Old Stuff...

Whilst I'm on here plugging myself it occurred to me I could be opportunistic and put up some pictures and stories from back in time.  Most of these images will have been posted on Facebook or Redbubble at some point but I did get some feedback from people that the text in the stories was too small to view on a computer screen. With that in mind I have decided to re-publish (as it were) some stories which I thought were pretty worth-while but in which the text is pretty teeny-weeny. This is the problem with not being aux-fait with programmes like Photoshop,  you end up using clunky tools like Powerpoint which has mixed results. I've decided that I am just too old to get down with Photoshop. I have used it previously and by used; I mean staring at the screen, clicking random things and then watching Youtube instructionals until I weep because I just don't get it....

Anyhow... enough rambling... The first story is my favourite because it's kind of romantic, which is unusual for me although the ending is pretty downbeat, which IS usual for me. (Happy endings suck!)
So, this is 'He Loved to Skim Stones' which I wrote after a trip to see the parents in Weymouth and ended up watching Saul skim stones endlessly, probably through boredom but I like to think he was being deeply philosophical and introspective....

Page 1:
1st Postcard reads: B. I did what you suggested, I took a break, I have found the sea and walked along the beach with the wind blowing in my hair. This morning I saw a man standing alone on the shore. He was handsome I suppose but he looked so mournful staring into the distance, walking slowly along that I felt more drawn to him than I  have to anyone in a while, I suppose this is progress. All my love R x

2nd Postcard reads: B. I was planning on staring mournfully out to sea and wondering where it all went wrong today, having some time to piece it all back together and then pick it apart again, instead I saw that man again. He was skimming stones. He seemed to take time and care in the ones he chose. it must have worked for him, his best skim was 7 jumps. We didn't meet eyes or nod hello but still there was something there, him skimming- me watching.... I left him there, skimming stones alone. R x

Page 2
1st postcard reads: B. Same time, same place and there he was, skimming again. I wish I could show you his elegance, the smoothness of his throw, he hardly ever fails. You would agree with me about him, I know you would. I waited longer than before and when he was satisfied he turned and walked straight towards me, for a moment I though he was going to speak as he passed but we simply exchanged a glance. He didn't need to speak, he knew why I was there. Shall I tempt fate and come back tomorrow? Love and Fishes R xxx

2nd postcards reads: B. I didn't make it to the beach this evening but I didn't need to. Earlier I walked along the Quay, wondering if there was a boat that would take me away and there he was, sitting on an old box, staring at the boats too- maybe wondering the same thing. I lingered for a moment but he didn't look up. I knew how he felt, such reveries shouldn't be broken, even by one who understands. You often said as much to me. I miss your understanding. R xxx

Page 3
1st postcard reads: B. I was slightly earlier to the beach today but he was already there. I wonder how long he spends skimming stones everyday. Maybe it is a kind of meditation, almost as if he is throwing his worries out to sea, washing them away? Time alone has left me introspective and slightly uneasy in my choices. I left before he finished but all evening I have missed watching the way he moves and the soft sound of the sea. R xxx

2nd Postcard reads: B. Today is my last day. I will reach you before this card. I went to the beach again to watch him but he wasn't there. I waited until the sky clouded over and the wind picked up and regretted not staying yesterday. Regrets... Maybe I should have spoken to him, had an affair, fallen in love but maybe the expectation was too much for reality to intrude upon it. I am done with regrets. It was as it should have been, I will see you soon. R xxx

The only thing I really wish I had done differently in the story was the small scribbled designs on the postcards, which I added on as an afterthought and never really liked but couldn't be bothered to remove. I often get the feeling that a bit more patience would not go amiss in my life.

It's all gone a bit creepy...

At the moment I've switched over to the dark side and felt a need to share the evil within me with those around me... I am working on a short story called 'Night Terrors' based on my childhood belief that a monstrous creature lived at the end of my bed, I am hoping that a bit of purging will do wonders for the child within me... we'll see.
I have been using a lot of blue to depict nighttime lighting- it turned out to be a lot trickier than I thought and I have had mixed success, the above picture; which I have pretentiously named 'Ghostly Stigmata' is probably the best example of it working well so far.
The story itself bled from the initial description of my nighttime fears into a chance to air some issues about motherhood, love and desire. Whether this comes across well remains to be seen but I am of the opinion that you don't always have to lay it on the line in a painting by number style- you can let the work speak for itself.
I will also admit to a definite swaying of style heavily influenced by 'Arkham Asylum' a most wonderfully appreciated Christmas gift. I obviously know that I am outflanked and outclassed 100% by this most wonderful graphic novel but I will serve my clumsy homage up to anyone who wishes to see it.
So, two pages to go still, which in real terms would take most professional artists about a day to complete, with my mothering, cleaning, working, general dogsbodying to take in account it may well be finished in a couple of months. Watch this space!