Why I love the Rain

Yesterday I joined hitREcord, which is an open collaborative online production company. 

And I wrote a little bit of poetry about the rain and why I love it. Up for 24 hours, I have 8 recommendations, which is lovely and it's giving me a little bit of confidence that my writing isn't all that bad!

Why I love the Rain

I think about the time that we danced in the street, rain lashed my face and wind whipped my hair into and unending tangled mass of brown but you didn’t care.

You grabbed me tight around my waist and pulled me off the kerb, you held me in a dance embrace, my pavement path perturbed.

You pulled me close and twirled me round, you picked me up right off the ground and here, here in this wet and cold dismal street I saw rainbows reflected in the puddles that our feet went tippety tapping through to an imagined beat.

Forgotten was the nights missed sleep.

And it rained, and it poured, and my heart was an unending flutter of excitement as I knew this was what love really was. And ten years on still is.

The Tale of Percival Switch

The Tale of Percival Switch

One of the things I plan to do, and hopefully this blog will give me swift kick up the arse, is finish the rest of this story.

I am ambitious enough to think I have a book in me somewhere, whether or not it’s a good one is another matter!

So I set about writing a children's book. I have some of the whole thing planned but have been sitting on it for well over a year now because I, as usual, am scared of not being able to complete it or it not being as fantastic as I want it to be. 

Little excerpt below and I have uploaded the first chapter and you can read it here.

Percival Switch was an odd little boy and not for the reasons you’d think. He looked quite ordinary, average height, weight and size. He had chestnut brown hair and pinched cheeks that glowed rosy red in the frosty air. He had a full mouth and grey blue eyes, eyes so clear it was as if you were looking at crystal. He carried himself with an air of dignity, quite telling in one so young, passers-by would often think. 

Percival lived at 12 Elmwood Road in the little village of Crossington in England. The village was very small indeed, it was home to a butcher, a sweet shop, a bakery with tea rooms and a church as well as the small terraced houses and the pretty cottages down by the canal. Every Saturday Percival’s step mother would send him off to the butchers for half a pound of sausages and some fresh bread from the bakers. Percival left the house from the side door dropping the vegetable scraps from the kitchen into the pail for the goat at the end of the garden on his way.

Any comments or feedback would be gratefully received, so please send me an email or reply below and let me know what you think.

And apologies for any spelling/punctuation mistakes you may spot. I have read it over about ten times but I can’t see any, although it might be my dyslexic brain kicking in!

I hope you enjoy :D