~Stages~

Sitting cross legged on the rug, fire crackling ,flames licking the glowing coals, hair still damp from the bath, loose and curling, a strand clinging to her cheek. Inspecting pruney fingers, a giggle catching in her throat, threatening to escape. Pleading for just five more minutes

 ~

teasing the key into the lock, her world refusing to focus. The cold night air brutally scraping against her skin. A swirling haze of vodka, giving respite to the fear of being caught. the ground cool, yet hard and unforgiving beneath tender soles. Heels tucked under her thumb, the beat of music still softly ringing in her ears, Crawling under the soft blankets, relief

~

Watching the rise and fall of his chest, a tiny fest scrunching the blanket tight. Moniter in hand, she slowly retreats, the silence pulsing, threatening to break and shatter the calm. A spin of victory once in the hall. peeping in at the small boy, gingery stepping around the abandoned trains to tuck the bare foot under the warmth. her boys

~

Gently flicking the light switch, a moment taken to breathe easy in the surrounding black. Fingers brushing the lock as she passes the door. safe. the solace of their room, the soft worn shirt. burying her nose and seeking comfort in the faintest of lingering scents. the absence of strong warm arms and heavy breathing, alone mow. grief

young woman by the sea,fine art photography,sepia,coastal

 

Music ~ Mid week breather ~

I had a much needed few hours off this evening and got to kick back with my laptop and a cuppa: the proper stuff and not the “delicious” green water I’ve been choking down all week

It goes without saying the I’m ridiculously in love with all things English but writing can be as draining as it is cathartic and I’ve lapsed recently, mostly pure to sheer exhaustion in the evenings.

A month ago I was watching the Sunrise over Angkor Wat, ( yes of COURSE I got an Instagram pic) and now I’m back to the usual juggle of college and work. If there is one thing that I took from travelling , it’s how important it is to take time out. So today in the midst of final year panic I went and bought myself a sketch pad and then I took twenty whole minutes to sit on the grass and sketch the dude hunched in front of me. Considering how intensely I stare at something when I’m trying to get the form exactly right…I really should have picked a tree.

Beautiful isn’t it.

The other thing that works every.single.time is music. all kinds, every kind. I’d highly recommend just sticking on your favourite song after a long day

When in doubt ….Dylan

~ The Shelf ~

I’ve had a life long love affair with books. Cue everyone who knows me or who reads this rolling their eyes and thinking “really wouldn’t have guessed”. It evolved from Enid Blyton to the very grown up Danielle Steel’s that I buried myself in at 13 and now scorn at.. I’d happily chew my own arm off then struggle through the sickly pinkness. And with every year it kept going.

The hardest thing about doing book reviews is knowing where to start. Books are personal, one persons page turner is another’s uphill trek. I’ve moved house a few times in the past few years and it never feels like home until “The Shelf” is once again taken out of boxes. A collection of my favourite books,the ones that make me mumble incoherent answers at my poor house mates because “I’m at a good bit” , or simply stick in my bag before a bus journey. As much as I love sinking my teeth into something new I’m also a notorious re-reader and a select few books will be in any room of mine. So that’s where I’m going to begin.

“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.”
― Oscar Wilde

Some of my favourite books have come from recommendations from friends. Often in a book store you are overwhelmed with options. There are so many titles swarming before your eyes that finding a glint between the coal stones is rare. You know that feeling where you don’t want an alright read you want a great one, and if someone could just toss one this way that would be great. I’m going to try. Let you know what I think on any of the comments. Come here to find new books, chat about your favourites and feel free to chip in with the ones that grabbed you.

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”
― Stephen King

Let’s spread the magic.

The Perks of Reading Wallflowers

Title : The Perks of Being A wallflower
Author: Stephen Chbosky
Fall into : An angst filled indie loving novel that isn’t afraid to make fun of the angst filled indie type

Every time I pick up my copy of Perks I have Emma Watson staring back at me (I winced a little writing that). Actors should never be on my book covers. It means I have failed at life. I didn’t pick it up because it’s a truly great book (it is) or because I wanted to pursue a cult classic. I saw the trailer for the movie, it looked great and I had to read the book before I saw it, or the sky would fall. You’ll read that sentence and understand, in the way only book freaks can. Or you’ll worry about my stability.

Bookworms, we’re a unique bunch; bonding over our love of falling into a paperback and only occasionally emerging for air.

Written in the form of letters, Stephen Chbosky’s novel has gained something of a cult following as a symbol of the experience of adolescence. I admit that I was predisposed to wariness. Any book that screams teenage angst should have an approach with caution sign, it will either blow your mind, or make you want to blow your…..eh….mind. For a relatively small book, there’s a whole lot going on, and yet serious themes are approached with a refreshing frankness and realism .

Charlie, the novels protagonist spends a large proportion of the book as an avid observer. A freshman in high school, he watches from the safety of the side lines. His insight into the world around him portrays wisdom beyond his years and yet he exudes a compelling naivety. It becomes evident early on in the book that whist Charlie is gifted, he is also troubled.
Initially it’s easy to watch from the side-lines, if nobody is watching you, if you’re a wallflower. Then he meets Sam and Patrick, and finds himself hurled head first into a world of sex, drugs and The Rocky Horror picture show. The resulting narrations transport you back to a time in life when you’re fighting to find that delicate balance between establishing boundaries and knowing when to jump outside them.

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

As a reader, you find yourself looking back, appreciating the head rush that was every new experience…and thanking god you aren’t sixteen any more
While some of the issues raised in Perks are less ground breaking now then they were ten years ago when it was published, it has managed to capture the very essence of youth, one that will ring true whether you’re 23 or 60.
It really is a beautiful book and wonderfully well written. The voices within the pages are real: tender, ironic and crafted together with a gratifying amount of dark and twisted humour.

~ Begin Again ~

3 years ago I sat on a beach with one of my oldest friends, it was dark and I was busy drawing patters in the damp sand “I should have done English”. A simple statement but one which had been building up for months. She simply looked at me and nodded, a look of mild amusement etching into her face, as she watched me , a tipsy, teary eyed mess, admitting a truth that surprised precisely…… no one.

Two months later I slammed shut my Chemistry book with a loathing that it really didn’t deserve and reached for my laptop. That’s when my first blog began, and when I made some changes.

I wish I had believed everyone who told me that it would be okay, that dropping out wasn’t the end of the world, that things would get better.

They did.

I’m now halfway through a degree in English Literature and Social Computing. I get to write to my hearts content and stretch my computer skills past playing around on Excel.

It’s not always easy but even on the worst days, where I’m absolutely convinced that I’m gong to be in college until I’m 40 and give Van Wilder a run for his money, I know I made the right decision.

This blog is something a much happier and less confused me has been plotting for a while. I plan on this being a place where I get to share what I love be it music, books, travel or a just your usual self indulgent rant from a twenty something year old, thanks for reading!

I wrote the piece underneath on my old blog, but I thought I would share it as it’s one of my favourites.

Claire x

~ I Write Therefore I am ~

Writing makes me happy. Simple as. It also regularly makes we want to bang my head off the table.
What makes someone a writer? It’s a pretty sweeping statement. Do you become a writer when you are officially paid to do it? Or is when you first see your name in print? Maybe it’s simply something you are and not something you become. It’s the compelling urge to get your thoughts down whether you’re in the shower, running for the bus or lying in the darkness.

Don’t ask me about being a writer. lf when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing…then you’re a writer. – Rainer Marie Rilke

Nobody is forcing me to do it. I doubt anyone would be particularly bothered if I stopped… there’s one or two more blogs out there. And yet I have caught the bug, have experienced the satisfaction of people reading and liking what I write and the adrenaline hit that can only come from the ”publish’ button. Like I’ve just carelessly flung another piece of me out there, but the more I do it the less scary it gets, and I can’t seem to stop.

When I started to blog I was sitting repeat exams and stressed to my eyeballs. My friends were still in America and I needed a distraction ANY distraction from chemical mechanisms. Writing soothed my nerves and helped me unwind it was never supposed to be any more than that.
Then I found myself falling in love with my own little speck on the blogosphere.
I’ve always been at my best when I let go completely and write from the heart. When I’m hurting or exhausted or a painful experience is still raw, that’s when the words flow. Equally when I’m brimming over with happiness they tumble out of me falling over each other in a bid to scrawl across the page. To write, to really write, is to show the world vulnerability and that’s an aspect I’ve always struggled with. I got an A1 in English in my Leaving Certificate and can guarantee a lot of the reason for that was the anonymity of the correcter. I could let every barrier come crashing down and pour myself into the words.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
― Ernest Hemingway

Before I ever hit publish I will invariably have sworn at the screen, abused the backspace button and stared blankly into space for a while. Yet time becomes irrelevant and when what I’m feeling suddenly clicks in my head and the thought has slipped through my fingers onto the page the feeling of satisfaction is oh so worth it.
Reading amazing books has lit a fire in me to produce something real, not to be afraid of seeing and writing life how it is. Books have enchanted and gripped me my entire life. Hours can pass by where I am oblivious to the world around me and captivated by the one I’m in. If I’ve had a rough day or just need a check out from reality for a little bit I open a book.
If ever something I write allows someone else to do that, then I will consider myself a writer

“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
― Anne Frank