer’s are like knights, the pens their swords.

I love this writing quote; ‘Reading and writing, like everything else, improve with practice. And, of course, if there are no young readers and writers, there will shortly be no older ones. Literacy will be dead, and democracy – which many believe goes hand in hand with it – will be dead as well. – by Margaret Atwood. I feel like it is my job to write otherwise people won’t read and be inspired and write themselves, the chain of writers will be broken.

I think it is an honour, I think to be a writer because after I die, my work lives on.