In Which We Prompt

May 19, 2024Ocean Bream writing Tags: write, writers, writers block, writing, writing prompts 6 Comments

In an effort to get myself back into writing, and to oil my writing gears, I will be attempting the Author’s Publish Magazine’s 2018 book of writing prompts.

Every day I will attempt one of the prompts and publish it as a blogpost for accountability.

Here is prompt 1: Three Minute Warm Up (daily writing exercise). Write a title, set a timer for three minutes, and write! Write anything, doesn’t have to match up to the title. It’s a good warm up exercise!

Title: Summer Afternoons

There could be a great many things you can do with a stack of beads. You could polish them expertly using your hands or a machine. They have machines for those now, and you would have a brightly coloured pile of beads to use. Thread them together to make a pretty necklace or take them to the beach and sprinkle them among the stones and shells for curious little hands to pick up and curious little minds to wonder over.

Exuberance.

I wonder where there ever could be something wonderful to play with, at the beach or at home. I watch the sun setting over the ocean nearly everyday, when the clouds don’t join me to mar the experience. I marvel at the colours and the way the sky is different from one day to the next. Sunsets are like fingerprints. Never the same. Always telling a different story. Sometimes I am there with my loved ones and sometimes alone, nothing but a cup of coffee to keep me company. Sitting on a hidden bench watching the swimmers who brave the winter seas and then have the freedom …

That, folks, is as far as I got.

My writing gears really do need oiling. Lol!

24. Literacy

November 24, 2023Ocean Bream NanoPoblano2023 Tags: bibiophiles, creative writing, Daily Writing Challenge, descriptive writing, fiction, hobbies, library, literary prompt, pompous, readers, reading, short story, uppity, wordpress, writing, writing challenge, writing prompts 7 Comments

We woke up to sunshine, and when we realised the train was due in half an hour we ripped through the house, coats, shoes, scarves, hats – half on half off as we laughingly made our way to the train station. Was the front door locked? It didn’t matter, there was nothing of consequence to steal from the house anyway, unless somebody deigned to go in and usurp our residency there. They would not dare. This is the west, after all. We are civilised.

We caught our train to the city where the birds chirped the songs of robots, and the trees swayed to the tune of tram-hum. Hum drum. Our feet joining the thousands of others that battered gum-spotted pavements. The trees scattered about as an afterthought, the asphalt and cement rising around us like an enchanted concrete wood. The enchanted forest, Brenda breathed, only it was dotted with windows, sewage pipes and institutional systems.

We found the library in the end. It was nestled in between two glass towers which reflected the sun and beamed right into our eyes, distracting us, it seemed, from our literary goals. We made it, though, we always do. We made it up the ancient stone steps, the gargoyles heralding, guarding, sentinels of the treasures of the mind that lay within. We entered from light into darkness, into light again. The light of the hundreds of worlds that lay between thin leaves, that resided in the musty smell of time. The light of the voices all clamouring for attention, thousands of them, rising in unison to ensnare our minds and guide them towards the myriad of pathways to nowhere, everywhere, all the same, different.

When we left, it was dark. The sun had set. The night bore down heavily on us, too overwhelming even for the twinkling lights of the city trying its mightiest to beat away the sombre winter. Our books tucked under our arms, our laughter stilted, muffled by the bounty of knowledge we sensed we had achieved, our eyes blinking under the too-bright fluorescent lights of the train home.

This beautiful image can be credited to ClappedBEANZ on Deviant Art.

14. Paws

November 14, 2023November 14, 2023Ocean Bream NanoPoblano2023 Tags: am writing, babies, child, childhood, childlike, children, chipmunk, Daily Writing Challenge, dailywrite, family, funny things, innocence of childhood, innocent, kids, life, love, mother's love, motherhood, nanopoblano 2023, nanowrimo 2023, november writing challenge, paws, personal, precious, precocious, terrible twos, thoughts, toddler, two year old, two year olds, writing, writing challeneg, writing challenge, writing prompts 6 Comments

“Let me just go and wash my paws”, my two year old girl said. She got her chubby lil self off the chair and went in search of the sink to wash her ‘paws’.

Two year olds come out with the sweetest things, so I sure am glad I have a two year old.

People call that age the ‘terrible twos’, but with both my kids, I have always found the age of two to be the most precious. It’s that precarious teeter between full consciousness and that soft, plump existence in baby-land. The most innocent thoughts breaking their way into coherence, making their acquaintance with the realities and facts of life.

“Gentle with your baby cousin, L”, I cautioned her the other day, “you might hurt her.”

“Yes,” she said, “If I hurt her she will broke, won’t she.”

And then, in the same breath, “Mama, I really need to wash my beard.”

Chin. She meant chin.

Of Earth [20]

November 20, 2022November 19, 2022Ocean Bream NanoPoblano 2022, writing Tags: challenge, excerpt, fiction, life, love, Nano Poblano, nano poblano 2022, NanoPoblano 2022, nanowrimo, nanowrimo 2022, national novel writing month, november writing month, personal, romance, short story, snippet, story, thoughts, writing, writing challenge, writing month, writing prompts 4 Comments

When it rained, the earth also rained.

Upwards.

The smallest droplets rose from the surfaces of the soil, the stones, the trees, leaves, shrubs.. roses… they rose and collated in the air. A mist. It was like the soul of the earth rising to meet its enrichment.

When she looked closely enough, she could almost discern each droplet, dancing its way up through the atmosphere over the grass. Atmosphere around the knees.

Swirling, whirling.

The day it all began was one such day.

When she arose in the morning the air was dank and grey. She could see the storm clouds in her room, floating just below her ceiling when she opened her eyes.

The bustle downstairs in the kitchen was a sign of life. Sign of life returning. Everybody coming to visit.

When the wind blew, it spoke in her ears, and she strained to listen. Strained as she got dressed in the morning. Cocked her head to the side as she pulled her stockings on, brushed her hair, fifty strokes to the right, fifty to the left.

She pushed her window open, all the way, so the wind whipped through her braid, yanking the loose strands at the front of her face left and right, storming at her, roaring into her ears so loudly that she frowned and shook her head firmly.

‘I can’t hear you when you scream like that,’ she tutted at the tempest outside, and closed her window.

She went down the stairs, slowly, taking her time, soaking the stillness in. Soon the front door would be flung open. Mary and her brood piling in, pink cheeks, hats askew. John following not far behind, his big grin threatening to slice his face in half. Phyllis and her millionaire, ears dripping with glittering jewels, mink scarf tucked around her pretty neck. Her arm would be tucked tightly under his, inseparable, still in love after all these years. Soon everybody would be back from their lives, back to where it all began, back to the beginning.

And when it was all over, when they all trooped home, back to their orbits, she would step outdoors. She would turn her head up to the skies, the tempest would die to a mere whisper. And the breeze would caress her face with its gentle, cool hands, and turn it this way and that, and it would murmur in her ear.

And what would it say?

She would anticipate it all day.

Treen [13]

November 13, 2022November 13, 2022Ocean Bream NanoPoblano 2022, writing Tags: blogging, love, Nano Poblano, nano poblano 2022, NanoPoblano 2022, nanowrimo, nanowrimo 2022, national novel writing month, november writing challenge, thoughts, writing, writing prompts 12 Comments

adj. Made entirely of wood.

A three’s tea.

Tea for a three year old is a magical affair. To boil tea in a saucepan with your aunty gently guiding you is akin, in your eyes, to being an adult.

When you lie in your bed at night, and tell your mother that you no longer need your bed, it makes perfect sense in your head.

‘I am not a child,’ you say, large eyes staring up at the ceiling in the dim gloom, the only light permeating the winter darkness is the soft glow of a lamp in the next room.

‘Oh?’ your mother questions.

‘I am an adult. But I need a big adult bed,’

Sure, child.

Tea for a three year old is a formal affair.

It’s getting two garden chairs ready in the late winter sun. It’s gathering up a knitted blanket, and lugging it outside. It’s carefully some dates into your special treen bowl. It’s helping your aunty pour the milky, sweet concoction into a mug.

Not a small mug.

An adult mug.

It’s drinking tea spiced with cardamom and cinnamon while wrapped up in a blanket, as you chat to your aunty about the birds, the trees, the worms digging deep into the earth. Both of you staring out into the cold sky, the winter sun lighting up your hair and faces.

‘Mama,’ you say, when your mother joins you outside, ‘is this tea caffeine?’

‘Yes, child, it is,’

And you sit up a little straighter, taller, your eyes sparkle with the allure of the unknown, mysterious world of adults who do as they please, and travel where their heart’s desire drives them.

Note: I used to do a challenge where the dictionary would send me a ‘word of the day’ and I would have to make a paragraph/post/piece of writing about that word, or try to use that word in a sentence in a piece of writing. Well, the dictionary sent me the word ‘treen’ today so I decided to use it for Day 13 as a little prompt.

Image: Winter Birdies by the talented Maria over at Watercolours by Maria Stezhko

Kindness

May 23, 2019May 23, 2019Ocean Bream writing Tags: Daily Writing Challenge, hope, humanity, kind, kindness, life, love, may myself and I, may writing challenge, musings, personal, stress, thoughts, write everyday in may, writing, writing prompts 6 Comments

Today’s prompt word is kindness.

In my life I have not been very kind to those I love the most. I don’t know why I do that. It’s something I can’t control at the time and then regret immediately. I’m not unkind all the time but I do it a lot when I feel irritated.

At the same time, I’ve been told numerous times that I am a kind person. When people say that I feel like an imposter. As a child I was kind, I remember being so, but I also remember being distinctly unkind.

There are many quotes floating around about kindness. The general consensus seems to be that it is an attribute people should strive towards. An action to be carried out without the need for a reward – expecting a reward for an act of kindness makes the act unkind. Despite the fact that it’s still the same action being carried out.

People have been kind to me when I have least expected it. For example once my bike chain broke on the side of the road and there were a bunch of skinheads smoking by the verge. When they saw me battling with my chain they approached me and I panicked thinking oh no they are going to be racist or attack me – but no they asked if I was ‘alright love’ and they fixed my bike chain for me whilst making merry.

They didn’t expect anything in return because they sauntered off once I was back on wheels again.

Being kind makes you feel good inside. Having someone be kind to you makes you warm to them. Humans need kindness, it helps us thrive.

Bloom

May 22, 2019May 22, 2019Ocean Bream writing Tags: being british, blogging, bloom, britishness, culture, cultures, english, life, may, may myself and I, may writing challenge, multiculturalism, musings, personal, summer, thoughts, uk, united kingdom, write everyday in may, writing, writing prompts 10 Comments

BST. British Standard Time.

There is something about the word British that makes me feel proud, and at the same time irritated. If you were to look at me, you would not think I was British. Namely because I am not white of skin and fair of hair – or just fair, for that matter.

You would probably change your mind once I opened my mouth.

I used to tell my colleagues that I grew up in Dubai. They took that to mean that I was FROM there, and would say things like, ‘oh you learned English pretty quickly‘, and ‘your accent is quite good‘ and ‘you sound distinctly Southern – who was your teacher?‘.

Well my teacher was my mother. She was born in Tooting, London. I was born there too. We are British, albeit very multicultural, so not English, just British. My accent is British because my parents are British, so even though we lived in another country, they maintained their British culture and passed it on to us. They didn’t design to do this intentionally – it just came about.

Do I get offended when people say these things to me? I used to. I was a bit green. I used to get indignant. Hey, I’m British, this is my country too.

I don’t always feel like it’s my country, especially when people tell me to ‘go back home’. How can I? This is home. This is my mother’s home too. My mother’s parents came from two different countries and so did my father’s parents.

So if I were to go ‘home’ you’d have to dissect my body into a million pieces and divide my cells according to which country they originated.. that would be messy.

I bloomed though, with the knowledge that I came from everywhere and nowhere. It made me stronger. It made me prouder of my heritage.

Some days I feel fiercely British, and proud of my country and its people and it’s polite manners. Other days I feel ashamed of its history and the way it colonised the world. Some days I love its people for their exceptional Britishness, and other days I despise them for their entitlement.

But as I grow I realise something – and that is not everyone is perfect. Every nation, culture, race has its flaws and it’s positive attributes. There is good in everyone and everything, and there is also bad.

It’s important to value who you are and where you came from – to BLOOM into what makes you, YOU. Most of the time you are who you are because of your family, heritage and culture. This is why I choose to embrace the good parts of being British, and how they define me, so I can feel proud to be so. I can also feel proud to be all the other cultures that I am, and how these have impacted my ‘Britishness’, enhancing it and helping me to bloom in the process.

Which aspects of your culture do you like? What do you dislike?

Space

May 22, 2019Ocean Bream writing Tags: may myself and I, may writing challenge, space, write everyday in may, writing, writing prompts 2 Comments

If I dug a hole through earth

Would I fall on through

Into space?

Chad LaBombarde

Mundane

May 20, 2019May 20, 2019Ocean Bream writing Tags: friendships, life, may myself and I, may writing challenge, mundane, musings, personal, personal thoughts, thoughts, write everyday in may, writing, writing challenge, writing prompts 9 Comments

I don’t have very many friends. People I used to consider my closest friends have all moved on to greener pastures, making me feel as though my own is rather faded and yellow.

It is, though. It is true. I have a few very close friends but I rarely see them as I live far away from them and am now inundated with life.

I see other people have friends in their own vicinities and wonder at the fact that mine are spread all over the country.

I do know that it’s because of my life situation. Growing up I had friends a plenty because I went to school with the same people for 3 years, then three years, and then three years again. But when I was sixteen I moved back to the UK and that is where my friendships sort of withered away.

I guess I was very different from the people around me because I’d been brought up in a different country, so that sort of made me feel uncomfortable around them, and teenagers can sense this sort of stuff. I ended up being a loner in the library just munching on books. Figuratively speaking.

Looking back, I now realise that I was sad and did nothing about it. I was reserved and held back even though people invited me to places and offered to be my friend. I thought they were just being ‘nice’ not realising they genuinely meant it. That was pretty stupid of me.

I also got married at 19. I was pretty young I think and I don’t think it was a rash decision at all, but sometimes I do think perhaps I ought to have found myself first. I don’t regret it one bit – marriage is hard but we work on it and more often than not come out on top.

So I guess in my life I just was never in the right place or right head space to have a solid group of ‘friends’ like other people have – in the same town, meeting up whenever we like to.

I have to schedule meet-ups with friends months in advance and spend the rest of the relationship either on the phone or via text. It works, but it’s a bit sad.

So mostly, even though I worked a full time job and completed a degree in these past five years, I live a pretty mundane life. Which leads me to believe that my mind is pretty mundane and repetitive. I suppose that is not true, but one can’t help feeling like that sometimes.

You see, when you have friends who you see often and interact with, you sort of develop a repertoire of speech and nuances in your humour that you wouldn’t otherwise discover by yourself. I know this because every time I hang out with my friends I emerge a more energetic, witty and bubbly version of myself.

My mother in law told my mum once, ‘Oh, it’s like a ray of sunshine when Len comes into the house’. That was back in the day when me and my husband were ‘courting’. Now I am a sour puss. I am not saying this to blow my own trumpet – it’s just evidence to me that if I have friends and am surrounded by people, I am far nicer and more droll than when I spend hours and days alone. Words tumble from my mouth in such a smooth way it shocks me, whereas if I’ve been a lone, talking is a bit like chewing on lead.

Yes even at work I was alone – an editor sits at a computer most of the day and interacts minimally as editorial work is lonely work.

Anyway. That is what I have to say about the word ‘mundane’. That and also boy am I glad I am not at university anymore – some of those lectures were MUNDANE.

What does the word ‘mundane’ make you think of?

Sparkle

May 18, 2019May 17, 2019Ocean Bream writing Tags: blogging, childhood, embarassment, family, life, love, may, may myself and I, may writing challenge, mistakes, mothers, personal, sparkle, write everyday in may, writing, writing prompts 2 Comments

I am challenging myself to write a post every single day in May, to kickstart my writing again. I will be following some prompt words that I ‘stole’ from somebody on instagram. Here is my seventeenth post.

Hundreds and thousands,

Atop white icing,

Atop a cake,

On a plate,

Covered in foil.

Wrapped in a plastic bag,

Shoved

Mercilessly

At the bottom of my schoolbag.

For I was ashamed

Of the cake

My mother toiled all night to make,

for the school fair.

Don’t ask me why.

It was perfectly lovely,

Soft, yellow vanilla sponge

Simple, perfect flavours,

And the sparkly fun of hundreds and thousands decorating the top.

I just didn’t want to be

That GIRL.

WHAT girl, pray tell?

The one who carries a cake onto a bus where the boy she secretly crushes on sits coolly at the front, NOT carrying a cake.

Don’t ask me what nonsense goes on in the minds of twelve year olds.

When I got on the bus..

That boy was carrying a cake.

And most of the other kids

Had some kind of home-made concoction in their laps too.

I felt stupid

And sad.

For my cake,

On it’s plate

With white icing

And hundreds and thousands

Was a flattened, crushed mess.

And my heart, now, today, at 25

Wrings in sadness

At the thought of the love and care

That went into that cake,

As my mother,

toiled through the night

To see a sparkle

in her daughter’s eyes.

I love you mama.

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adj. Made entirely of wood.

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I am challenging myself to write a post every single day in May, to kickstart my writing again. I will be following some prompt words that I ‘stole’ from somebody on instagram. Here is my seventeenth post.

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