Speak Up

I have always been one for the true stories that get put out there via Hollywood movies. I like to learn things, I like to hear the truth and feel the emotions that are provoked because of it. I like to look into the story, the people, the real life ones and I like to remember the story and know what it is that I learnt from it.

Speak up.

The lesson from this film (to me) was: Speak up. Have women’s backs. Stand tall.

I have just watched this – belatedly – and have within the next 24 hours seen this (https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2020/sep/17/donald-trump-accused-of-sexual-assault-by-former-model-amy-dorris?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other ) on my Twitter feed.

Let’s hope the truth of whatever this is, is found. Another man in power. How many more men like this are out there? How many women are there out there – too afraid to speak up…

As a ‘Writer’…

As a ‘writer’, I find inspiration in everyday life. My mind is constantly writing – looking for things I can borrow from. The earth, the universe, strangers, family, friends, loved ones… I find stories in most things, every day. I find myself narrating in my own mind, more times than I can count – most times without even realising. I mentally write stories about things that never even make it onto the page. Every day. Like an addiction. I write without even being conscious of it, it is within me. It is my nature. I observe and I see. I have a mind cramed full of words. But then I don’t. Social situations are not my nature. They are mostly difficult, with rare exceptions. Talking to talk, is not my nature. Talking about myself openly and without prompting is not my nature. But writing. Writing is like a cool breeze on the hottest day of the year. It is a relief. A hope. A wish. Writing is everything. The weights of the world lift off my shoulders as soon as my fingers run across the keyboard. The scratch of a pen against paper fills my soul with such lightness, it makes my breath stop.

The feeling of that last sentence. Of pulling everything together neatly, of feeling that closure… Of getting to have the last word. Just this once… or until the next time that my fingers meet the keyboard.

 

 

Looking Back

road

There’s a sense of deja vu as she drives by the abandoned garage that sits between the two neighbouring villages.
It feels like so long since she was last home, her need to leave had been overpowering. The road seems a lot shorter than she remembers it.
Taking a right turn she takes in all the familiar sights and wonders if it is possible that not one thing has changed.
The church sits as peacefully as it ever did. The school kids zoom by on bicycles as the college kids wait at the bus stop.
Driving down by her first home is a ‘must’. Maybe that is the only change in this place. Practically a whole new house.
Of all the buildings, houses and shops surrounding her and her old home is the only noticeable, unrecognisable change.
She drives by and views it through her rearview mirror before moving on towards her destination.

 

 

That

Sometimes I look at films and think, “that”. That is what I want to capture. A moving image. The opening moment when the shot is out of focus and then slowly you begin to see what it is that is right in front of you.

A solid image that someone has captured, a moment in time – frozen. “Every picture is worth a thousand words.” I want to write those words. To experience the stories and know every detail.

To meet all the people of the world, all the cultures and all the landscapes.