I see my mind as a tapestry woven through with memories, dreams and thoughts.

Sunday, 18 July 2010

A Surprise Post, slotted in

Look! The first Passion Flower opened its bud to reveal an intricately woven centre and loose, abandoned fronds, twisting and curling, presided over by the precise machinery of stamens.
Beautiful, magnificent, truly amazing!

And now - ¡me voy!

Thursday, 15 July 2010

Newcastle Bound - but not on a coal boat!

This is my last July post as I am absent from my writing space. But, I hope to catch up with all of your posts via friends on my travels, if and when possible.

The cover is the original cover of my first book in the 'Violet Jelly' trilogy. It heads this post as I am excited that, during my time away, I have been invited to talk about writing and illustrating to children at Newcastle City Library on the twenty seventh of the month. I am even to do a podcast for their web site!


That my hope is for as many children as want to to have the opportunity of reading the book makes this a special venture for me. Also, to encourage the scribbles and word weaving of others is always a delight. Children are honest, so I shall know where I stand if nothing else.

I shall be back in August. I leave grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of an enjoyable afternoon!

Thursday, 8 July 2010


To bring to a close my summer scribbles thoughts, I leave you with this poem, written a number of years ago in memory one of my favourite aunts;


I remember where the polished, walnut davenport
was placed against an ideal wall
between two sash windows open on the first floor
to Market street's feet-on-cobble bustle
of an awning bright shopping day.
espresso coffee aroma drifts upwards
from ice-cream parlour below into
cool, dark interior of a silent lounge.
So many words written here,
where wood and leather meet invitingly
and the rocking blotter sucks dry
lines of business and of pleasure.
Pristine paper set in readiness
for metal nib poised to dip.
I can see spider-writing
and your hand;
thoughts scribbled on your mind;
picture you from behind, hair soft, frail figure -
image of a maiden aunt busy penning fond, endearing
phrases, or setting immaculate figures in columned
ledgers. Creeping up on you
I run my small hand round the desk edge,
absorbing solid smoothness through my fingertips
and long to spider-write there too.
Now, the strong clawed feet of the davenport
stand here, letters fill a drawer
and the warm lustre of your presence
creeps up on me as I write.